by Jamie Foley
“I’m not gonna let you die,” Ryon said as a tear slipped down his determined face. “There’s tons of syn here. We can get you as much as you need to heal.”
“That’s not . . . how it works when my core is damaged,” Felix said. His eyes fluttered open, dimmer than before. “Don’t pretend like you’ll actually miss me.”
“Shut up!” Ryon yelled. “How much time do you have?”
“Not enough. So get me that syn and stop crying. It’s not befitting of a king.”
“This carriage is so bumpy. I might rather walk.”
Sousuke rolled his eyes. “You are such a princess.”
Vylia squeaked as the carriage jolted again, harder this time. She wasn’t entirely sure the thing wouldn’t splinter to pieces at the next pothole.
She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at Sousuke. “Is this the first time you’ve ridden in a carriage?”
Sousuke glanced out the small window in the door as if he’d rather be walking alongside Oda’e’s troop of guards. “You know the answer to that.”
Vylia frowned. “I’ve been considering renouncing my crown, but you’d never speak politely to me again.”
Sousuke turned his green gaze on her. He looked so different without his bulky plate armor on. Smaller, and yet he wasn’t small compared to other men. Just younger.
“I don’t think you can just renounce your heritage,” he said in a low tone.
“Of course I can,” Vylia said. “Although I’m sure my father would still want me dead.”
Stern lines drew across Sousuke’s face. “Why consider it, then?”
“Freedom.” Vylia heard a shout outside but couldn’t tell what was said. Probably the rear guard complaining about their pace again. “If I weren’t a royal, I could do whatever I want without worrying about impropriety all the time. I could live where I want. Marry who I want.”
Sousuke huffed a laugh. “You will always be a royal.”
“See? You are so mean all of a sudden!” Vylia pulled out her fan, flicked it open, and waved humid air toward her face. “You never used to talk to me like that before Jadenvive.”
The jostling increased as the carriage appeared to increase in speed. Sousuke leaned toward the window and peered out. “Would you prefer I treat you like an imperial again?”
Vylia pulled at a strand of hair that stuck to her forehead. “What? You’re an imperial too.”
“Not any more.” Sousuke’s hand drifted to his sword hilt.
Vylia shrank. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“We’re going too fast,” he murmured. “I can’t see . . .”
Dread flooded Vylia as she struggled to recall the shouting from earlier. The carriage’s cloth padding made it difficult to hear any outside noise, which had been lovely for taking a nap earlier.
“Can’t see what?” Vylia nudged Sousuke until he moved out of the way, and she stuck her face in the cloudy glass.
The trees rushed by much more quickly than before. She realized then what he couldn’t see: the guards. They would have to run to keep up. And yet she saw no men in their former positions alongside the thick wheels.
“Oh no,” she breathed.
She looked at the chest tucked under her seat that contained the glass-gold chalice and the Malo stone. Was this a robbery by common road bandits, or were they after something more?
“What do we do?” Vylia whispered.
“Can’t do anything until we stop.” Sousuke had drawn his sword, awkwardly keeping it against the wall in the tight space. “When I leave, you lock this door behind me and don’t—”
“Don’t leave me!”
“I won’t. I’ll never leave you.” Sousuke put his free hand on her arm and caught her up in that familiar stare. “Princess or not.”
Vylia swallowed and nodded. She sat back down, then regretted the movement when Sousuke removed his hand.
She could almost feel the Malo stone beneath her like an ill omen, drawing chaos and malady toward itself.
“Who would you marry?”
Her head snapped back up. “What?”
“You said you wanted to marry whoever you want,” Sousuke said from the door, crouching in a ready stance and bracing against the walls. He didn’t look at her, instead glaring out the window with sharp eyes. “Who do you want?”
“I . . .” Vylia gripped the seat as they hit another bump. Were they slowing down? “You’re just trying to distract me so I won’t panic.”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to know,” Sousuke said.
The carriage was slowing down.
“I don’t know,” Vylia blurted as her pulse thrummed pulses of heat through her. She blinked sweat from her eye. The fan wouldn’t help her now. “Anyone not from a royal house.”
“Is House Rhu a royal house?” Sousuke gripped the door handle.
“Y-yes, but I didn’t mean—”
He ripped the door open.
No sooner had Sousuke leapt from the carriage than a sword ran him through, piercing through his armor and out his back.
“No!” Vylia screamed as Sousuke fell to reveal a Malaano man on the other side of the blade. One she recognized with horror as others pulled Sousuke to the side.
Lieutenant Sa’alu.
“Don’t hurt him, and I’ll do whatever you want!”
Sa’alu glanced at Sousuke as he crumpled to the road. “A bit late for that,” the lieutenant said in his agonizingly calm, slow voice. He looked back up at Vylia. “But we might not hurt him again if you tell me where—”
He cut himself off. Stared at nothing in particular for a long moment. Then looked directly at the chest under Vylia’s seat.
“Never mind.” Sa’alu pointed his bloodied sword at the chest. “Be a dear and hand it over.”
“She speaks to you?” Vylia didn’t move. “You can’t listen to her. She’s evil. She’s not a god.”
“But she was a god. And she will be again.” Sa’alu waved his blade in the direction of the chest. “The longer you delay, the more blood he loses.”
Tears blurred Vylia’s vision. “Will you save him if I do?”
Sa’alu shrugged. “He might be dead already. And let’s be honest, Princess—I can take it whenever I want.” He took a step forward.
“I’ll cooperate! I’ll do whatever you want,” Vylia cried. “Please!”
Sa’alu’s eyes thinned in apparent annoyance. He raised his sword at Vylia but stumbled before she could scream. Sousuke’s dagger stuck in his ankle.
The lieutenant roared and thrust his blade into Sousuke’s shoulder, pinning him to the ground. Sousuke gasped in pain and coughed blood.
“Stop!” Vylia screamed, but Sa’alu wasn’t listening. His gaze had once again gone distant.
Then he refocused on her with a dark anger.
She shrank back into the carriage as a sob wracked her.
“You’ll cooperate, you say?” His voice was like that of a python.
“Y-yes, just please don’t kill him,” Vylia stuttered. “Please don’t let him die.”
Sa’alu ripped his sword free from Sousuke’s shoulder, eliciting an agonized cry.
“Give me the stone,” Sa’alu said with excruciating slowness.
Vylia’s hands shook as she clutched the chest beneath her seat. Opened the lock. Removed the chalice. Pulled back the silk holding the Malo stone in place. Offered him the artifact.
Sa’alu’s eyes widened as he took the opal in one hand. He turned it over in fascination as the sun caught its aquamarine facets and refracted the light into dozens of colors beneath its smooth surface.
“Very well,” he murmured as if speaking to the stone. “But my price will be higher.”
He paused for another long moment. Then smiled.
It seems you require a new escort, little minnow. The familiar voice floated through Vylia’s head like perfume on the breeze. Let’s go home.
Kira fidgeted in her borrowed dress. It was so
heavy-laden with black pearls she might as well be carrying a backpack full of rice.
Ryon had immediately stepped down to pass the crown to Coriander, so why was her wedding as extravagant as a queen’s? And how had the palace staff prepared everything on such short notice?
She wondered how much was left over from Ryon’s last wedding.
Kira scolded herself and redoubled her effort to focus on the here and now. The white flowers were fresh—so many that they clustered over the archway and spilled onto the moss-covered cobblestones they stood on. Jars of fireflies hung from jomoco trees that waved in the evening breeze. And the sky blazed with multicolored clouds as the sun retreated, as if the creator himself had painted a masterpiece on tonight’s canvas.
Even in her dreams, her wedding was never this breathtakingly beautiful.
“ . . . cornerstone: the creator,” the priest said, distracting Kira from her fidgeting. He placed a square tile on the pedestal between her and Ryon.
Ryon. He looked at her like she was the only thing with any importance in all of history. He exuded a sense of gratefulness as his eyes drank her in, despite what he’d endured only days ago. She knew he was still suffering from withdrawal from the muddlewort, and yet she’d never seen him so happy.
Concern that his mind might be permanently damaged wriggled in the back of her mind, but the clarity of his gaze muted that fear. But even if that was a struggle they were destined for, they would face it together.
“I commit to love,” Ryon said loud enough for the small crowd in the arboretum to hear. He placed an ivory tile beside the one the priest had laid down.
Kira tried to ignore everyone except for Ryon as she placed a cool tile next to his. It fit perfectly. “I commit to joy,” she said.
“I commit to peace,” Ryon said as he placed another tile without looking away from Kira.
She felt her cheeks flush. “I commit to patience.” She decided against joking that she would need a lot of patience to stay married to this jokester.
“I commit to kindness,” Ryon said. A lifted eyebrow might have meant he was impressed or asking if she was doing all right.
Kira smiled awkwardly and tried to remember the next line of her vow. Oh, right! “I commit to goodness,” she said a little too quickly to make up for her delay. Her tile clacked into place.
“I commit to faithfulness,” Ryon said. “Always.”
Kira knew her smile must look terribly goofy. She couldn’t help it—they’d found his lenses in the palace and she’d fallen in love with how they looked on him. “I commit to gentleness.”
“I commit to self-control.” Ryon slid the last tile into place, completing a mosaic on the dais.
The priest nodded. “With these vows, may your home be filled with holiness.”
Kira tuned him out as Ryon took her hand. Was he supposed to take her hand? What was she supposed to—
Relax, Ryon mouthed. He winked.
She swallowed hard. Why was she so nervous? She knew that he was the man for her without a doubt. Still, something about swearing her life away in a foreign city without her whole family in attendance made her nervous.
Her mother would kill her.
But she’d exercise forgiveness as soon as Kira and Ryon conceived the first grandchild.
“I will protect,” Ryon said, placing a miniature pillar on top of the tile foundation.
Kira fumbled for her own piece of marble. “I will orchestrate.”
“I will provide,” Ryon said.
“I will support.” Kira set her second pillar in the last corner.
“And the creator will cover you with his blessing,” the priest said, balancing a small ceiling on the little house.
The crowd burst into applause, startling Kira. Ryon laughed, pulled her close, and kissed her.
That whoop sounded like Tekkyn.
Kira melted half from embarrassment and half from joy. If all the Phoeran marriage rites were finally over, maybe she and Ryon could finally have some quiet time alone.
“I love you, balemba,” Ryon said, resting his cheek on her forehead. “Forever.”
“I love you, too,” Kira said, and her heart soared.
“So, where do you want to live?” Ryon asked as he pulled away with a smirk. He led her down the steps and along the path that led to the palace, raising his voice over the crowd’s roar of approval. “I kinda have this castle . . .”
Kira felt her cheeks flush at the whistles, struggling not to trip on her dress. “Can we have a chicken coop in a castle, though?”
Ryon chuckled. “Touché. Were you thinking of your family land, then? It might be nice to have some land that’s not, you know, underground.”
Kira’s mind flipped through possible responses her mother might give and the future implications. “Our land is on the border, though. The worst possible place to be in the middle of a war.”
“Well,” Ryon said, “since Jadenvive has been attacked like fifty-eight times now, I’m thinking of getting the orphans out of there, yeah?”
She couldn’t argue with that. She skipped a step to catch up with Ryon as he squeezed her hand. “We could fix up my grandfather’s old house and live there,” she said. “I just have one condition.”
Ryon ducked under a shower of cocoa beans as audience members tossed them. “Anything.”
“Never tell Mom that you were stealing her cherry jam from the root cellar.”
Ryon’s mischievous orange eyes and fiendish smirk sent Kira’s heart thudding against her ribs. He reached out and touched the butterfly clip he’d given her, which had allowed one of her curls to escape and tickle her forehead. “You underestimate my legendary charm.”
Then he turned his head back to the audience as they retreated. “Hey, Brooke!” he called. “I quit!”
Brooke nodded at Ryon and clapped as he swooped Kira up in her wedding dress and carried her behind the arboretum’s gazebo, then down the path that led to the palace. Aegwyn chased after them, tossing cocoa beans over their heads in an Emberhawk fertility tradition.
As chieftess, Brooke had promised to pay for their wedding. Oops.
Her headdress poked her ankle from under her chair as she shifted. She’d have to get it repaired or hunt another alpha xavi to replace the stiff turquoise feathers. But what was the point if it would just be put on a mannequin in the Great Hall, marking the end of her severed term as chief with shame?
At least Ryon had found her grandfather’s missing headdress in the arboretum. Brooke wondered how and when Zamara had stolen it, and how long it had been sitting there like a trophy with wyvern horns as long and heavy as the High Chief’s legacy. It would feel so right to put it in its place in the Great Hall.
She decided to just pay a courier to deliver both headdresses to Ulysses. She wasn’t ready to show her face again in Jadenvive. They’d heard news that the Navakovrae Resistance had taken the city and returned it to the Katrosi tribe—such a fortunate circumstance that Brooke found it impossible to believe until she met with Commander Oda’e personally and searched his mind for motives. But she’d let the people rejoice without a reminder of the first female chief whom they thought abandoned them.
Maybe one day they’d learn the truth. But until then, where would she live?
She loved the wilderness. Perhaps she could live near the Roanoke in secret. Yes, they’d help her, especially if she foraged truffles from the Gnarled Wood where they dared not tread.
“I love you.”
Brooke jerked out of her thoughts and realized she was still clapping as the crowd began to disperse. Lysander towered before her, looking down at her with an unreadable expression.
“Oh . . .” She put her hands down, feeling like an idiot.
What had he said? That he loved her? How was she supposed to respond to that?
“Thank you,” she signed, proud of herself for knowing that single hand-language gesture. Maybe her hand-signing for the first time would distract him. She retriev
ed her headdress from the soft grass and ducked around him.
A moment passed before Lysander called after her. “I know you love me too. I can sense it.”
That’s cheating, she thought to him without turning around. Where was she going? The buffet table, yes. There was jomoco gelatin with joyberries and cream.
I learned from the best, Lysander thought.
Brooke noted that there weren’t as many servers as she thought might attend a reception in the palace gardens. They were probably preparing for Coriander’s coronation tomorrow, when he would officially revert Quin’Zamar’s name back to Quin’Alor—its original name meaning “Pyramid of the Guardian.” Felix had suggested that Brooke consider giving the keystone to Coriander for safekeeping—apparently the glass-gold walls of the palace would protect it somehow.
This is true, Brooke thought back to Lysander. And as the best, I sense that you have an objective of some sort . . . She snatched a cheesy cracker and popped it in her mouth. This might be the last time in her life to eat the delicacies only afforded to royalty and chiefs. If I say I love you back, you’ll ask me to marry you. Is that it?
She could feel Lysander’s presence close to her back. Very close.
“Is there any reason to wait?” he asked.
Brooke scoffed and grabbed a plate. We’ve only been seeing each other for like a week!
“Technically we’ve been engaged for a dozen years or so.”
Brooke looked over her shoulder at him with narrowed eyes. That’s not true and you know it.
“Will you marry me?”
Probably. Later. Brooke turned back to the table and grabbed a handful of crackers. They seemed dry enough—maybe she could save some for the road.
Lysander rounded the table to face her. “What kind of answer is that?”
Brooke didn’t look at him as she waited for a kid to take a scoop of the joyberries and cream. By the skies, you’re emotional for a man.
And you’re not for a woman. Doesn’t that make us a good pair?
Brooke sighed as the kid dropped some of the delicacy on the grass. I love you too, okay? Are you happy now?