by K. A. Linde
“Then, perhaps you should not be our leader,” Avoca snapped.
Cyrene took a step back in shock.
“Gwynora has magic. She is a strong fighter. She has battle experience. She isn’t the prophesied Heir of Light, but no one said that you had to be in charge of everything to take down the darkness. We just let you do that. And now, we are not letting you do that.”
Cyrene had no words. She just stared at the war council. Looked from face to blank face. Saw the uncertainty there. The lack of trust in her judgment. She had never seen that there before. She had always received their unfailing loyalty as she pushed forward toward her destiny. Took one step in front of the other, even when she had never wanted it. Even when she had wanted to reject the magic and the calling. She’d seen her friends die and lay in a coma and fight for their lives. She hadn’t asked for this life. It had been thrust upon her. But now, she couldn’t imagine giving it up.
“This is who I am. This is my destiny.”
“Then, destiny can wait,” Avoca said. “I vote Gwynora our commander.”
“Seconded,” Fenix agreed easily.
“Yes,” Brendt said.
Then, Joffrey. And Darmian. And reluctantly Brigette.
Finally, dishearteningly, Orden. “Agreed.”
Gwynora sighed and straightened. “I accept your choice in commander. We need to work as a unit. Can you get on board with that?”
Cyrene’s heart collapsed as they all stared at her, waiting for her to give up. “This is who I am. This is what I’ve been working toward for two years. My whole life.”
“Then, you will have to learn to be a team player. Because, if you can’t fall in line, then you have no place in my army,” Gwynora told her.
Cyrene’s eyes widened as she realized what had really happened. Everyone had turned against her. Malysa had won. In that instant, she knew it for truth.
“I can’t accept this,” she said, taking a step back. “We need to take down Malysa. You will all realize it too late, but I haven’t. And I’ll take her down myself before submitting to this idiocy.”
Then, she turned on her heel and strode from the war tent. They’d selected a new commander, turned their backs on her, and cast her out. Wetness welled in her eyes, but she refused to shed the tears. She wouldn’t cry. Not here or for them. Not for the loss of what she had thought would always be there. Not even at the stinging words that Avoca had thrown at her.
She would make this right. One way or another.
6
The Flight
Cyrene returned to the tent and began stuffing supplies into a pack. She took everything that she thought she would need. She and Sarielle could hunt on the way. She’d figure out the rest as she went. This wouldn’t be the first time she had to scrounge for food or forgo a bath.
She slung the bag over her shoulder and was about to storm out of the tent when a face appeared in the open flap.
“Rhea,” Cyrene murmured.
Rhea’s green eyes were full of confusion as she assessed the pack on Cyrene’s back. Her red hair was bound back by a ribbon. There was soot on her fingers from her continued work, attempting to re-create the bombs she had created back in Byern.
“Going somewhere?” Rhea asked.
“Yes,” Cyrene said. “I’m leaving.”
“You’re leaving? I don’t understand. Why?”
“Because the war council just kicked me out.”
Rhea’s eyes rounded. “They did what? Fenix is on the war council.”
“Yes, I’m aware. He was one of the people who said that I was an untrained eighteen-year-old who had no business leading an army, and if I didn’t fall in line, then I should leave.”
Her mouth popped open. “He didn’t. They didn’t!”
Cyrene shrugged. “They did.”
She pushed past Rhea to leave the tent, but Rhea followed her.
“I cannot believe that. That’s asinine. We know that you are the prophesied Heir of Light. Why would they turn their backs on you now?”
“Because I speak a truth that no one wants to hear. We need to take the fight to Malysa, and we need to do it before she’s too strong to stop.”
“I mean…you’ve always been impulsive. But…”
Cyrene stopped and whirled on Rhea. Her oldest friend. The one who had always believed in her even if she hadn’t wanted her own adventures. “Please stop. I cannot stomach it from you, too. Avoca was hard enough.”
Rhea’s face crumpled. “You’ll never lose me, Cyrene.”
Cyrene nodded with a sigh and continued walking past the edge of the Network army encampment.
Rhea followed her. “And I’m sorry to hear about Avoca. I know what it is to lose someone that you love. She’s just taking it out on you.” Rhea touched Cyrene’s arm, accidentally transferring some of the powder to her clothing. “There is wisdom in what you have said. You need time to earn their trust.”
“Trust? I went to the ends of the earth to heal Avoca. Our loyalty was…everything. And still, she said that I was playing at hero, Rhea.” She halted and looked up at the sky. She was glad to be beyond the bounds of the camp to finish this conversation. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want to be a hero. But I won’t sit back and let others suffer. I will do what I can to save everyone. To stop the world from burning.”
“I know. Maybe you should stay. Talk to each of them individually. You’re persuasive and charming. They will hear you. I know they will.”
“They won’t. Malysa has been in my head for the last two years. I know our enemy, and I know I’m right. Even if they won’t hear it.”
“Please don’t run off and do anything stupid,” Rhea gasped out, reaching for her before she could storm away. “I don’t want you to try to take on Malysa alone.”
“Do you think I would do that?” She shook her head. “I’m going to do reconnaissance. They don’t believe what I told them. Well, I’ll get information that they can’t deny.”
Rhea threw her arms around Cyrene’s neck. “Please be safe.”
Cyrene breathed in her best friend, holding her tight security close for a moment. “I’ll try.”
“And I’ll work on the council in your absence.”
“Work on your boyfriend, you mean.”
Rhea released her, blushing ten shades of tomato red. “Something like that.”
“You could always come with me.”
Rhea laughed, and it took Cyrene back to their days as children in Byern. So carefree. “I know where my place is. You’ll get back to yours.”
Cyrene smiled at Rhea’s easy acceptance. As if she had never doubted Cyrene, no matter how rash or unpredictable or whatever harebrained idea she’d come up with. She felt lucky to have inspired such loyalty. And wondered how one battle had changed it in everyone else.
With a sigh, she departed from Rhea and stepped into the clearing where Sarielle awaited. And she wasn’t alone. Cyrene startled to find Vera waiting there with an additional pack already attached to Sarielle.
“I’m surprised to find you here,” Cyrene said.
Vera smiled grimly. “I had a feeling this would happen.”
“You knew they were going to kick me out?”
“No. Not exactly. But I know Malysa’s influence when I see it.”
“This is Malysa’s doing?”
“There are those who seek to grab power. You have it. They want it. Taking you out of the picture for even a day reminded them of what they could have. And power corrupts.”
“Ah, so Malysa’s forte.”
“I do not think it’s a coincidence that she ignited your blood magic at this precarious position. She wants to sow discord among our ranks.”
“Am I walking into her plan by leaving then?” Cyrene asked.
“That depends entirely on what you do after you leave here.” Vera didn’t wait for her to tell her what it was that she was doing. She just withdrew a gold coin from her pocket. The mirror image to the one that
Cyrene had with her. “In case you run into any trouble, use this. Just try not to use it too often. I’m not sure if Malysa is monitoring the portal doors.”
Cyrene reverently took the portaling talisman in her hand. The other coin she had would only take her to Malysa. A coin she would never use. This one was far more valuable.
“Thank you. I’ll be careful with it,” Cyrene said. She slipped it into her pocket. She had spent so much energy the last couple of days, hating Vera for her deception. And now, she was one of the few people being kind to her despite her failure on the battlefield. “Thank you. Truly. For everything.”
“I did the best that I could,” Vera said, patting her arm. “You’ve come a long way. I’m proud of you.”
Cyrene swallowed the lump in her throat. “And you? How are you after what we did? Your magic?”
Vera frowned and glanced away. “It’s gone.”
Cyrene shivered at that thought. Of the magic just being gone. She remembered the dull, hollow nothingness when her magic had been removed during the dragon tournament in Kinkadia. To feel like that all the time, it was unthinkable.
“My apologies. I wish that there had been another way.”
“Me too.” She smiled sadly. “What’s one more sacrifice in this?” She said it like a woman who didn’t expect to survive much longer. Vera, who had survived thousands of years in a foreign world, severed from her sister, and watched generations of her children die. Perhaps it would be a mercy in the end. “It’s okay, Cyrene,” Vera said. “Go change the world.”
“Will you relay a message to Dean?” Cyrene asked.
She wondered how differently it would have been if Dean had been at the war council meeting. If he would have been on her side or not. But, since he had returned with her to Emporia, he had taken his dragon, Halcyon, and been restored to his position as a military captain in the Eleysian army. She hadn’t seen him since the battlefield. His absence made her heart ache.
“Are you sure you do not want to tell him yourself?” Vera said, intuitively guessing where her thoughts were.
“No.” She sighed. “No, he’ll convince me to stay. And I know I have to go.”
“Perhaps he’ll go with you.”
She shook her head. “This is where his place is. It was always with Eleysia. That was why he left to begin with.”
“And yet, he still crossed the bridge to earn his magic for you.”
True. He had spent what was mere months to them but years to him in Domara, earning the magical powers he now had access to. He had said he would follow her once they returned, but it seemed that Eleysia was where he belonged.
“I will tell him,” Vera said simply when Cyrene didn’t respond. “Safe travels.”
Cyrene nodded in thanks and then vaulted onto Sarielle’s back. “Are you ready to take to the skies?”
I thought you would never ask.
Then, Sarielle, the show-off, vaulted straight up into the air.
They flew unceasingly. Cyrene nibbled on the provisions she had brought and Vera had thought to pack for her. By the time the sun was setting on the horizon, the events of the last two days were beginning to catch up with her.
She tugged on the bond with Sarielle and gestured for her to find a place to land. Despite the fact that spring had arrived, the skies were still chilly. She was thankful for the cloak wrapped tightly around her and the gloves that kept her fingers from going numb. But, if she was to brave the Haeven Mountains, she was beginning to think she would need warmer clothing than she had at present. That meant that she would have to go into a city. Something she had hoped to avoid.
Sarielle touched down on the banks of a small river that ran through from the western side of the Hidden Forest and deposited into the Huyek River in Aurum.
Cyrene slipped off of her back. Her knees buckled beneath her as they tried to take her weight after so long of her being hunched over.
“Ugh,” she groaned when she caught herself in the grass.
If we had gone through the year of Society training, you would know how to avoid that.
“A little busy here. If I’d given up a year, I’d have come back to a wasteland,” she grumbled.
When this is complete, we should return and become the greatest there ever was. They will write ballads, and minstrels will weave tales about our adventures.
“This isn’t a big enough adventure for you?” Cyrene asked. She removed the supplies from Sarielle and went about collecting firewood.
This will be the beginning for us, my young dragon bound. Just you wait.
“I wish I had your confidence,” Cyrene muttered under her breath.
Sarielle’s only response was gently nudging her with her snout before scouting down the river for meat to sustain her insatiable appetite.
Cyrene started a fire, being careful to follow Orden’s teachings on how to obscure the smoke trail. She caught herself two fish, cheating just a little by using her magic. But she wasn’t in the mood to wait. She was hungry.
Sarielle still hadn’t returned by the time Cyrene finished her meal and was curled up into her bedroll, staring up at the night sky. And that was the moment when it all hit her.
She had lost so much. Maelia, her parents, Daufina, Edric, Mikel, Matilde—all dead. Avoca nearly killed. Ahlvie gone. Not to mention, she had lost her belief in the teachings of Byern. Her status in society. Her homeland.
She had been threatened.
She had been hunted.
She had been stabbed.
She’d fought for her life more times than she could possibly count at this point.
And now—now—after all that, they were doubting her.
The tears that she had held back all day finally fell down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and let the pain slice through her.
Inept. Untrained. Playing at hero.
Every horrible thing she thought about herself had been thrown in her face and used against her. All the doubt that welled up. The parts of her that had always been her greatest assets—her courtly manners and diplomacy—were now her greatest weaknesses. If she’d been trained like Gwynora as a battle commander, instead of etiquette classes, if she had been trained to use a sword instead of to dance or bow, instead of having her nose stuck in a book, then maybe they wouldn’t doubt her.
But, if she were those things, then she wouldn’t be her either. Her knowledge and wit and charm had gotten her so far. The training she had received might not have been a lifetime of battle strategy, but she had a sharp mind and bottomless magic. She hated so much that none of it mattered.
Even if it was Malysa’s influence, it still hurt.
She heard the flutter of Sarielle’s wings and a soft drop as she landed behind her. Cyrene hastily wiped at the tears on her cheeks.
May I tell you a story?
Cyrene swallowed and then cleared her throat. “Of course.”
I am Sarielle of Laciara and Mazzon. I was born of the Draíocht. Not many dragons are laid within the Fae’s sacred waters or hatched within the confines of their ancient caves. It is a privilege afforded to the greats. Both of my parents were magnificent creatures who chose to breed to create me. To create something special. So, I, as you, have thought quite highly of myself much of my life.
“You?” Cyrene couldn’t help asking with a bite of sarcasm.
I know it is hard to believe.
Cyrene grinned up at her.
Dragons who are intended to be bound to a rider are brought to Draco Mountain to be raised by Society dragons and the Dragon Blessed, like your little redheaded friend, Kerrigan.
“That much I did know. Kerrigan told me some. Matilde and Vera the rest.”
All dragons go through an ancient dragon rite to reach maturity. One can only receive a rider after passing this test.
“What kind of test?” Cyrene sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, intent on this new information from Sarielle.
It’s sacred, so I won’t reveal our ways wit
h you, as that is not the reason I tell you this story. The important part is that dragons never pass their test on the first time through the rite.
“Why not?”
They haven’t matured enough. They don’t have enough knowledge. They aren’t ready. It can be any number of reasons. But no one passes on the first try. Not in all of dragon history in Alandria. Many dragons fail over and over again. You fail and then return to your work, humbled, and try harder. You fail again and return even humbler and work even harder. The learning is in the failing.
Cyrene shuddered at her words. They were so accurate. So close to home. They brought the tears back to her eyes.
These circumstances look bad for you right now. But it is your process of failure, soul sister. And failing is for learning. Think on what you have learned from it and figure out how to take the test again and succeed.
She stared up at her friend in the twilight, admiring the great knowledge she had, and Cyrene had never felt more fortunate to have her at her side.
“Thank you,” Cyrene whispered.
Sarielle bowed her head, and Cyrene lay back down on her bedroll, thinking of Sarielle’s words. Trying to figure out what she still needed to learn from failing.
7
The Faithless
Dean
“Captain, there is a woman here who claims to have a message for you. Shall I send her away?” the guard asked.
“A woman?” Dean asked.
He lowered his weapon and took a step away from the sword practice. He’d been working twice as hard as his own men. Half to get back into shape after months of using his magic and not a weapon. And half to keep the men from getting restless, waiting for direction. That was the kiss of death for an army as much as food stores.
“Yes, sir. She, uh, flew in on a dragon.”
Cyrene.
“Let her in,” Dean said with a smile.
He sheathed his sword and then reached for his discarded shirt to pull over his sweaty chest. His other soldiers quickly followed suit. Then, he nodded at the guard to allow her into their makeshift sparring ring.