by Jamie Foley
The decorated soldier returned with a bright spark in his eyes. “The purifying fire was successful, sir,” he said. “Many more have joined us. The loyalists are being marched to the jail. The city will be fully secure within the hour.”
Well, that sounded like a good thing to Vylia. Stress seemed to crack and fall from Oda’e’s features like clay casting from a mold. “The stars smile wide.” He moved to Ulysses and offered a broad hand. “Jadenvive is yours, Chief.”
Ulysses gripped Oda’e’s arm in a firm clasp. “The Katrosi will never forget this.”
“Then let us be friends once more,” Oda’e said as he pried a white lotus pin from his chestplate. “If you’ll allow Jadenvive to become the home of the Navakovrae Resistance until we can take Navarro, my men can help guard the city and aid your people in recovery.”
Vylia glared at the white lotus as Oda’e dropped it on the table. It had been the symbol of power, protection, and provision for her entire life. Her identity. Her purpose.
Seeing it fall felt like pulling a thorn from her foot.
She noticed Ulysses grin for the first time since she’d met him down in the root tunnels. The charming look of a leader. “I’m in no position to refuse,” he said.
Oda’e patted the wolf skin on Ulysses’ shoulder, then turned to Vylia. “You’re invited to stay for the celebration, Your Majesty.”
She bowed her head. “Thank you, but I really must be on my way.”
“I understand. Please wait until the loyalists are secured in the jail so they won’t see you depart. I will see you personally to your carriage.” Oda’e’s eyes softened as he looked down on her. “Give my regards to Maqua.”
Vylia couldn’t return his joy. “I will tell them of your courtesy and civility and purity of heart. But I’m afraid they will only answer you with death.”
Oda’e’s smile bared white teeth that gleamed in contrast with his dark skin. “Let them try,” he said, and Vylia saw where Kira had inherited her fire.
Kira pulled her hood further down around her face. The road twisted ahead of their cart and tired oxen. Which turn would reveal the border crossing into the Emberhawk Sovereignty? Hours ago the air had turned more humid, the vegetation thicker, and the bird calls louder. It had to be soon.
If the road got any bumpier, or her stretched any tighter, she might lose whatever she had for breakfast—she couldn’t remember what.
“That’s the seventeenth time you’ve done that.”
Kira turned to Tekkyn beside her. “Hmm?”
“Tugged on your hood like that.” He leaned back against the wooden bench that sat atop the wagon’s front. “If you don’t relax, there’s no chance they’ll buy our story.”
“Not all of us are professional spies, okay?” Kira flicked the reins against the backs of the two bulls. “Could you have picked a cover that didn’t involve us hauling a load of junk? The oxen are so slow . . .”
“Not sure what other kinda story you could pull, Frizz,” Tekkyn said. “Thought this would be most natural for you ’cause of the trade runs you used to make to Navarro from home.”
“This is a little different,” Kira muttered. “Lee would have taken buffalo for such a heavy load. And I don’t even know half of what’s in the back, so how am I supposed to sell it?”
She regretted mentioning their little brother as soon as his name escaped her lips. The wound was still raw for both of them. And she knew she was complaining when she shouldn’t be. But every passing minute without Ryon stabbed at her anxiety like a cattle prod. Where was he now? Had they reached Quin’Zamar? How long ago?
“Just let me do the talkin’, then.” Tekkyn’s voice lowered and softened. “Try to be calm. Don’t look ’em in the eyes if you can’t control your face.”
Kira’s heart seized as a wooden structure came into view. An encampment, a bridge over a wide river, and flags waving in the wind: green with a brown tree for the Katrosi tribe.
Tekkyn reached for the reins, and Kira handed them over. She gripped the edge of the bench she sat on and sent a garbled prayer that was more emotion than it was words.
“We’ve got this,” her brother whispered. “There is nothing illegal about visiting another nation for trade. Relax.”
“All right,” Kira breathed. She decided to trust him. He’d served under Sa’alu for how long? Two years? And spied for the Resistance the entire time without getting caught. Surely he had the skill to get them safely across the border.
A guard dressed in Katrosi leathers and an amber mask held up a hand as they approached. “What’s your business?” he asked in Phoeran.
“Trade,” Tekkyn responded.
The guard walked to the back of their cart, lifted the sheet covering their barrels and crates full of wares, and shook his head. “Not a good time to be making deals with Emberhawk filth.”
“People still need to eat,” Tekkyn said. “I’ve got buffalo jerky and the best cherry jam you’ll ever taste. Want some?”
The man harrumphed and waved them along. “Watch your backs.”
Tekkyn nodded and snapped the reins.
Kira finally released a breath as the wagon’s wheels creaked against the boards of the bridge. The flags ahead were different colors: blood red with a sunflower yellow phoenix.
“See? Piece of cake,” Tekkyn whispered.
“The hard part hasn’t started yet,” Kira murmured back. She straightened her back to gaze at the current over the guard rails. The River Mossu. Its flow seemed cloudier and more sluggish than it had further north at the Roanoke camp.
A guard in golden armor with a feathered helmet moved to the center of the bridge, and Tekkyn pulled back on the oxen. They stopped once again, chomping at their bits and eyeing the river with wide eyes.
“Hail,” the Emberhawk called. His eyes roved over them, and Kira looked down and hunched her shoulders. “What wares do you offer?”
“Many delicious and luxurious things,” Tekkyn called. “Buffalo jerky, cherry jam, hides and wax—”
“Do you have any rice?”
Tekkyn hesitated and Kira cringed. Of course real traders from Malaan would have rice to trade—the cheap export from overseas was a delicacy this far west. But Oda’e hadn’t been able to spare enough from his troops’ rations to sell their disguise.
“Fresh out, I’m afraid. The Katrosi were starvin’.”
The guard’s expression was flat and dry as the plains. “Then I’m afraid we have no need of you.”
Tekkyn balked. “You don’t even wanna look through our—”
“No need,” the guard said. “We’ve already plenty of trade for everything except rice. I’ve orders not to let unnecessary travelers in, and I don’t recognize you as one of the regulars.”
“I’m not just sellin’. I’ve got silver to trade for chocolate and spices.”
“Do you have any syn to trade?”
“I might,” Tekkyn said.
The guard waved for them to back up with a sigh. “Safe journeys.”
“I said I might! Give me a second to—”
“Is there a problem?”
Kira looked over her shoulder at the unknown voice. A young woman in a travelling cloak came up swiftly beside them on a xavi. Her long silver braid whipped around her as she pulled her beast to a stop.
The guard glanced from her to Tekkyn and back again. “Are you a member of this party?”
“I am Aegwyn, niece of King Brynn, cousin of Queen Illiana, and sister of the soon-to-be King Idryon.”
Kira nearly swallowed her tongue. Her future sister-in-law looked a lot different when she wasn’t surrounded by orphans and the hem of her dress wasn’t dyed brown from root-tunnel mud. And she’d never heard her use such an authoritative voice before!
The guard squinted at her. “Is that so?”
Aegwyn nodded. “It seems you aren’t admitting my people entrance.”
Bewilderment crossed the guard’s face. “Your people?”
Aegwyn’s xavi stretched, and she expertly shifted her balance. “They are my slaves.”
Kira hoped her hood hid her shock as she ducked further into it in disgust. She curled her lips inward to keep from rejecting the claim outright.
The guard stared at her. “I see no chains.”
“Because they are well-behaved and slavery is illegal in Katrosi,” Aegwyn said matter-of-factly. “Were you unaware?”
The Emberhawk frowned. “Forgive me, Lady Aegwyn, but I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting you before and therefore cannot confirm that you speak truth by recognizing you. It’s my understanding that you’ve lived in Katrosi lands for many years.”
“That is true. But upon seeing my cousin Illiana in Jadenvive, she convinced me to return.” Aegwyn held out her wrist, and a glass-gold bangle slipped down to gleam across the back of her hand.
The guard’s eyes bulged as Kira hid her own bracelet further up the sleeve of her cloak. Aegwyn’s looked identical to the one Ryon had given her. Their father must have had them both forged from the same elemental jewelsmith.
“My apologies, my lady.” The guard bowed low, bouncing the long red feathers in his helmet. He stepped aside to allow the cart room to pass. “Do you require an escort to Quin’Zamar?”
“That’s not necessary,” Aegwyn said as she urged her xavi forward, which daintily trotted past.
Tekkyn snapped the reins, and the oxen jolted forward, nearly sending Kira tumbling into the crates behind.
They kept quiet and followed the road until Kira was certain she would burst. Finally, Aegwyn looked around and stopped long enough for the cart to catch up with her.
“Sorry about that,” Aegwyn said in the gentle voice from Kira’s memory.
“What are you doing here?” Kira whispered even though no other soul was in sight.
“Did you think I would just let them take my brother? I’m disappointed you didn’t ask me to come along.”
Kira sat speechless for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you were the type.”
“What type? The adventurous type? The rescuing type? The fighting type?” Aegwyn flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Well, I might be an orphan tender, but aren’t you a farm girl?” she asked with a challenging gleam in her eye that reminded Kira of Ryon.
Kira couldn’t help but grin. “I can’t argue with that.”
“Thanks for savin’ our tails back there,” Tekkyn said. “Although I would make a terrible slave, so don’t expect world-class service.”
Aegwyn laughed. “I would never. It was just the best thing I could think of to get you out of that mess.” Her xavi sniffed at the fan-shaped leaves on the side of the road, and she gave it some slack in the reins. “If Quin’Zamar is anything like it was when I left, most Malo-heritage people in the city are slaves, so unfortunately it makes for the best cover for you two.”
A righteous flame lit in Kira’s heart. She’d only seen a few slaves upon her visits to Navarro, but the stories she heard weren’t good. “How many slaves are there?”
“Not many. And it’s not just Malo people; there are also Emberhawk who couldn’t pay their debts, and I heard there used to be a few slaves taken from Valinor before Queen Dierdre married the late king.”
Kira felt sick to her stomach. No wonder Ryon hated his own people if this was one of the many evils they stood for. For him to ask her hand in marriage . . . after he’d grown up in a culture where Malo people were normally slaves? This was even more complex than she’d realized.
And her father’s approval and support meant that much more. Her mother was a different matter, but that could be addressed later.
She’d dreamed of visiting Ryon’s homeland as a romantic getaway to the black-sand beaches he’d described. Luxurious palisades dripping with gold. Exotic fruits. Gentle kisses at a blood-orange sunset.
The mental image was marred by her imaginings of what it must really be like.
“So what’s your plan?” Tekkyn asked. “Did you really speak with Illiana in Jadenvive?”
“No,” Aegwyn said. “But if I roll the dice right, she’ll welcome me back into the palace—I can’t imagine that she won’t if she’s playing nice with Ryon. Then we’d be in a good position to find him and figure out what’s going on.”
“And let us sneak around the palace if we join the kitchen staff or something,” Tekkyn mused.
Aegywn nodded as she fought with her xavi against some enticing smell in the jungle. “I can’t lie—I have no idea if any of this will work, and I’m so nervous I think my hair will start falling out.”
“Well, you got us through the border like an expert.” Kira’s heart warmed with affection. Aegwyn was shaping up to be the sister she’d always wanted, including some of Ryon’s own unexpected traits. She wondered how much of that was inherited.
“Thank you,” Kira said. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”
“You’d find Ryon regardless, I’m sure.” Aegwyn won the battle of wills against her xavi and charged down the road. “But I’m glad I can help. Let’s go!”
If Brooke could have told her past self that within days, she’d no longer be chieftess, that she’d have affection for a killer, and that she’d be flown through the Emberhawk jungles clutched in a dragon’s claws, she’d have checked herself into a home for the unwell of mind.
She hoped the various types of pain she was experiencing while hanging on for her life would be worth the flight. Felix seemed like he really didn’t care if she slipped from his grasp and plummeted to her death in the green canopy below. And yet he’d finally revealed himself to her, after he’d been nothing but a rumor for years.
Her mind couldn’t spare the space for the questions. All she could do was focus on maintaining her grip on the bumpy flesh between Felix’s umber scales and massive claws. And pray the next jolt from the wind didn’t tear her wound anew.
Brooke sensed their descent and twisted her neck to confirm it. To the northwest, the mountains of Valinor beyond the Darkwood territory. The east, behind them. Vast ocean stretching on the southern horizon. And below, a giant glass pyramid fast approaching as branches cracked and leaves bowed to Felix’s wings.
She hoped Lysander was here. He’d mentioned that this was the only place with the antidote to dreamthistle, since he’d given her all of his. But Sorrel would have to fly at the speed of lightning for him to be alive at all.
At least if he’s dead, we don’t have to have a horribly awkward reunion . . .
Her chest constricted so hard she couldn’t finish that thought. He had to be alive. She needed him to be alive. After all the chaos of the last several hours, Lysander was one of the only shreds of sanity she had left to hold onto. Until she could find Nariellyn and Ryon and the elder—
Brooke grimaced as Felix shifted his legs, preparing for a windy landing. Creator, please let them be okay. Let it all be a lie.
But even if Felix had lied, and the Malaano hadn’t taken Jadenvive and she was still the chieftess, Soaring Heron would ruin her from his grave regardless.
Please at least let Dimbae survive.
Brooke closed her eyes, tears filtering through her lashes as she braced for impact.
Her braids whipped around, smacking her in the face as the claws of Felix’s other foot stabbed the earth. She cried out as his grip tightened to prevent her from slamming into a cobblestone pathway.
“You didn’t drop it, did you?” the wyvern rumbled.
Brooke gritted her teeth. “You didn’t drop Dimbae, did you?”
Felix craned his long scaly neck to look at his back. “He’s still breathing.”
Brooke relaxed as Felix gently laid her down on the stone, further destroying the feathers of her headdress. She didn’t care. All that mattered was being still. Lying down and not moving until the torture stopped, one way or another.
“Brooke!”
That was his voice. He was alive.
But how? It didn’t make se
nse.
She couldn’t look at him or she’d cry.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she’d cry regardless.
“What happened?” Lysander’s voice sounded rushed, frantic.
“Illiana,” Brooke managed, then remembered he couldn’t hear. She opened her eyes and caught his maroon gaze.
She’d never realized how handsome he was. No—he’d always been attractive, and she’d definitely noticed before. But there was something more now; something beyond. A depth to his eyes, like a deeper understanding or wisdom she hadn’t seen before.
Was this the same man who’d sat slumped and broken in Jadenvive’s prison just days ago?
Brooke sent a thought into Lysander’s mind. It morphed into memories of the attack, only moments after he’d flown away. Of sending Nariellyn away to help Iraleth and Coriander. Of fighting for her life beside Dimbae.
Dimbae needs help, she thought to him.
“Granny!” Lysander yelled, then bent closer to her. “Don’t worry. You’re both safe now.”
She choked on a sob and let the resulting pain carry her tears into a steady flow.
Strong arms lifted her from the earth. Cradled her to his chest.
She felt Lysander move toward the blurry pyramid. Shoulder through the door, then stride through tall flowers and sit on a flat boulder before a trickling waterfall adorned with ferns.
He didn’t say a word. Didn’t let her go.
Brooke clutched his tunic and let her sorrow run free. Embarrassment gnawed at her. What was she doing? This man wasn’t safe. Opening up wasn’t safe.
But he was the only one she had left. Who else could she turn to now?
He smelled like leather and spices, and she hesitantly allowed herself to breathe it in. To take some minor comfort in the security he offered. To enjoy the sudden peace and stability.
Still he didn’t say anything, and yet somehow, it didn’t feel awkward. Even her embarrassment slowly slipped away as she stared into the ripples below the falls. The quiet was enveloping. Healing. Somehow, he understood that. Understood her.
Despite the chaos Lysander had caused, despite his past, and despite what he was capable of, she acknowledged in that moment that he was a good man. Or at least, he wanted to be.