The Consort

by K. A. Linde

  Cyrene pushed away her fears of the moment and approached the officiant, stopping just before the raised platform. She kept her eyes forward through the entire ordeal. Affiliates and High Order watched her from all sides. And she felt judged from the solid wood doors, past the sweeping jade and mother of pearl columns, all the way to the gilded throne. No one believed she deserved this. An Affiliate only a year into her residency. Someone who had not even been with them the full time. No matter the circumstances of her kidnapping.

  Yet she held her head high. She ignored their stares and had walked in, as if she were queen.

  The crowd sank into their seats as the officiant raised his hands.

  When silence fell once more, he addressed the crowd before him, “It is with great pleasure that I stand before you in honor of the great Creator and benefactor of her glory to invite a new host into such an esteemed position with the Byern court.”

  He bent his head and intoned a long prayer to bless the ceremony and her commitment to the throne. All Cyrene could think about was how much her feet hurt.

  Finally, the officiant ended his prayer, collected a circular talisman that she knew she had to hold in her left hand, and a green cloak with the sign of the Dremylon royalty hand-embroidered into the cloth. It had belonged to the very first consort in existence for Viktor Dremylon himself. As soon as it touched her shoulders, she felt nauseated.

  She didn’t know if it was cursed or if the thought of all she knew of Viktor Dremylon made her physically ill. This was wrong.

  It was her turn to move up to the top of the dais and claim her place before the entire court. Yet she was frozen in place.

  Edric leaned forward in his seat and was staring hopefully in her direction. She couldn’t even look at him, or she might empty her stomach all over the throne room floor. This couldn’t possibly be right. Her eyes turned to the long glass windows that took up the far wall. It was a beautiful sunny day. Not a cloud in the sky. And she couldn’t possibly understand why.

  How could the storm have answered my call and my fears on the day of my Presenting? How could my magic respond to the start of my adult life yet absolutely nothing was happening when I was about to do the unthinkable?

  She wanted a storm. She wanted to be vindicated. She wanted to know that this was the right choice, despite her gut telling her it was not.

  “Come along, my dear,” the officiant said, gesturing for her to take her place of honor.

  With a deep sense of foreboding, she willed her feet to move up the steps. She shot one uneasy look in Kael’s direction and found him a blank slate. Whatever he was feeling, he masked from her. And she could sense reluctantly that Edric was upset with her for even seeking out his brother.

  She turned in place, letting the folds of her dress swirl in the most alluring fashion to face the crowd. There, before her, was a sea of strangers. She only recognized her family in the front row. All of her friends and the people she loved, even Rhea, were not present here.

  The officiant cleared his throat and addressed Cyrene, “Are you willing to take the oath?”

  Another oath. How many more ways could I bind myself to this country?

  “I am willing,” she found herself saying.

  “Will you solemnly promise to do your duty to your country and your people? To stand with the king of Byern henceforth, forevermore, until your time at his behest has concluded? To do all within your power to uphold the law, justice, and mercy before the eyes of the Creator and to do so with your best judgment in all things?”

  “I will.” Her voice was strong. Though she did not feel the vow in her heart. She felt it like the noose that had slithered around Daufina’s throat at the behest of His Majesty.

  “I present to you, Consort Cyrene!”

  The crowd applauded her confirmation just as the first window shattered.

  Black-hooded figures leaped into the room, silent and deadly. The cheers instantly erupted into screams. Chairs were overturned, feet were stamping on the ground, and everyone was in a panic at once.

  And then the slaughter began.

  Swords drawn and faces obscured by masks, it was impossible to tell who had managed to invade the castle so seamlessly. But Cyrene knew the skill involved with the creatures’ stealth, and she had seen firsthand what those wicked curved blades could do to flesh.

  Braj.

  Unholy creatures of the night. Assassins who wore the mutilated faces of their victims. Deadly killers who would never stop coming until they felled their prey.

  Cyrene didn’t have it in her to scream. She wasn’t even mad that they’d interrupted her Investiture ceremony. She just wished they’d come a little earlier. Saved her the trouble.

  Magic came to her fingertips at will, and within a second, Kael was standing at her side, sword in hand. She could practically breathe in the amount of magic he was pulling in. So vast a depth, she felt dizzy. Her own magic was heady but no longer bottomless. Not when she had been drawing so deeply every single day in training. Not when her anger burned it so effortlessly. But she could hold her own against a Braj. It wouldn’t be the first she had killed.

  “Cyrene, get out of here,” Edric called, rushing to her. “We must go. We must get you safe.”

  She brushed him aside. “I will not run while my brothers and sisters are being slaughtered by assassins.”

  “You are not safe here! You must protect yourself.”

  “I am not a maiden in need of defending. I will stand for what is right. Now, draw your sword, and help us!” she spat at him. Then, she stretched her hand out. “And, if you will not, then give it to me, for I know how to use it.”

  Edric looked as if he wanted to argue, but already, Kael was rushing into the melee. Cyrene didn’t wait to see what Edric would do. She frankly didn’t care. She dropped the precious consort cloak, tossed the talisman to the cowering officiant, kicked off her heels, and dashed toward the fight.

  She didn’t care that facing off with half a dozen Braj was suicidal. Or that using magic at all in front of Byern citizens was certain to draw attention. Or that she probably looked ridiculous in a dress and corset while rushing into battle.

  All that mattered was that adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she felt useful. Important.

  This asinine consort ceremony had made her feel like a spectacle. She was a pawn, a doll, a prop. Here, in this moment, she was so much more. It was what she had felt all those months as she discovered her magic and found her way to Eleysia to train with Matilde and Vera. Her heart sang, and for the first time since Maelia’s death, she let it.

  More guards rained into the room to help the guards who had already been in attendance for the festivities. To take the place of the fallen soldiers who had done their duty to their country.

  Soon, the tang of blood filled the air, and sweat beaded her brow as she threaded into the fight behind Kael. She didn’t have a weapon, and she hastily scooped one up from a fallen soldier. It wasn’t as heavy as the one she had practiced with Orden, and she found that was to her advantage now. She had never been great with a sword, but she infused her magic through the blade and let it guide her.

  Then, with a huff, she nearly face-planted over her dress. With Kael preoccupied with a Braj, Cyrene sliced into her dress, letting the many layers tumble to the ground, freeing her legs. She couldn’t do much about her corset, so she measured her breathing and then moved deeper into the battle.

  She found her first Braj after it sliced off a guard’s head. Its eyes found her, and if it could smile, then she was certain he would have.

  “Heir,” it growled. “You slaughtered my brothers.”

  She paced in a circle with the creature. Her pulse beat a tattoo against her temple, and her hands sweat in their grip on the sword.

  “They would have killed me just as easily.”

  “As I will do.”

  It came at her with lightning speed, but she had been practicing with Kael all week. Her instincts were
sharp and crisp. Her motions fluid as a dance. She stepped out of his path and met its sword with a twang of her own as they burst against each other. She felt the first faint touch of its mind against hers and she laughed aloud.

  She exploded into his mind, blasting it out of her own and unraveling whatever it had been attempting. “Not such an easy target.” She sneered.

  Then, they stepped through a series of clashes. Sword meeting sword. Offense. Defense. One step forward, two steps back. A game, a riddle, a synchronization. She didn’t give any further, and then, without warning, she blasted it backward off his feet with her wind magic. She heaved over at the exertion and felt a headache blossoming in her skull. She pushed it away, kicked the Braj’s sword from his hand, and pressed the tip of her blade to its neck.

  “Who sent you?” she cried amid the remaining sounds of warfare.

  The Braj simply laughed tonelessly. “I came for the heir, but your soul is no longer true.”

  “Don’t speak in riddles to me. I don’t care of your heirs and your darkness and your meaningless words. Tell me who sent you!”

  She pushed the blade against its throat, hard enough to draw blood. It was black as ink and came from its neck as a sludge. It choked and sent her a venomous glare.

  “Pure as snow. Light as starlight. Radiant as the sun. Tides will turn, and the prophecy is now.”

  Cyrene nearly screamed at its obtuse words. But, before she could ask it anything further, it wrenched his body forward, pushing itself onto her blade and committing suicide. Then, she did scream. Her body full of rage. Wholly unable to believe that she had had it and lost it without any answers.

  She wrenched her sword from the Braj with a squelch and moved to help with the rest of the battle. Only one more remained, and it was squared off against six guards. She could feel the pulse of its magic binding their minds together.

  Her anger sliced through the magic like a knife, and the guards recovered in a daze. Then, Kael was there, out of breath, and he hacked off the head of the last Braj, the black blood covering himself.

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  A destroyed throne room.

  A pile of dead bodies.

  A missing king.

  “Where is Edric?” Cyrene asked in the stillness.

  Panic seized her. Despite all he had done, she did not wish him dead or, worse, captured. Her eyes roamed the bodies and found the six dead Braj. There had been no more than that when they crashed through the windows. She was sure of it. She tried not to see the devastation they had wrought. At least three dozen guards and a few unfortunate Affiliates and High Order who had been too close to the windows all lay scattered across the once-white marble floors.

  She heard someone wretch nearby. Cyrene’s sword clattered to the ground, and she covered her mouth in horror.

  Kael was by her side in an instant, pulling her against his chest. She clung to him like a lifeline.

  So much death.

  So much unnecessary death.

  Her fault again.

  “Where is he?” she whispered into his blood-splattered dress clothes.

  “We’ll find him, Cyrene. Breathe and release.”

  She hadn’t even realized that she had still been holding on to her magic, but with a sigh, she let it go. Her body felt as if it had been trampled by a horse and carriage. Her headache whipped across her skull, and her knees would have given out beneath her had Kael not been holding her up.

  “Why am I so weak?”

  “You will get stronger,” he told her, his breath a prayer against her ear. “Just feel all the power around you. Drink it in.”

  She closed her eyes and tried to sense what he was saying. But all she could feel was death. Death and destruction. Blood. Blood everywhere.

  Then, that feeling of longing locked into her heart, and she remembered that time she had wanted to pull in magic from Robard’s blood. How inviting it had been. How much it had sung to her.

  That was what she could sense. Not the magic she had been using all along. Not the elements feeding her body, communing with nature. But forbidden magic. The life force of others calling out to her. She closed her eyes against the torrent, as it all seemed to hit her fresh. But she didn’t grab on. She didn’t take it.

  She had seen what had happened when Viktor killed his own child. How it had perverted the binding spell between him and Serafina.

  What would it do to me if I give in to it? How would it affect someone who already had Doma magic deep in their veins? Would my soul even be able to handle it?

  At once, her eyes flew open, and she shoved Kael away. “You!”

  His eyebrows rose in a question. “Cyrene, you’ve had quite an eventful day. Perhaps we should get you some food and have you sit down.”

  “This was what you wanted?”

  Energy radiated from him. Darkness deepened his sharp features. Inky-black tendrils practically crawled from his sleeves toward her.

  “How could I want this, Cyrene?”

  “You said today would be…eventful,” she accused.

  His eyes were so black, the blue practically vanished. “It was, but I never expected this.”

  “Yet you revel in it.”

  “Don’t you have a king to find?”

  She glared at him. “This isn’t over.”

  “Oh, I look forward to it.”

  Cyrene stormed away from Kael. Her magic stuttered and spat, even as her anger intensified. She had nothing to draw from. Nothing to replenish. And Edric was missing. She had lost him in the battle. In fact, she didn’t even know if he had followed her. She was barefoot, covered in blood, with an aching headache. She wanted a bath and a good night’s sleep. But she couldn’t rest until she knew what had happened to him. Her instincts told her to press on.

  Her eyes roamed the room and found it almost completely empty, save the remaining soldiers and the dead. She picked up the tatters of her skirt and ran toward the office door where she knew his first line of defense was. She was halfway through when Merrick appeared.

  “Do you have Edric?” she gasped.

  He shook his head once. “He went after you.”

  “And you didn’t follow him?”

  “I was…detained.”

  Cyrene nearly shrieked in his face. She didn’t even know why she cared so much. For all intents and purposes, Edric’s disappearance would be a relief for her. But she couldn’t stop the panic that seized her heart. He had to be here.

  Then, she froze. She knew how to find him. She closed her eyes and reached into her center, past the thread for Avoca, away from the mess of a thread for Kael, and to that flickering light. She tugged on the binding that connected them and hurried in the direction that pulled her. She didn’t want to think about how she would explain this later. Right now, her priority was Edric.

  She dashed down the aisle and through the tossed open double doors. Her feet carried her down the foyer, to the entrance of the castle. She skidded to a halt. Her hand flew to her chest as she stared at more bloodbath.

  There hadn’t been six Braj.

  There had been seven.

  Her mother was already on the ground, bleeding out of a wound in her stomach. Tears streaked her gorgeous face. Her father held her hand, even in death. His eyes were closed. A flimsy weapon discarded at his side.

  Her mother and father were dead.

  Herlana and Hamidon Strohm were no more.

  The words felt…wrong. Foreign in her mouth. In her mind.

  How?

  How could they be dead?

  She had done everything she could to protect them. Everything she could to be the daughter they deserved. She had even become consort for their lives. And, the minute her back was turned, they had been slain by an unholy creature.

  The rest of the scene came into focus before her. Reeve and Edric with swords aloft, holding back the Braj. Elea was paralyzed with fright behind them but not backing down. A Strohm girl through and through. A
young man, whom Cyrene had never seen before, stood beside her with his eyes focused on the battle.

  Cyrene wanted to sink to the floor and hold her parents in their final moments. She wanted to cry and scream for the atrocity of them being taken from her too soon. But she hadn’t gotten to do it for Maelia. She wouldn’t do it now.

  She would grieve when the battle was won.

  The clash of swords reminded her that this was not over. She had no weapon. Nothing to use against the Braj, save her magic. And, if she had to reveal that to Edric and her siblings, she would use it.

  “Hey!” she shouted.

  Edric’s and Reeve’s heads snapped up at the same time.

  “Cyrene, no!” Reeve shouted.

  “Stay back!” Edric cried.

  Elea’s hand flew to her mouth. Whatever she said was drowned out over the roar of the Braj.

  “You,” it said.

  It turned, slicing at her mind in a surprise attack, but she was ready. She held it off with sheer force of will.

  It moved away from her family to stride toward her with its curved blade. “The heir has finally come to face her death.”

  Edric and Reeve used its momentary distraction to rush the Braj. It turned around with anger and darted out at them. Reeve dodged the blade, but Edric was not so lucky.

  “No!” Cyrene screamed, knowing full well that a Braj blade held a horrible venom. She had only survived her own cut because of her magic and herbs from a healer in Albion.

  Edric had neither.

  He collapsed to the ground at once, an inhumane shout reverberating through the entrance hall. The poison had taken mere minutes to pass through her blood system. What would it do to Edric?

  Elea knelt at his side, but surely, she had no idea how to help him. Cyrene needed to get to him.

  “Little King,” the Braj said in disgust, “the Destroyer will take you all in the end.”

  Cyrene reached out for the very essence of the Braj. She didn’t know what she was doing, just that it had to be done. These creatures…this darkness could not take everything that mattered in her life. It was not capable of destroying her any further. She might see the end one day, but she refused to let it be today.