Silverblood

by Jamie Foley

  Brooke huffed a laugh. All right, then. How can I buy another ticket?

  An awkward smirk grew across Lysander’s face. “You can solve my riddles.”

  She couldn’t determine whether or not he was serious. Riddles?

  “Mmm. I wager a mind like yours shouldn’t have trouble with them.”

  How odd. Yet she enjoyed riddles and puzzles. And if she got them wrong, she’d have an excuse not to admit to him that letting those border guards go probably would have endangered Coriander’s people and compromised everything. She also didn’t want to admit that it was her own fault for not going further up the river and using Phoera to ensure they were undetected.

  Riddles were a much better alternative. She had the time, for once. Why not?

  Let’s hear them, then. How many?

  “Just three.” Lysander tossed the stripped twigs into the creek and set his pestle to their leaves.

  “What lives, breathes, moves, and eats

  But has no heart, lungs, feet, or teeth?”

  Too easy, Brooke thought to him. Fire.

  Lysander nodded. “We’re just getting warmed up.”

  “What shines without light

  Hides in plain sight

  Turning, yearning

  To match its siblings in flight?”

  Brooke lowered her cup to sit on her knees and rapped her fingers on the glazed clay. Perhaps some form of water that reflected light? No . . .

  A cloud? she guessed.

  Lysander’s expression grew devilish. “Nope.”

  Brooke pursed her lips. Some kind of shiny winged insect? A firefly?

  He shook his head. “Think nighttime.”

  No, don’t give hints—ah. Brooke snapped her fingers. The third moon! The dark one.

  “Yes.” Lysander carefully poured the crushed leaves into a vial of golden liquid. “Okay, last riddle. Give me a second.” He looked up at the vines hanging from trees above, appearing to rehearse in his head. “And no thought-spying.”

  Brooke couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of that herself. Though it would have ruined all the fun.

  She took another luxurious drink of tea as she waited and shifted on her stone seat. It felt so nice to have nothing hanging between them. No more shadows of negative emotions weighing her down at the sight of him. Sure, she’d probably have to struggle with her old grudge again at some point in the future, but for now she actually found herself enjoying this time with him. His work was intriguing to watch, and so was he. She hadn’t known many Valinorians in her life, and none recently. The contrast between his dark hair and light skin was . . . aesthetic. Even his pointed ears, though created with a cruel scar, were unique and somehow attractive.

  Maroon eyes glanced up at Brooke, and she nearly swallowed her tongue.

  “Okay. Are you ready?”

  She cleared her throat and nodded.

  “Who defends the weak

  Rewards the meek

  Tames the wildest heart

  Dances the swiftest art

  With beauty fierce and bold

  And legacy forever told?”

  The creator, Brooke answered instantly. I thought the last one was supposed to be the hardest.

  “Wrong.”

  She frowned. But every description fits Aeo. “The swiftest art” is creation.

  “Well . . .” Lysander tilted his head. “So is your spear kata.”

  Brooke sat dumbstruck. No, it’s not.

  Lysander laughed. “I wrote it.”

  Then . . . does he mean . . . ?

  Lysander wore an amused grin. “It’s you.”

  It must be a joke. That riddle fit her like a tunic fit a mudhoof. But Lysander’s expression was serious, yet lighthearted. Unwavering. Unapologetic.

  Something bloomed inside her. Something tentative and awkward and delightful. Something intoxicating and terrifying and forbidden.

  Suddenly she knew why it was described as having balembas in the stomach.

  A lifetime of training in speechcraft failed her. She could negotiate trade deals, arbitrate for peace, and debate for justice. But now she had no idea how to respond.

  She set the cup down, stood, and left without a word.

  It took all of Kira’s self-control to walk with her back straight. Shoulders squared. Chin high. As if she wasn’t terrified of the imperial soldiers who guarded every platform, ramp, and rope bridge. As though the haunted emptiness of Jadenvive didn’t feel entirely surreal. As if she belonged there.

  She was one of them, after all.

  “Breathe, Frizz,” Tekkyn said behind her. “I’ve already arranged for us to talk with Dad. No one’ll stop you.”

  Mentally, she knew that. But her heart refused to believe that their father was the man to blame for all of this suffering. With every step she took toward the Great Hall, her blood pounded harder, coursing dread through her veins.

  “Is it really him?” she whispered.

  “Remember what I told you about him a few weeks ago?” Tekkyn murmured. “All’s well.”

  How could he even utter such a phrase when they were surrounded by such devastation? The invasion hadn’t caused that much more damage to Jadenvive, but the taverns and restaurants were still blackened and charred, the workshops empty or collapsed, and the homes felt like prisons for their own families with patrols everywhere. The people had focused more on healing the wounded and scavenging fire-scarred crops before reconstruction could begin. Now Kira wasn’t sure the city would ever recover to its former glory.

  But she knew what Tekkyn meant, and why he wouldn’t repeat it out loud. He’d said their father was with the Navakovrae Resistance. An organization of Malaano settlers to the tribal lands who were no longer loyal to the empire. A rumored band of rebels who opposed the high taxation and being forced to fight the empire’s wars.

  If that were true, though, then why had Oda’e captured a tribal city in the emperor’s name?

  “This way.”

  Kira snapped out of her musing at a guard’s beckoning. She looked up, and her apprehension drained to her feet, rooting her in place before the ornately carved double doors of the Great Hall.

  Heavens help me.

  Tekkyn took her arm and gently but firmly led her beside him.

  The Hall was just as she’d remembered—thick wooden pillars supporting an impossibly high ceiling and wide stairs leading up to a throne flanked by long tables. But the braziers were unlit, the guards wore metal helms and tabards instead of masks and leathers, and the chief’s throne was empty.

  Kira closed her eyes for a moment and steadied herself. I killed a goddess. I can face my father.

  Why did this feel so much harder?

  The guard led them to the back rooms, which she remembered for the joyful reunion with Ryon just days ago. Now the halls were dark, empty, and silent.

  Kira pulled her cloak tighter around herself as she followed Tekkyn. The Katrosi didn’t deserve this. Hitting them before they’d had a chance to recover . . . It was brutal. Undignified. Unfair.

  Their guide peeked his head inside the war room, hesitated, whispered something Kira couldn’t hear, then opened the door for them to enter.

  It wasn’t one of the elders or the chieftess who leaned over the map table, but their father. Towering muscular frame, dark skin, silver plate armor, and ocean-blue eyes, which Kira and Tekkyn had inherited.

  Oda’e’s rigid stance melted as he saw them. He grew a weary smile and opened his arms.

  Kira crashed into his breastplate and gripped him tight, though her hands couldn’t meet behind his thick back.

  “Dad.” Tears came unabated. She couldn’t stop them.

  She didn’t want to ask the question she didn’t want the answer for. “Why?”

  Kira was vaguely aware of Oda’e motioning for the guards to leave and the soft sound of the door closing. “Baby girl,” he murmured, hugging her back gently. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Commander,” Tekky
n said with a bow.

  Kira could hear the disapproval in her father’s voice even before he spoke. “We are alone.”

  “May I speak freely, then?” Tekkyn whispered.

  Kira felt Oda’e nod as she refused to let him go. “The former rulers of the city used to discuss their plans in this room. It should be safe against eavesdropping as long as the door is fully closed.”

  “Can I confirm it?” Tekkyn asked.

  “My guards have,” Oda’e said. “They are trustworthy.”

  Kira shut her eyes, squeezing more tears free. “Former rulers?” She pulled away and looked up at her father’s stern face. “So you’re the new chief, huh?”

  Oda’e’s azure gaze dimmed. “Only temporarily. I—”

  “How could you?” Kira’s voice broke. “We’ve been fearing war all this time, and now that it finally happens, it’s you?”

  “This was set into motion months ago,” the commander said in a low tone. “I would have been court-martialed had I refused. But this places us in a good position. With—”

  Kira slammed her palm into the colorful shell fragments that decorated his left breast, indicating rank. “Better you be court-martialed than for all these people to lose their lives!”

  Tekkyn grabbed her from behind, but Oda’e said, “Let her go.” He leaned down to look close into Kira’s eyes. “That’s exactly why I did it,” he whispered. “With me in command, I could ensure the lowest loss of life and the least destruction.”

  A tear ran cold down Kira’s hot cheek. “It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

  “I agree, but that wasn’t our choice.” Oda’e gently touched her face with a gauntleted hand. She flinched but didn’t move.

  “I need you to keep a secret,” he whispered. “One that could get us all killed.”

  Kira swallowed hard, but only a fraction of her anger and hurt were buried with it. She nodded.

  “This is the first big play by the Navakovrae Resistance. I will protect the civilians and weed out the soldiers loyal to the empire as we settle in.” Oda’e’s eyes flashed with something akin to determination or excitement—she couldn’t tell which. “Then we will reveal ourselves, declare our independence, and give control of the city back to the Katrosi in hopes of forging an alliance with the tribes. With luck, the chieftess will allow Jadenvive to become the home of the Resistance and serve as a safe haven for any Navakovrae who wish to cross the border to flee the imperial tyranny.”

  Kira blinked at him as his words sank in. Surely she hadn’t heard him right. “You want to just . . . give the city back to the Katrosi?”

  Oda’e nodded. “As soon as it’s safe. Then my Resistance soldiers will expel anyone loyal to the empire and defend the city.”

  It sounded ridiculous. Kira swiped a tear and narrowed her eyes again. “I saw countless Malaano soldiers on the way here—”

  “The majority of my men are Resistance.”

  She just stared at him. “How is that possible?”

  “We’ve been planning this for over a year now,” Tekkyn murmured as he stepped beside her, eyeing the door. “Dad’s had plenty of time to organize troop transfers for those who were found to be loyal.”

  Kira shifted her disbelief to her brother. “You knew? Before the Empire did?”

  “Taking Jadenvive was the only strategic move that made sense according to imperial tactics.” Oda’e’s expression smoothed into something peaceful—that expression he used to make before he grabbed her in a snuggle-hug or revealed a gift he’d brought home from town. “Don’t worry; everything is under control. It’s going to be all right. You’re safe.”

  She wanted to believe him, but nothing made any sense. “But isn’t the Resistance just a few farmers and ranchers? And how can you be sure your men are loyal to you instead of the empire?”

  “You know how unpopular the draft has been.” Oda’e tipped his head toward Tekkyn, who looked more like their father than ever before. “You know Tekkyn’ashi was named after a tribesman—my best friend growing up. The empire is forcing a generation of men to take up arms against their neighbors.”

  Kira frowned. “But the tribes aren’t as friendly toward us.”

  “They were a generation ago, before the empire became more aggressive in their hostilities. Do you know what Navakovrae means in the Phoeran language?”

  “Friends from the east,” Kira muttered.

  “Friends,” Oda’e repeated. “The tribes have done nothing to us but share their land, trade, and help us when we ask. They share their healers and their techniques to help survive the heat and drought. At least, the Katrosi and Roanoke do, and the Sekoiako most of the time.” He motioned toward chairs tucked beneath the table and took a seat. “The only one who wants this war is the emperor to expand his domain.”

  Kira slowly sat and tugged on the end of the bandana that held her curls at bay. “Okay, but how can the tribes and a few farmers hope to beat the Empire?”

  Tekkyn snorted. “Farmers have more strength, endurance, and skill with tools than the more ‘sophisticated’ vocations on the island and larger cities. They also have more land—more to protect—and therefore have more motivation.”

  Kira glanced at him sidelong. It was almost eerie how much he sounded like their father.

  Oda’e nodded. “Farmers and ranchers make fine soldiers. I would take a dozen of them over a hundred academics any day.”

  Kira twirled the cloth between her fingers, tickling her ear as she stared at the maps and flags on the wall in thought. “Okay, but are most of the Navakovrae Resistance actually willing to die to fight for the tribes? Because if the empire finds a traitor . . .”

  “We are fighting for our own independence, Frizz,” Tekkyn said, his aura growing fierce. “Against taxes and tyranny and bloodshed. We just want to live in peace, with representation from our own people. Leaders who could understand what it’s like to live off the land during a drought. Locals who know what a trace cat is—not some faraway beaurocrat who only cares about their shipment of ‘exotic’ jomoco and chocolate and d’hakka silk.”

  Fear slithered up Kira’s spine and coiled around her throat. She leaned forward and reached for Oda’e’s glove. “Dad, listen to his voice—it’s just like that time he ran after that trace cat that took one of our calves. He’s going to get himself killed!”

  “Hmm. But you’ve never set traps in the Gnarled Wood, fought trace cats, or chased an enemy soldier into the forest, have you?” Oda’e smirked.

  Kira stopped toying with her bandana as her mind blanked. “I . . .”

  “Some things are worth fighting for. But we have no intention of dying.” Oda’e took her hand. “Can you trust me?”

  Kira pressed her lips together. “I really want to,” she whispered. “Do you have Brooke in custody?”

  The commander shook his head. “We haven’t been able to locate her, thank the tails.”

  The tightness in Kira’s chest loosened a bit. “What about the elders?”

  Oda’e frowned. “We have four of them—they’re safe. Two are missing. And unfortunately, one didn’t make it.”

  Kira’s breath halted. “Who?”

  “The Elder of Aether. He used magic to try and stop the siege at the gate, and it must have been too much . . . He was very old.”

  Tears welled up again, but Kira blinked them back. “You said you did this so people wouldn’t die.”

  “So not as many people would die,” Oda’e said quietly. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect everyone.”

  “This is war, Frizz,” Tekkyn said softly. “There will be more, and the blood of every one of them is on the emperor’s hands.”

  She clenched her teeth. She knew she sounded naïve, but she didn’t care. One life was too many, and the loss of an elder was surely a crushing blow to the Katrosi.

  Kira glanced at her brother. Had he already told their father about Vylia—that she was alive and under their protection? Was it safe to tell him?
<
br />   Oda’e turned his attention to Tekkyn. “Is the new leader settling in well?”

  Tekkyn nodded. “Everyone seems to know Ulysses and respect him already. Spirits are a lot better, and they’re gettin’ more organized.”

  “Good,” Oda’e said as Kira’s jaw fell open. How much did he know?

  Oda’e pulled a jingling pouch from his belt and slid it across the table to Tekkyn. “If rupero isn’t worth anything at the market any more, just let me know, and I’ll have rations delivered. Get me another list of specific needs and we’ll place them at a drop-off point.”

  Kira watched her brother pocket the bulging bag. “You’re . . . supplying the refugees in the caves?”

  “Just as I feed my own troops instead of draining local resources.” Oda’e leaned back in his chair and rapped his fingertips on the charcoal map. “Even the emperor doesn’t want to devastate the region. He wants to siphon their wealth, just as he does our own, so the situation must be handled delicately.”

  Kira frowned. “Then he wants to enslave the tribes? Or tax and control them?”

  “Not sure yet. Both are probable.” Oda’e eyed her quietly for a long moment. “You don’t trust me.”

  His accusation knifed into Kira’s heart. What was he implying? “I do,” she said, but her voice constricted.

  He pressed his lips into a thin line. “I did not know about the threat to the princess until it was too late. We knew Sa’alu was going to be instrumental in manipulating a war, but never dreamed the emperor would sacrifice his own daughter.” Dark anger lit in his eyes. “Thank the tails she survived.”

  Kira’s eyes widened. So he knew everything then?

  “Her survival is more important than I can express. The Lotusfall are interested in collecting her.” Oda’e leaned forward, capturing Kira in his gaze. “Does she trust you?”

  Kira shrank. “I think so. But I’ve only known her a few days.” She glanced at Tekkyn. “The Lotusfall?”

  “A secret society from Malaan. They have been undermining the dynasty since before Pappy built the dairy. And they’re joining us.” Oda’e lowered his voice. “They believe Vylia is the key to overthrowing the emperor. She must be protected at all costs.”