by Jamie Foley
The crickets stopped chirping. The birds stopped calling. The melody of the forest was overshadowed by a distant thumping. Like rhythmic footsteps. Hundreds of them.
Ryon squatted behind a birch, leaning on its bark for support as he stared down the trail. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. He pulled his lenses off and realized that he’d yet again forgotten to acquire a soft piece of silk for cleaning them.
The trees warped down the path like a heat distortion rising up from the earth. Trunks swayed as if they were as flexible as branches.
Ryon’s throat closed until he could scarcely breathe. It would take a massive concerted effort to make an area that large invisible. He’d only seen such a feat accomplished once before—at Coriander’s camp in the Emberhawk jungle. But whatever was being hidden here was mobile, making the feat that much more impressive.
How many elementalists were working together to make this possible? And how far did this distortion stretch beyond what he could currently sense?
Staying to find out was too dangerous. Because Ryon could imagine only one scenario in which this made sense: an invading army was approaching, and the Emberhawk were covering for them.
If the chieftess has been poisoned, now is the perfect time to retrieve my keystone from her wretched crown.
Kira closed her eyes. She couldn’t respond to Lillian, lest Vylia think she’d lost her mind.
All she could do to give a negative answer was to glare at the Malo stone where it sat on the dresser. Hopefully that would communicate to Lillian that Kira wasn’t gullible or stupid enough to steal Brooke’s headdress.
“Are you all right?” Vylia placed a hand on Kira’s arm, jolting her from her brooding.
Kira tried to remember how to smile. Vylia’s eyes were still puffy from tears, and Sousuke sat like a broken statue in the far corner. After that horrifying letter the courier had delivered, the last thing they needed was their new translator declaring that she’d heard a sultry voice from a rock encouraging grand larceny.
She couldn’t believe Vylia had taken Hiro’s news so well. Maybe she had some politician’s ability to hide her feelings away until a better time. Maybe she was trying to be strong for Sousuke as he mourned the executions of his family. Maybe she was masterful at hiding her grief or confusion or anger. Or maybe she was just in shock.
“I’m fine,” Kira said. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?”
“Time.” Vylia’s smile was faint. She looked from the Malo stone back to Kira. “Are you familiar with that?”
Kira tilted her head. “With what?”
“That stone on the dresser. You’ve glanced at it more than once,” Vylia said. “It’s called the Malo stone.”
Kira swallowed. Lillian’s so-called mirror would be a good distraction topic right now, so she’d jump into it even though she’d have to consider her words carefully. “I’m familiar with it, yes. It’s a wonder to behold—I wasn’t expecting to see such a treasure in my lifetime. Isn’t it said to be the source of power for the Malo element?”
“Yes.” Something in Vylia’s acute blue gaze hung on Kira’s every word. “Are you a wavesinger?”
“No,” Kira said. “I’ve always wanted to be—ever since I saw the dancers at the Moon Festival as a girl. But I’m just a commoner; I don’t have enough syn in my blood to practice the element.”
“You don’t need to be a silverblood to practice,” Vylia mused. She glanced at Tekkyn’ashi as he sat near the door, then at Sousuke. Neither appeared to be listening.
She leaned closer to Kira and whispered, “Have you ever heard a voice when you’re near the stone?”
Kira’s heart kicked like a jackrabbit. “She speaks to you, too?”
Disgust turned Vylia’s gentle expression. “Do not listen to a word she says. She is evil.”
Kira looked over her shoulder at the opal, but her mind remained quiet aside from her own trepidation. Lillian either couldn’t hear them or she’d decided to fall silent.
Something like a scream sounded in the far distance. Kira listened but heard nothing else.
Kira turned back to Vylia and whispered, “What does she say to you? She wants me to steal a gem from the chieftess’ headdress.”
“She demanded the same of me.” Vylia pursed her lips. “If I were a pagan, I’d say she’s trapped within the Malo stone and wants the keystone to free herself somehow.”
Solace washed over Kira and rained around her with a gentle sense of peace. “I must be a pagan, then. At least if she’s trapped inside, she can’t hurt us.”
Vylia frowned. “She nearly killed me by preventing me from using the Malo element at a dire moment. She meant for me to die for not doing her bidding. She hasn’t spoken to me since, so I assume she chose you as her new pet.”
Kira felt a sliver of nausea. Perhaps it was good that she wasn’t an elementalist after all. “What should we do?” she whispered.
“I will return her to the temple in Maqua.” Vylia’s face fell. “As soon as circumstances allow . . .”
“Wouldn’t it be safer to destroy the stone if she’s that dangerous?” Kira said.
I am a goddess, fool. I cannot be harmed. If you will not obey, I will simply find another. You mortals have the lifespan of fleas. It is only a matter of time before one of you accepts my offer of power.
Kira turned and stared at the stone. “If you speak to either of us again, I will take a boat onto the Rift Ocean and cast you into its darkest depths. I wonder if any fleas could hear you there.”
Tekkyn glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow. Kira gave him an innocent look, and he turned back to the door as someone knocked.
The silence in Kira’s mind was tentative bliss.
Vylia’s eyes were wide. “Did she respond?”
“No. You?”
“No.”
“Good.” Kira stood and took a sheet from the spare bed. She wrapped the Malo stone in thick layers, careful not to touch the glittering teal surface with her bare skin. She set it back down on the dresser, hoping the barrier would muffle Lillian’s ability to see or hear them somehow.
She looked back to Vylia. “Think that’ll help?”
Vylia seemed more relaxed as she sat on the bed. “I feel better regardless. We must prevent her from deceiving anyone else.”
Kira nodded as the door creaked open behind her. She turned to see Tekkyn holding it open for Ryon, who rushed to her.
Her joy at seeing him crashed back down as she studied his features. Forehead speckled with sweat. Tight jaw. Eyes darting to the curious imperials.
“What’s wrong?” Kira whispered.
“An army is approaching,” Ryon said in a low tone. “The empire.”
Lysander inhaled the scent of soft mulch from recent rain and enjoyed the gentle breeze that tousled his hair. The blackened treetop spires of Jadenvive had disappeared into the forest hours ago, but the elation of leaving still buoyed his spirits.
He’d never thought he’d leave that city alive.
The only thing that could possibly dampen his joy was that Darkwood prince. Leading Heron to Coriander’s camp was a foolhardy security risk for the Emberhawk rebels. The Darkwood had better relations with the Emberhawk than any other tribe, and that could spell trouble for a perceived usurper like Coriander.
Regardless, Lysander didn’t have a choice, so he led the group southeast as the sun fell behind the tree line in a burst of orange and pink.
It didn’t really worry him—nothing worried him any longer. He was free, and alive, and Brooke would teach him to hear again. With a magic that surpassed his lost ability to hear in the first place.
He could hear Brooke’s thoughts every once in a while, even with the little practice he’d managed so far. Not anyone else’s, though—he assumed this was because of the aether bond he could sense between them, like a silken thread tying them together with magic of old.
Hopefully he could blame his spying on the bond i
f Brooke called him on it. He didn’t want to accidentally push her any further away than she already was, but after hearing nothing for two years, the resonance of an ethereal voice was intoxicating. He couldn’t just not listen to her whispers across the bond, whether she meant to send them or not.
The promise of power was invigorating. Better than just something to live for—it was the promise of a new life entirely. And he wouldn’t let this one go to waste.
Fun, isn’t it?
Lysander pulled on the reins of his xavi. That wasn’t Brooke’s voice.
He looked around. Brooke’s young handmaiden was smirking at him.
Do I look like a handmaiden to you? She snorted as her xavi trotted past his, its scales flashing in the leaf-shadowed light. Call me Nari.
Lysander urged his mount forward. You know thought-speak too? he wondered.
It’s kind of a basic aether skill. Nariellyn glanced back over her shoulder and looked him up and down. Brooke asked me to assess where your skills with aether are. I think I’ve heard enough to determine that.
Heat spread from Lysander’s neck to his cheeks. Your spying isn’t welcome.
Don’t like the taste of your own herbs, eh? She raised a thin eyebrow and turned back around, stray tufts of wild hair dancing around her bun with the movement. Brooke asked me to teach you some basics, too. Obviously your mental shields need some work.
Lysander glared at the back of her head. Brooke promised to teach me.
She said you chose her because she doesn’t have a beard. Nariellyn tilted her head, making a show of scratching her chin as her xavi pranced along the road, feathers bouncing on the top of its head. I don’t have a beard.
Lysander looked over his shoulder at Brooke, whose lips were pressed thin under her hood. Was she aware of this? Maybe Nariellyn was making this up . . .
You’re adorable, Nariellyn said. A wolf on the outside, a pup on the inside. He could feel her impish grin through the tenor of her thoughts. I could just tell Brooke what I’ve heard and explain why you want to learn from her, specifically.
Lysander gritted his teeth. The prince in him burned to teach her respect, but that wasn’t the person he wanted to be. And apparently, this feisty girl could provide a path to his goals as well.
Swallowing his pride felt like swallowing lava. I would be most appreciative to learn from you.
Nariellyn twisted around in her saddle to inspect him with wide eyes. After a moment, her grin returned. All right, handsome. Her pink and violet xavi slowed to come alongside him, allowing him to regain the lead. It seems you know how to sense your own aether, and Brooke’s thanks to your bond with her. But do you know how to harness it?
Once, he admitted. A long time ago.
No worries—you’ll pick it up in no time. It’s obvious you’re a natural. Nariellyn’s spritely gaze seemed admiring, drinking in the sight of him. Annoying, but something he’d grown used to years ago. Although having female attention again felt . . . nice.
The elements are like flares of the sun, and the aether abilities are dark craters of the third moon. Passion coursing through your blood versus whispers in the back of your mind.
Lysander felt like he was a kid again, back in magics class. I know that; I can feel them both. But the difference between sensing aether and controlling it is like seeing a plume of smoke and trying to grasp it.
Hmm. Nariellyn scratched her whiskerless chin. That could be your problem: seeing is simply observing, but feeling is more of a connection. You need to focus on your aether more deeply, then use your will to command it.
Lysander closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of recent rain. Felt the bouncing of the saddle. Discerned the coil of anxiety in his chest. They should make camp for nightfall soon. Then hit the border by lunch tomorrow.
Perhaps now was not the best opportunity to clear one’s mind.
It’s all right, Nariellyn said. Just practice whenever you think about it. No one becomes an aethryn overnight.
Lysander opened his eyes and corrected his xavi’s wandering path. Thanks.
Something moved in the underbrush beside the road. Lysander hastily reached for his bow as a gold and white gryphon burst through the tree line.
“Sorrel?” Joy burst through Lysander as he leaped off the xavi and ran between the gryphon and the drawn weapons of Dimbae and Soaring Heron’s guard. “It’s okay—she’s mine!”
The gryphon leaped and raced to Lysander, crouching in a playful stance. Lionlike claws dug into the road as a grin seemed to break across her beak. The tuft of her tail twitched in the air like a frisky cat’s. If house cats were the size of horses.
Lysander tackled her in a furry hug. “Were you here the whole time, you rascal? You should have gone back to Granny Zelle’s!”
Sorrel’s mane bristled, her feathers standing on end. Golden eyes stared pointedly at his xavi.
“Aww, don’t be jealous, girl. He was awful.” Lysander rubbed behind her ears. “Worst mount ever. Bumpy and scaly and dumb as a slug.”
The gryphon flopped onto her back in a flurry of feathers and tossed about happily.
I assume it’s tame? Brooke’s voice flitted through his mind as she hopped down from her saddle and stretched.
“Very,” Lysander said as he petted Sorrel’s belly. “For me, at least.”
Soaring Heron said something as he rubbed his lower back, and Dimbae slid from his alpha xavi to lumber off into the woods.
We should make camp for the night, Brooke said. Dimbae will find a spot for us far enough from the road. Bandits may have grown bold in light of recent events.
Lysander nodded while Sorrel purred, sending familiar vibrations through the sound waves around him. He nuzzled into her fur and didn’t care to hide his affection and contentment. He’d raised the gryphon since she was a clumsy, fluffy chick, and now she was a graceful and intimidating presence more than double his size. How many years had it been?
Her adoring faithfulness had helped him survive Zamara’s abuse and the loss of his hearing. The great beast didn’t understand or care that he couldn’t hear any more. She was a constant source of joy and love, oblivious to the troubles of the world and utterly carefree.
With her at his side again, everything suddenly seemed better.
A flash of light from the forest caught Lysander’s eye. He thought he saw a pair of glowing green eyes before they vanished behind a shadowed birch.
Felix?
Vylia opened her eyes, but it only invited her pounding heartbeat to join the cacophony.
Not again.
The screaming grew louder. Closer. Sounds of battle reverberated through the Great Hall’s thick fortifications.
It was like she should have died in the fires, but had awoken to a living nightmare instead. Nothing seemed true—only real enough to be horrifying.
“Let me out,” Ryon said to the guards, who’d moved inside the room for cover and barred the door.
“No,” said a man whose blue mask bore more intricate markings than the other.
“I bear the chief’s seal.” Ryon showed a signet ring on his hand, but the guards didn’t look. Didn’t respond.
Sousuke paced from the guards to the window and back again, his hand on his sword hilt.
“Sit down,” Vylia ordered for the third time in as many minutes. “You’re wasting the little strength you have.”
Again, he ignored her.
“The chieftess gave me her authority until she returns,” Ryon said. “Stand aside! I need my bow.”
“Brooke’s gone?” Kira blurted.
The masked men glanced at each other. “Our authority surpasses the chief’s in combat situations,” one of them said. “Since you are now in leadership, you will not be permitted to engage the enemy.”
Ryon chuffed. “What if the enemy does permit it? I need my weapon!” He switched to the Phoeran language but got no response.
Thick silence flooded the room as the sounds outside drew nea
rer. Cries of pain. Shouts of command. Thundering footsteps.
The guards exchanged another glance.
Vylia couldn’t remain on her bed any longer. She stood with effort, and Sousuke jumped to her side to hold her arm. He looked barely able to support his own weight, yet his grip was steady and firm.
“Did Brooke make it out of the city?” Vylia asked, breathless.
The guards either didn’t hear her or didn’t respond, but they’d seemed to understand the Malaano she’d spoken before.
She took a deep breath and asked again, channeling her desperation into her voice. “Is Brooke safe?”
“We believe so,” one of the guards murmured. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. She assigned her own guard to you before she left. We are the most elite warriors among the tribes, and there are more of us than you can see. I swear by the creator, we will keep you safe.”
“That’s not my concern.” Vylia closed her eyes and gripped Sousuke’s arm tighter. “They’re here for me. Give me over to them, and your city will be—”
“No,” Sousuke snapped. “They think you’re dead. They’re here to take the city. Like vultures.”
“They are our people,” Vylia whispered. “If I reveal myself, they’ll stop this madness.”
“You know that’s not true. You heard Aoko.” Sousuke tapped the bandage on his wounded shoulder, where the traitor’s blade had pierced. “I’m sorry, Vy, but your father wants you dead.”
His words cut into her, and yet she felt numb. Her gut said he was right, but her heart said she should do everything in her power to stop the sounds of suffering.
They’d already lost too much.
“It’s worth the risk,” she said.
“Your sacrifice would accomplish nothing,” Kira said before Sousuke could retort. She knelt to catch Vylia’s downturned gaze. “We have all been assigned to protect and help you, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
“This is my fault.” Vylia squeezed her eyes shut against a sudden overflow of tears. “Can’t you hear it? People are dying because of me.”
“No,” Sousuke said. He took her arm and drew her close as if to emphasize his words with the distance between them. “Because of the emperor.”