by K. A. Linde
“Cyrene?” Matilde asked.
Vera jumped to her feet. “You felt her?”
Avoca nodded. Relief flooded her bones. “I know where she is. We should leave at once.”
Matilde and Vera didn’t delay. Matilde threw on a midnight-black cloak and handed Vera a matching one. Vera tucked it under her arm and pocketed the golden coin they had been observing for the last couple of weeks but to no avail. They had filched it out of Maelia’s things before the Eleysian guards had thrown out all of her possessions. Along with the mysterious coin, they had recovered the priceless Doma magic book that Cyrene had acquired. Nothing else seemed of any value. Either Maelia had truly been working independent of anyone else or she’d destroyed all correspondence because they were no closer to figuring out why she wanted to kill the Eleysian king and queen.
And, up until this moment, they’d had no idea where Cyrene had been kept prisoner. They had searched the dungeons with no luck, and any magical contact between Avoca and Cyrene had been like throwing herself up against a brick wall. Even that light tug had felt more like being dragged through mud. The three of them knew it meant something was wrong, and Avoca hated not having answers.
They left Matilde and Vera’s home behind in the Swamp District and took a gondola out through the flooded lands. Vera flicked her hand and made them hurry along the empty waterways. Luckily, it was late, and no one would ask questions as to why the boat was gliding along without anyone pushing it. Avoca cared very little for human concerns at the moment.
She needed to find Cyrene. She was duty-bound to her. To her greatest shame, Cyrene had saved her life. When Avoca had offered her life to Cyrene to eliminate her humiliation for her fallen Six Team, Cyrene had refused. As payment for her life debt, they had been bound. Their magic would be tied together until the debt was repaid, or one of them perished.
Then, Cyrene had disappeared. Avoca had been with Matilde and Vera, working their magic together out of the capital city. Weather magic was unpredictable. Only Cyrene had any real affinity for it, and she was the first person in more than two thousand years who was capable of it. They could only manage the threads she had created for the hurricane and attempt to handle them in her absence. They had thought it was a brilliant plan to keep the Byern ships from sailing into Eleysian territory to collect Cyrene.
Only it had all backfired. Something had happened with Cyrene. Her magic had exploded, and the hurricane had hit with a ferocity that they had no chance of escaping or stopping. It’d destroyed a quarter of the capital city in one blow before dissipating nearly as fast as it had come. A burst of magic that had burned Avoca to her core from the impact. She hadn’t been able to touch her magic, let alone the bond, for a week.
“Here,” Avoca said. She stood from the seat of the gondola and swayed easily with the boat. “She was here. She went that way.”
They followed Avoca’s trail until they hit the open sea, and then Avoca sank back down with her mouth hanging open.
“Is that…”
“Yes,” Vera whispered.
“By the gods,” Matilde said.
More than a dozen Byern warships were poised to attack. They were floating like ducks in a row—not close enough to get through the rocky barrier between the ocean and the city, but far too close for comfort.
“And she’s headed that way still?” Vera asked.
Avoca nodded her head once.
“Then, we wait,” Matilde said. “For if she is headed that way…she is not alone.”
Every muscle in Avoca’s body told her to go after Cyrene. To climb onto that boat, use her ice-white Leif blade, and kill anyone who stood in her way. But logic dictated that she could not take on an entire army alone. A wicked grin split her face at the thought of it though. She would give them a fight.
They waited in the shadows as Cyrene’s bond moved farther and farther away. And then, as the ships came to life before their eyes, another smaller boat began to drift back toward them with two men in it.
“There,” Vera whispered.
“So disappointing,” Matilde responded.
“Indeed.”
Avoca sometimes felt like the two-thousand-year-old Doma sisters were speaking their own language in her presence. She knew they had been revered in their time and that they were more knowledgeable than nearly any Leif still alive today, but they were an odd pair. Wonderful but odd.
“What do you mean?” Avoca asked.
“Wait,” Vera said.
“See,” Matilde followed up.
So, Avoca did as she had been told. When she finally saw what Matilde and Vera must have realized all along, she nearly roared in fury. Coming toward them in the little boat were Prince Dean and his man Darmian.
“He didn’t,” Avoca growled.
“Let’s find out,” Matilde said.
She flicked her hand, and suddenly, his boat swerved off course, veering straight toward them. Both men looked up in confusion and shock as the boat moved of its own accord. Eleysian people might be more accepting of the idea of magic, but they had no idea what any of them were capable of.
Avoca stood then, holding her blade out to the side. The warrior side of her brain took over, and when they were at a good distance, she vaulted from the boat and into theirs. She landed with feline-like grace. Darmian moved to attack her, but he was big and bulky. He had none of the finesse or grace from years of training in the Leif city of Eldora.
She darted toward him, jabbing her hand into his throat, and then smacked him over the side of the head with the butt of her knife. He staggered back and nearly fell into the water. She gripped the front of his shirt, twisted him around, and then held the knife to his throat.
“Don’t,” she snarled at Dean.
He had risen, and his hand had gone to his sword. Though he looked more wary than ready to fight. He was an excellent warrior, but even he couldn’t truly fight magic. He removed his hand from his sword and raised his hands in surrender. His boat knocked gently against Matilde and Vera’s, who were still sitting serenely.
“Ah, Prince Dean,” Matilde said. “What a late night for a boat ride.”
“Where is she?” Avoca said, ignoring pleasantries.
“You don’t need to hurt him. He will leave at my command,” Dean informed Avoca. “Just…let him go. We can talk.”
“You think it is time now to talk?” Avoca asked. “Where have you been for the last two weeks? And where is Cyrene?”
“I’ll answer all of your questions as soon as you let Darmian go. He had nothing to do with this.”
“As far as I heard, he turned Maelia in and had her executed,” Avoca said. She protected what was her own. She felt shame that she had not been able to protect Cyrene’s friend…Avoca’s own friend. That they had been stranded and not even known what had happened at the beheading until late that evening.
“She murdered the king and queen,” Darmian said. “No matter my affection for her, she was a murderer. She deserved her death.”
Avoca slid the blade in tighter on his neck, and warm blood trickled from the spot. “Be careful what you say about my friends.”
“Our quarrel is with the prince,” Vera said amicably. “Let his man go.”
Avoca shoved him forward, and he fell to his knees. “Go, you snake.”
Darmian glanced back once at Avoca before speaking to Dean in a low voice and then disappearing. She was furious that she could enact no revenge for Cyrene. Blood deserved blood. Revenge might not bring peace, but sometimes, it did bring satisfaction.
“We let him go,” Matilde said. “Now, tell us where Cyrene is before I let Avoca hunt him down and kill him for sport.”
Dean’s eyes shifted cautiously between the three women. “I let her go.”
“Go where?” Vera asked.
“All we saw were Byern war vessels. Letting her go would mean she would have come to us, and frankly, we haven’t seen her since she was last with you,” Matilde said pointedly.
<
br /> “I sent her home.” He straightened his spine. “I handed her over to Prince Kael Dremylon of Byern in exchange for peace between our countries.”
Avoca stared with hard, furious eyes. Maybe gutting him would make her feel better, but it would be less than he deserved.
“You did what?”
“Are you out of your mind?” Matilde demanded.
“Mati, I don’t think he’s aware of the dire consequences of his actions.”
“What consequences?” he asked. “I know that she does not…trust her prince, but surely, it is better for her to be in Byern than Eleysia. She would have been tried for treason and executed here. The only way I could help her was to get her out of the city.”
“You never thought to inform us?” Vera asked.
“And I thought you loved her,” Avoca said with a laugh.
“I do,” he said, rounding on her. “I do love her. Desperately, unequivocally, maddeningly so, considering what she has done to my family.”
“You believe she participated in the slaughter of your parents?” Vera asked.
Matilde scoffed. “You can’t truly believe that.”
“Whether or not she was in on what happened, she’d brought Maelia here. She’d brought an assassin into my court, and my parents are dead because of that. Maelia was one of her closest friends. I did what I had to do to keep her safe,” Dean said with deep regret on his face. “My sister would have seen her on trial right away, but I convinced her that she was too dangerous to do so. I bought time for her. I kept her away from harm. I kept her alive, and I believed sending her back to Byern was the only way to make sure she stayed that way.”
“Fool!” Avoca sneered.
“You’ve made a grave mistake,” Vera said.
“I did what I thought best.”
“Perhaps,” Vera conceded. “However, you have put her in mortal danger.”
“You have no idea how long we have waited for Cyrene,” Matilde said irritably. “She alone can fulfill the prophecy and break the curse on our people. If she dies because of your failure, the weight of the world will fall on your shoulders.”
“Prophecy?” Dean asked, bewildered. “I have heard of this, but it is true? And Cyrene is the key?”
“At the very heart of it,” Avoca said. “And you just sent her to the very people who would see her dead before letting it come to pass.”
“Now, you will need to make it right,” Vera said.
“How can I make it right?” Dean asked a bit wistfully.
“We need a way into Byern,” Matilde said. “And you will give us one.”
“I really hate this idea,” Orden said again.
He’d said it at least two dozen times since they departed in haste from Eleysia at Cyrene’s request. Ahlvie hated that they’d had to leave her behind. Even more that he had left without saying good-bye to Avoca. Without getting to tell her how he truly felt. It was a grave mistake, and walking up to the Byern castle was making it more and more apparent how idiotic it was.
“You hate all my ideas,” Ahlvie said instead.
“With good reason.”
Ahlvie shrugged and tried to put on the airs he had acquired in his time in this very city. He’d come a long way since he first came to Byern to become a High Order. At the time, it had felt like a death sentence. But he had adapted. Not that anyone in the High Order knew what he did with his time when he wasn’t required to be at court. He preferred it that way.
But, now, they were walking back into the very castle that had tried to convict him of murder. No matter that the deaths were because of a Braj that Cyrene had killed with her powers. He couldn’t exactly tell that to anyone without being considered insane.
“Cheer up, old man,” he said, trying for jovial. “I’m a High Order in this town.”
“They suspect you of kidnapping and had you on trial for murder.”
“There is that,” he agreed. “But this is just a game, and I can play games.”
“You cheat at games.”
“Exactly.”
Orden blew out a heavy breath. “You’re going to get us killed.”
Ahlvie clapped him on the back. “We need to buy Cyrene time. You and I both know that she is the key to everything.”
“And you seem to be falling right into line,” Orden said, staring directly into his eyes.
Ahlvie cut his gaze away from Orden. He didn’t like when people looked in his eyes anymore. He never knew exactly what they were going to see. Would it be me or the beast within?
“How about we focus on what’s coming next rather than a two-thousand-year-old prophecy?”
Orden shrugged, as if it didn’t matter either way. But Ahlvie knew it did. The prophecy was everything. It was the reason he even knew Orden. It was the reason they were working together and trusted Cyrene to the ends of the earth. It was the reason they were on a fool’s mission.
Luckily, he was a fool.
Ahlvie nodded his head at the gate to the Nit Decus castle. Just being in the city for the short time he had been, he could already tell things had changed since his departure with Cyrene. The weather was arid, and with summer just approaching, it was supposed to be blooming with life. There was a lot he had to learn about being back, but first, he needed to do something stupid.
“Hey, you,” he said to the first guard he saw standing at attention.
The man observed his fine clothes, which admittedly he had stolen upon arrival, and narrowed his eyes. “What is your business here?”
“I need an audience with the king.”
“You’ll be getting no audience with the king unless you were invited to court. The king has made it clear that no one shall enter or leave the court without his permission, or did you not read his decree?”
Orden frowned at him. “Good sir, we have just arrived in the capital and were unaware of the change in protocol. But, if you could let an attendant know that we have news of Affiliate Cyrene, then I am certain we will get the requested audience.”
“The king has sent a ship to collect the Affiliate. Your information is worthless,” the guard spat at them.
“I’m certain that, if you just…”
“No,” the guard said. His hand went to his sword. “Now, move along.”
“Sir,” Orden continued.
Ahlvie put his hand out and pressed Orden back. “I’ve got this.”
Ahlvie didn’t get a chance to see what Orden’s face looked like as he stepped forward. He probably would have appreciated it as he slammed his fist into the face of the guard on duty. The man dropped like a sack of potatoes, and another guard was on him nearly at once.
“Arrest this man!” someone else yelled.
But Ahlvie was now engaged with a second guard. He was dancing on the balls of his feet, dodging swings and landing easy jabs on the amateurs who considered themselves soldiers. Then, he took a swift hit to the gut, and he stumbled back against the wall surrounding the castle. Another crack across his jaw, and he hit the ground.
He’d let that one happen at least, but, Creator, did it make his head pound. He rolled and avoided the next hit. Then, he swiped the man’s legs out from under him. He landed in a heap on the ground, and Ahlvie vaulted on top of him, pummeling his face.
He was hauled off the now-unconscious soldier as three guards yanked him backward. He kicked and spit and tried to get them off of him.
Orden was standing there with his arms crossed, staring at him with an expression that was half, Are you done?, and half, This is your idea of handling it?
“You are under arrest for the assault of two Byern guardsmen. You will be moved to a jail cell at once,” a man said, coming around to look at Ahlvie’s bedraggled face. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
“Just one thing,” Ahlvie said, looking at him with a mischievous grin.
“Well, spit it out.”
“Your man assaulted a High Order of the realm.”
The guard bit out
a laugh. “And where is your proof?”
Ahlvie spit blood out of his mouth and then nodded to Orden. “Show them.”
Orden sighed and shook his head in frustration. “Boy, you’re as bad as she is.”
He removed a pin that High Order would wear when traveling on official business. Most of their garments were embroidered with the High Order logo—the Dremylon D wrapped in flames—but Ahlvie hadn’t forgotten this little piece.
“Where did you get that?” the guard demanded.
He reached for it, but Orden pulled it out of range.
“It’s his.” Orden nodded his head at Ahlvie.
The guard turned a horrified expression on Ahlvie. He scrutinized him up and down, as if he couldn’t believe it possible that Ahlvie, of all people, would be a High Order. He was used to that treatment. Even he thought a backwoods kid from the tiny town of Fen, lost in the north Taken Mountains, wasn’t much of a High Order. Not that he respected the title or anything.
“Release him at once,” the guard demanded.
Ahlvie smirked as the guards stepped away from him, as if his skin had scalded them. He readjusted his stolen clothing and realized the sleeve was torn. Oh well, he preferred his clothing in some state of disarray. He ran a hand back through his dark hair.
“Now,” Ahlvie said, taking the pin from Orden and securing it to his chest, “I said, I’d like an audience with the king.”
The gates parted at once in front of a sea of mistrustful guardsmen. He was sure that some of them were worried about losing their jobs over this, but that wasn’t why he was here. He thought the whole thing was funny.
Orden strode beside him and shook his head. “Couldn’t we have just told them you were High Order from the beginning?”
“Sure, but then I wouldn’t have gotten to see their faces when they realized the truth.”
Orden shook his head. Ahlvie knew that he frustrated him at every turn, but what was life without a little fun?
They were walked in with an armed guard that Ahlvie was sure had more to do with the fight he had just gotten into than any ceremony. He was shocked to see how many people were in the castle. Nit Decus was an enormous castle built into the side of a mountain. It could house half the population of the entire capital city if need be. But he had never seen it even remotely close to capacity. By the look of the number of people passing through the entrance hall, it might be getting there now.