Silverblood

by Jamie Foley

  Brooke choked on her own breath. “He’s alive?”

  “For now.” Felix’s voice warped as his form grew suddenly. Wings burst forth and his neck extended. Thousands of scales shot out of his fur and slicked back into a dragon’s visage.

  He picked up Dimbae’s limp form carefully with his clawed feet, spreading his wings for balance. “Pick up the keystone and let’s go before you both die of old age.”

  Sunlight filtered through transparent glass windows and glowed across Selene’s perfect skin. Lysander said something clever, and she threw the bed sheets at him. She rolled her eyes and turned away, but he caught her smile.

  He couldn’t hear her retort, but it was certainly clever. She was always clever. Smarter than him, which he hated about other people, but Selene was an exception. She was to be his queen.

  But somehow, he knew it was not to be. Foggy memories invaded to ruin his perfect dream. Zamara threatening him. His refusal. Selene’s blood mixing with syn and running silver down the palace steps.

  His father never would have let him marry a commoner, anyway.

  Suddenly the silver blood was in Lysander’s gut. Making him sick. He twisted to try and push it away somehow. It congealed into silver worms, wriggling and biting and spreading to every part of him.

  It was his blood. His royal, elemental blood that had killed her.

  He should have been born a commoner. Or obeyed Zamara from the outset. Then his love and his mother wouldn’t have had to die.

  Queen Dierdre’s face appeared. Smiling, then melting into the scowl of a silver monster.

  The worms began eating him from the inside out.

  Lysander screamed himself awake.

  The nightmare evaporated, but still his heart raced. Still nausea twisted his gut.

  He moaned and opened his eyes. Midday sun beat down on him unhindered. White fur tickled his nose. Sorrel glared at him from the corner of a golden eye.

  Lysander cleared his throat and patted her feathery mane. “Sorry.”

  Sorrel gave a huge sigh and flopped her head back to the ground in dramatic fashion. Her eyes closed and her breathing felt steady beneath him.

  Lysander squinted against the light and looked around. Sorrel’s slender body curled around him. He lay on the ground and rested his head on the gryphon’s belly, but he was covered with a colorful quilt. The soft fabric smelled of jasmine.

  Exactly like Granny Zelle—formerly Queen Lyzelle, wife of King Corynath and Queen Mother to King Brynn. Grandmother to Lysander, his siblings, and Ryon and his sister Aegwyn.

  Lysander inhaled the sweet floral scent and breathed out. He couldn’t believe he was alive, and yet the warmth on his skin, the smells of the jungle, the piercing sun, and the writhing nausea in his gut assured him that he wasn’t dead.

  He craned his neck to look behind him. The peak of Corynath and Lyzelle’s pyramid rose through the green life—he recognized it by the ruby sculpture of a phoenix that graced its zenith.

  Lysander patted Sorrel’s rump. “You did it, girl.”

  She raised her head again and blinked sleepy eyes at him, her long feathered tail flicking in annoyance.

  Lysander dug into the treat pouch on his belt and emptied the entirety of fish jerky into his hand. He grimaced at the smell, but fish were Sorrel’s favorite.

  The gryphon leaped up, pranced around him in circles, and crooned loud enough for him to hear faintly as she stretched her wings. Her giant head nuzzled him in the armpit, and he ruffled her feathers as she swallowed chunks of her favorite snack whole.

  But the nausea threatened to ruin Lysander’s joy. He understood now why he’d dreamed of worms in his stomach—it was overpowering. He couldn’t decide whether to throw up or put himself to sleep with fadeleaf.

  A figure approached from the direction of the pyramid. It was short with a messy bun of silver hair.

  “Granny Zelle!” Lysander called. “Don’t come too close—I think I’m going to vomit.”

  The hunched figure turned back around and disappeared.

  Lysander closed his eyes and tried to focus, but it just made it worse. Why didn’t he feel the soreness or headache that usually came from dreamthistle poisoning? What on Alani had she given him?

  “Here you gooooo!” Granny Zelle hand-signed the last word as if she were singing upon her return. She came close and handed him a thick slice of ginger, her purple dress swishing its silver embroidery as she moved. “Munch on this. Or, if you can’t stand it, I’ll make a tea, but it’ll take a few minutes.”

  Lysander stuffed the ginger in his mouth and reeled from the taste. He pulled it back out and forced himself to chew on a smaller bite. “Thanks, Granny.”

  She smacked him on the top of the head with her walking stick. He recoiled and nearly choked on the ginger.

  “When I said come visit more often, I didn’t mean have your gryphon drop off your lifeless body on my doorstep!”

  Lysander smiled sheepishly, hoping the innocent look he’d used as a boy would get him out of it. “Sorry. Being poisoned wasn’t really a part of the plan.”

  Granny Zelle harrumphed, and her hand-language flowed fast and sharp. “So your plan was to stay out for even longer until you were forced to make a pit stop, hmm?”

  “No, I was in jail in Jadenvive, and then I got out and went to see Cori—”

  He cut off when Granny Zelle brandished her cane again. He sat up, raised an arm in defense, and forced himself to swallow the ginger.

  She leaned her cane on her hip to sign once again. “How about a ‘thank you for saving my life?’ Do you have any idea how many years I lost at the stress of seeing my dead grandson flop at my feet?”

  “I did say thank you!”

  “Do you have any idea how much those treatments cost? You’re lucky I brought you back to life so I could kill you again!” She raised the cane higher.

  “Sorry! Thank you! I’m sorry!” Lysander couldn’t stop a smile as Sorrel paced nervously behind him.

  Granny Zelle’s flame-orange eyes narrowed as she examined him. “Feeling better yet?”

  Lysander took another bite of ginger. “A good distraction. Thank you.” The nausea returned as his attention returned to it. “Put that thing down before you hurt someone.”

  Granny Zelle sank to his level and grabbed him in a hug. Finally she released him and signed, “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”

  Lysander pulled her back into another hug, careful of her frail frame. “I’m really sorry,” he said. “Thank you for saving me.”

  “Of course, my dear.” Granny Zelle sat back on the soft grass. “What happened? Thank the stars you have some resistance to dreamthistle. See, I told you all that gardening would pay off one day.”

  Lysander waited patiently for her to finish signing and spelling out the long sentence, grateful for something else to focus on. Still, he should probably teach her some more common hand gestures. “And the Darkwood prince is obviously no professional assassin.”

  The wrinkles around Granny Zelle’s brows stretched as her eyes opened wide. “Soaring Heron?”

  Lysander nodded. “We weren’t exactly fast friends. I think he was jealous of my relationship with the Katrosi chieftess.”

  “His fiancée, yeah?” She stared at him, locked in that wide-eyed position. “You’re referring to him in the past.”

  Lysander swallowed hard and munched on the last bite of ginger. “I didn’t really have a choi—”

  “Sander! What did I tell you about killing people?”

  “He was assaulting Brooke! And I didn’t have any antidote left so I thought I was going to die. I avenged myself.”

  Granny Zelle blew out a breath as she shakily pushed to her feet. “Did you get away with it?”

  “I don’t know; I was kind of dying.”

  She looked at her cane as if she wanted to threaten him with it again, but hand-signing was faster with both hands. “This could be really bad, you know. You’d better hop
e the chieftess will sweep it under the rug for you.”

  “I’m sure she . . .” Lysander trailed off. He wasn’t sure of anything, actually. Brooke had been really upset when he’d killed those border guards to keep their mission a secret. Of course she’d be livid that he’d killed her fiancé. She’d already given him a verbal lashing, even if those memories were dripping with poison.

  Hand signs flew in front of his face. “You like her?”

  Lysander snapped back to the present and found Granny Zelle watching him with an excited expression.

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t remember saying that.”

  “You do like her! Since when?” She was practically dancing. “And now she’s single again, yeah?” She stopped abruptly and her jaw dropped open. “Is that why you killed Heron?”

  “No! She—”

  “Good, because that would be very selfish and bad.”

  Lysander deflated. “It doesn’t matter—she hates me now. I’ve ruined everything politically for her. And maybe doomed the entire Tribal Alliance.” He forced himself to swallow the last of the ginger. “If she figures out I’m alive, she’ll probably drag me back to her jail and have me tried for murder. Again.”

  Granny Zelle frowned. “You weren’t involved in the attack on Jadenvive, were you?”

  Nausea unbalanced Lysander even though he was sitting, but he could tell its grip on him was beginning to lessen. “I tried to stop it. But Zamara is dead. That’s all that matters.”

  Granny’s signs slowed. “You said the chieftess hates you now?” She emphasized the final word with large, exaggerated gestures.

  Lysander wondered if everyone’s grandmothers were this perceptive. Or if he were just that easy to read.

  But he really didn’t want to have this conversation with her. It hurt too much. He needed to go somewhere alone to think and process what had happened. Once he could stand up.

  “What in Zoth did you give me?”

  “Everything I could think of to try and save you. Several of the herbs and minerals were pretty strong.” Granny Zelle squatted closer to him. “I’m so glad to finally see emotion on your face again. I just wish it were something more positive.” She reached out a soft hand and touched his cheek. “Whatever the situation is, there is always hope. I’m here whenever you’re ready to talk.”

  “Thank you.” Lysander tried to stand, then thought better of it. “How long has it been? Is it almost time for a meal? I’m starving.”

  “First you can haul your gargantuan body to a bed. I’ll bring you your favorite stew, but not as spicy as normal.” Granny Zelle eyed him sidelong and tapped her cane on the ground as she straightened. “Then if you’re feeling up to it tomorrow, you can see Sorrel’s eggs!”

  Lysander brushed dirt from the quilt and looked proudly at Sorrel. He’d almost forgotten about her nest nearby. “I didn’t miss the hatching, did I?”

  “Not yet! You might be just in time.”

  “You look like you swallowed a pufferfish.”

  Vylia turned her glare from the waiting room’s tapestry of a snowy mountain to Sousuke as he slouched on the bench across from her. “What does that mean? I look like I’m dying?”

  “You look generally unhappy,” Sousuke said.

  Vylia realized her bottom lip jutted out. She pulled it back in. “I just don’t appreciate being ordered about.”

  “Did Oda’e order us here?”

  “He might as well have. I have a feeling he would have if I’d refused. As if he has any authority to tell me what to do,” Vylia muttered.

  Sousuke considered her with a look on his face akin to amusement. “Maybe it’s for your safety.”

  If he said that word one more time, she’d slap him. “What would be safe would be us getting on the road, away from the keystone as fast as possible!”

  “That’s true, but Oda’e let us take a priceless glass-gold artifact and is giving us provisions, men, and a new carriage,” Sousuke said. “The least we can do is give him one last meeting before we leave for Sekoiako.”

  Vylia crossed her arms over her tunic. The fact that it wasn’t as soft as her usual silks fueled her annoyance.

  The new carriage was a shack on wheels compared to her own, which she’d taken from My’Eyah. Even though it hadn’t been damaged in the Emberhawk attack or the Malaano invasion, it was too recognizable. Taking it was out of the question.

  She barely prevented herself from asking if they could just paint her carriage so she could relax on the cushioned seats all the way to the coast. But even then the impeccable woodwork would be obvious. And they didn’t have time for a paint job.

  Vylia blew out a tight breath. “That’s true, but he’s kept us waiting for—”

  “Princess?” A guard poked his head in through the cracked door. “The Commander is ready to see you now.”

  “Good.” Vylia stood and blew past Sousuke in a flurry of fabric from her skirt. She knew she was acting like a princess, but she was a princess, and this was her last opportunity to be treated like one. Being “normal” wasn’t so much fun after all.

  Inside the map room, she recognized both Ulysses and Oda’e. The Commander looked relieved as she entered and ushered all others out of the room. More guards than usual stood at attention outside.

  Unease settled in Vylia’s stomach as she observed the guards’ behavior. They didn’t seem as bored as usual. Hurried, perhaps. Agitated?

  She returned a nod from Ulysses as she approached the standing table. “What’s going on?” she asked Oda’e.

  “Are we ready?” Oda’e quietly asked a decorated soldier.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Light the purifying fire,” Oda’e said.

  The soldier bowed and left. The guards moved aside for him, and the door shut with the solid thud of a locking mechanism.

  Vylia’s unease doubled. She looked at Sousuke. His jaw was clenched tight.

  “I apologize for the secrecy.” Oda’e removed his helmet and leaned against the table, his shoulders slouching. “We are purifying the city of those who remain loyal to the empire.”

  Vylia opened her mouth but no sound emerged for two heartbeats. “Already?”

  Oda’e nodded. “Many of my men were willing to join the resistance when questioned—even more than we anticipated. Thankfully, we are in the majority. The stars smile upon us.”

  “What will you do with those who refuse to join you?” Sousuke asked in a low tone.

  “The jail will be quite crowded for a little while,” Oda’e said, pointing to a portion of a map that Vylia couldn’t see from her perspective. “We may convince a few more to stay after they see our numbers. Those who don’t join will be returned to Navarro.”

  “Are we to stay here for several days, then?” Vylia asked, trying to keep the bite out of her voice. He’d basically imprisoned her in this love-forsaken room.

  “Oh, no,” Oda’e said. “It shouldn’t take long at all. We’ve planned it quite thoroughly.” He offered a weary grin. “I know you’re eager to get on the road. But please remain here until the dust settles. We believe the emperor wants all of his people to believe you are dead, but still, any soldier loyal to him could have secretly received orders to do you harm.”

  Vylia frowned but nodded. She didn’t have half a clue what was true regarding her father any more, so she had no grounds to argue.

  It didn’t matter any more. The only thing she could focus on was returning the Malo stone to the temple as fast as possible.

  Oda’e pivoted to Ulysses, who stood like a shadow on the opposite side of the table. “Has there been any sign of Brooke?” Oda’e asked.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Ulysses said. “She was in Emberhawk territory. She must have fled just before the invasion.” Deep creases accentuated his furrowed brow. “No one took her for an honorless coward who would abandon us in our darkest hour.”

  “No, that’s . . .” Vylia swallowed to clear the pinch in her throat. “That�
�s not right. She told me she had to leave because one of your elders told her to.”

  Ulysses turned sunken eyes to her. Studied her. “That doesn’t make sense. The elder would have told us. Unless . . .” He fell silent for a solemn moment. Then he turned back to Oda’e. “The report also claims that Brooke had the Darkwood prince killed because she wanted to marry another. And that she was plotting against the Emberhawk queen at a rebel camp in the jungle.” Ulysses rubbed the back of his neck. “The camp was besieged by the queen’s forces, and that’s the last anyone saw Brooke. Although I don’t believe the Emberhawk captured or killed her, or we’d have heard them boasting of it by now.”

  Vylia’s mind spun with the influx of horrid news. It all sounded so awful she didn’t know where to start with a response in defense of Brooke.

  But she’d only known the chieftess for a few days. Was it possible that any of those accusations were true?

  “Troubling.” The chainmail under Oda’e’s armor clanked as he shifted. “How likely is it that all of this is accurate?”

  “The source was Soaring Heron’s bodyguard, Long Root. He carried Soaring Heron’s body and broken feathers from Brooke’s headdress.” Ulysses released a heavy sigh. “Personally, it doesn’t ring true to me. But it doesn’t matter what I think; the elders have made their decision.”

  Vylia’s gut tangled at his inflection. “Decision?”

  “I am to be chief until new trials can be run,” Ulysses said.

  Vylia glanced at Sousuke, whose face had fallen grim. “But what if Brooke returns?” she asked.

  “Then I’d be glad to see her alive, and I’d like to hear her side of the story,” Ulysses said, “but she has been removed as chief.”

  The room fell quiet enough for Vylia to hear footsteps thudding down the hall. Sadness fell over her heart like the last autumn leaf. Somehow, she felt that Brooke was innocent. But then again, so was she, and her life was also in shambles.

  Why was life so cruel?

  A knock on the door made Vylia jump. The guards exchanged whispers before finally unlocking the door and opening it.