by Elise Kova
“It is, but isn’t.”
“What would you know?”
“Lie to yourself, princeling, but do not lie to me.” The words were as sharp as her glare and sheared off Baldair’s protest. Was he lying to himself? No, Baldair knew his brother all too well. Raylynn was just being optimistic. “Lies don’t suit the timbre of your voice. It’s like a dark tarnish on gold.”
He took the compliment, using it as a buffer to continue to debate internally. “You would understand if you met him,” he muttered.
“I knew his mother.”
Baldair’s eyebrows shot up in such surprise that they nearly flew off his face. Aldrik’s mother was somewhat of a taboo subject in their household. His own mother hated all mention of the late Western Princess who’d sired the heir to the throne. Talk of her was practically forbidden in the palace beyond brief acknowledgment when it was absolutely required. As such, it took him a long moment to even recall her name.
“Princess… Fiera?”
Raylynn nodded.
“How did you know the princess?” Baldair inquired delicately. It was the most she’d ever offered of herself and he certainly didn’t want to ruin it.
“I only met her once.” It wasn’t quite an answer.
“How? You’re not some long lost Western royal, are you?” Baldair was only half joking; at this point, he’d believe almost any explanation for the woman at his side.
“No, the only royal blood here is you.” She gave a soft sigh of amusement at the very idea. “My mother was her sword.”
“Your mother?” The War of the West had been painted in history books as a triumphant victory for the Empire, colored with fanfare necessary to illustrate the strength and wonder of Solaris. Baldair realized that he couldn’t name one general at the head of a single charge. He didn’t even know the names of any players beyond the first Empress Solaris, Aldrik’s mother; the current Lord of the West Ophain—her brother; and their late father, the last King of the West… and that was all.
“It was my mother who taught me the song of the sword.” Raylynn shifted, drawing up her knees, stretching them against her elbows, her hands locked. “Oh, very well, I suppose I shall deign to tell you now. The Goddess above has shown me I don’t have much of a choice.”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m part of the Nameless Company.”
She said it with such severity, but Baldair had no concept of what she was talking about. After a long moment, Raylynn seemed to pick up on the fact.
“Gods above, they really don’t teach anything about Mhashan down in your tundra.”
Baldair not only wouldn’t, but couldn’t, object.
“The Nameless Company is a group of mercenaries, quite a well-known one in the West. We live on the simple rule that we can be bought by the highest bidder.”
“Clearly not,” the prince scoffed. Raylynn arched her eyebrows, prompting him to continue. “If that was the case, you would’ve just named your price to join my guard.”
Raylynn gave a melodic laugh. “Too true, princeling. I have slightly different rules, I grant you.”
“And what are those?” He wanted to know anything she would tell him, to finally peel back the rhyme and reason to everything she was so that he could… Baldair paused mentally as he stared at her and saw, for the first time, a woman whose loyalty he wanted to earn, not for lust or for a sword at war, but because he deeply respected her and desired her approval.
“I am to serve a crown of gold.” The answer was cryptic, but it said enough. Her elaboration, however, made even more sense. “My mother served the old crown of Mhsahan.”
“Following in her footsteps?” Baldair reasoned. He understood the desire to make one’s parentage proud.
“So it would seem. My mother and the Princess Fiera met entirely by chance, but got on so well that she swore her service to the crown.”
It was hearing the name on Raylynn’s lips again that reminded him it wasn’t the first time he’d heard the name of the deceased royal that night. “The woman who helped us… you called her ‘princess’.”
“She had the princess’s face.” Raylynn looked out into the desert, toward the way they had come. The winds had long since swept away the horse’s prints. But Raylynn seemed to instinctively know where they were, as though she was a part of the very desert itself. “She also controlled the inferno as the princess would. Princess Fiera was blessed with the mighty power of the Mother’s flames.”
Baldair chose to ignore the fact that, technically, any Firebearer could control fire. “She died. The princess is no longer with us.”
“And who do you think helped us? Another overseer of fate? Nox—or whosever name you called her?”
“No… Nox died…” It was his turn to look at the horizon in search of answers.
“Then my explanation seems all the more likely.”
A year ago, Baldair would’ve laughed at the notion. But that was before he had hunted a pirate ghost, before he had witnessed the soul of a man leave his body. It was before he had seen a woman possessed, tossing treasure into a whirlpool for reasons he’d never understand, only to fall prey to the same watery depths... yet return to life this very night.
Did he suddenly believe in ghosts? No. Not quite. But Baldair was starting to believe that there was more to the world than he understood. There were forces and truths that existed beyond him, as vast and unknown as the unbroken sky.
“What else do you know of Princess Fiera?”
“Why do you want to know?” The question was cautious, but not an outright denial.
“I’ve never heard anything about her before.” Baldair chewed on his words. They tasted a little like pride. “I think... I think I should know.”
Raylynn shifted. “I only have my mother’s stories, and my one meeting with her… But I can tell you this much: She was truly a child of the Mother herself. She had eyes like fire that burned for a purpose all of Mhashan could stand behind. She was the youngest, and stood with a might greater than her three elder siblings combined. If she hadn’t married the Emperor, Mhashan would have fought for a thousand years beneath her banner.”
Baldair closed his eyes, thinking of his brother. Some day, he would tell Aldrik what he’d learned from Raylynn about his mother. He hoped the roguish woman—the apparent mercenary who abided by her own set of rules—would be around to do it herself, but something compelled Baldair to be the one to do it.
A new fact dawned on Baldair in that moment. “Wait—if you were born toward the start of the war… and you met Princess Fiera as a girl…” Aldrik’s mother had died in childbirth, and his brother was three years older than him. “How old are you?”
Raylynn fell back in a fit of laughter. “Older than you, my princeling.” She gave a wink that deemed the matter finished.
As always, things remained on her terms.
12. Raylynn
She knew he was still awake, just as she had no doubt he knew she too stared at the sky with wide open eyes. But neither of them spoke. Neither of them crossed the unguarded bridge of silence that had stretched between them.
Raylynn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The face of the Firebearer and the prince’s stories had brought back the brief memories she had of her own mother. The cherished time that Raylynn replayed as often as she could bear, so she would never forget. The sounds of her mother’s voice were the sweetest echoes across time.
Let none see your weakness, because it does not exist. The price for loyalty is high; the crown will pay. Love this sword, keep it safe and hidden when I pass it onto you. It will sing to you when I no longer can. It will defend you in your moment of need.
Somewhere in the sky above her, her mother lived in the realms eternal, winking down through the points of light. She watched Raylynn’s every movement, and would until Raylynn was at her
side again.
The prince’s breathing shifted.
Raylynn turned her head to face the man. Shoulders relaxed and lips slightly parted, he looked boyish when he slept. Her mother had always said the crown would pay for her loyalty, but the payment might not be in the form of the golden coins she’d been taught all her life to covet. What would this prince give her?
By all accounts, she should be following the man who inherited his mother’s flames—the older brother, Aldrik. But the Goddess above had designed red lines of fate in a path that Raylynn couldn’t—wouldn’t—attempt to comprehend or circumvent. The only time she ever had a glimpse into them was through Fiera.
The world went black, then the stars returned, as she blinked lazily. The rush of the Knights of Jadar was fading, the bright memories that sharpened her mind dulling back to the familiar ghosts that walked with her through the desert. All of it left exhaustion in its wake. Raylynn closed her eyes and let them stay closed.
There was a sweetness to the prince’s deep, steady breathing. It mingled with the wind, relatively quiet this night. It harmonized with her own.
She shifted closer to him, to hear better. Perhaps that was what he would give her: one more note in the great song she had yet to finish composing. At the very least, it was a night when she would’ve otherwise been alone, and found herself glad she wasn’t.
The sun woke her at first light. She sat stiffly. The flight the day prior left her muscles taut. At her side, the prince still slept. He was getting marginally easier to rouse, but she had no doubt the royal had slept until he pleased all the days of his life. And a lifetime of singular action created a habit hard to break.
Raylynn stood, assessing the beast that hadn’t wandered away in the night.
“Up with you,” she demanded to the prince while keeping her eyes on the mount, as though being the first to speak would earn its ire. She knew the fear was unreasonable, but she just really hated the idea of putting faith in such temperamental creatures.
“It’s early yet,” Baldair groaned from where he lay. “If they haven’t found us by now, they won’t.”
“I want to get moving.” He had been doing so well until now, learning to heed her demands on a whim.
“Yes, yes.” He rolled on his side and sat, dusted sand off his shoulder, blinked at the horizon. “How do you even know where we are?”
“I looked at the stars last night. The archer pointed that way.” She indicated with a finger. “Which means the Nameless City should be north somewhere from here.”
“North?” Baldair paused over the word with a brief frown.
She knew he was ultimately headed to the war front, as most were.
“Yes, north—but not so far.” She patted him on the shoulder, as if to reassure him. They had spoken briefly of his duties to the warfront, and each time the topic had been circumvented clumsily on his part. Raylynn had a fairly certain suspicion about where his mind went at the mere mention of the North. “Now, I need you to manage the beast.”
“Horse?” He stood.
“Beast.”
Baldair chuckled. “If it pleases you.”
“It does.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want to leave it out here.”
The thought had crossed her mind. “We’ll cover more ground faster with it. Plus, it was a gift.”
“A gift?” Baldair asked as he strapped their bags to the saddle, more carefully than he had the night prior.
“From the Princess Fiera.”
“The Princess Fiera is dead,” he reminded her with gentle futility.
“So I’ve been told.” It was all Raylynn could say. She had heard the fact claimed as truth, too. But who really knew? With a woman as great and terrifying as Princess Fiera, even the Father might bend to her will if she asked to return. “But the gods work in mysterious ways.”
“You can’t really believe it was a ghost.”
Raylynn didn’t know what to believe. “I never said that.”
“Good. I’ve had enough ghosts for one lifetime.” The prince deftly swung into the saddle, then offered her his hand.
Raylynn hesitated. The prince had gained some color from the sun, mostly a ruddy burn across his fair Southern skin, but it oddly suited as a nice contrast to his otherwise delicate Southern features. Features she shared in her eyes and hair.
The skin of his hand was warm against the chill of the dawn. It engulfed hers just long enough for him to tug her upward into the saddle. This time, however, he surprised her by seating her at his front. Raylynn prickled up from the seat of her tailbone where it pressed against his groin. She stared at the mount before her in apprehension.
“More control up front,” he offered by way of explanation. “You can see where we’re going... and hold the reins.”
“I don’t need you to walk delicately around me for this,” she muttered.
“I’m not. I’m giving you the control you so clearly desire at every turn.” There wasn’t a trace of anything but pragmatism in the prince’s voice. “I can try to be a bit useful now and then, more than just carrying weight you could easily manage on your own.”
“At least you recognize it.” She shifted, trying to do as he said and regain control of the situation. “You are basically useless otherwise.”
“Is that better than totally useless?” He chuckled, reaching around her. The warmth of his body engulfed her, the rumble from the back of his throat vibrating smoothly in her mind. It was the first time she’d seen the “heartbreaker” aspect of his reputation as anything more than comical. “Sounds like an upgrade to me.”
“It may be,” she admitted, as much to herself as him.
“Well, color me surprised—she does warm up to people.”
Before Raylynn could give a well-placed objection, Baldair spurred the horse forward. Her heart shot straight into her throat, and she spent the better part of the morning fighting to keep her legs and hands steady. He had already seen her weakness once; she wasn’t inclined to ever let him see it again.
Eventually, she’d dare say she found the rhythm of things. She didn’t like the situation and suspected she’d continue to prefer her own two feet to four for a long time to come, but sitting astride the beast no longer put her stomach in knots. The tension left her shoulders, leaving a dull ache in its wake, and her hands rested easily in Baldair’s.
“So, this Nameless City we’re going to…” the prince started after she had well and truly calmed in the presence of the beast.
“The home of the Nameless Company.” She could hear the lingering question and wouldn’t affront his intelligence by being subversive.
“Your group of mercenaries.”
She nodded.
“Not really fair, is it?”
“What?”
“Going around, fighting duels, letting people think you’re just a little unassuming thing. When you’re actually a second generation—”
“Tenth,” she corrected proudly.
“What?”
“I’m a tenth-generation mercenary.” Her father may have been a no-one footman, but her mother was one of a long line of sword singers Raylynn was proud to be a part of.
“Sounds daunting.”
“Don’t you have your own high birthright to live up to?” She dared a glance over her shoulder, taking her eyes off the horse for a moment. Miraculously, it didn’t do anything out of the ordinary.
The prince shook his head. “I’m the spare. I have no real responsibilities.”
She snorted, showing him how much value she placed in that particular statement. “Spoken like a prince of the realm.”
“Raylynn, I—”
“—Am about to be in charge of men and women’s lives at the warfront in the North. Is that not where you said you were headed?” she finished briskly. The prin
ce had garnered the sense to be silent. “You have more power than most people could ever dream of, even if you are, as you put it, the spare.”
“What does it matter to a rogue like you, who sells her sword and gambles it away?”
“It matters to me because you asked me to give my life to you in your guard,” she snapped back. Baldair remained blissfully silent. Raylynn took a moment to steel herself against his idiocy. She stared at the horizon, still thinking of the odd encounter the night prior with the mysterious woman who wore the likeness of Fiera. “The Mother has crafted a plan for all of us, prince. You are no more special than a beggar in this regard. And you must walk your line with all the dignity you can muster.”
Baldair sat quietly, and Raylynn was reminded of a young boy forced to take responsibility for the first time. She smiled faintly. It might be easy to say it was all on her terms, but the fates had clearly conspired to pull her in a certain direction. She let go of the reins and leaned back, resting her head on the prince’s shoulder. He may have boyish tendencies, but he was as solid as any man she’d ever felt at her back.
“You have more purpose than you realize, prince—most of us do. If you cannot find the faith in yourself to meet your destiny, put faith in the Goddess who designed that destiny for you.”
He pressed his face into her neck, a motion that was no doubt instinctive for a man like him. His lips pressed into her skin as he spoke. It crossed a threshold that they had been flirting with, a sort of back-and-forth that had originally started with her trying to monopolize every advantage she had over the man. “And you?”
“And me,” she whispered.
“Do you have faith in me?”
Raylynn grinned faintly, making no effort to pry herself away. She was coming to enjoy the warmth of this man despite herself. “I have faith in the Mother.”
He chuckled into her skin. “Will you teach me how to share in that faith? On your terms?”
“On my terms,” she affirmed softly.
13. Baldair
Things had changed between them. The night at Yon had colored them in a bit of a new shade. He felt it more from her than himself. She moved slightly differently around him—not enough to call attention, not even enough for him to put his finger on what, exactly, was different, but there was something there that hadn’t been before.