Passages (Alternate Worlds Book 1)

by Taylor Leigh

  Alternate Worlds

  Book One

  Passages

  By

  Taylor Leigh

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  Victoria had locked herself in again.

  The slaves had finally given up on pounding the door, begging for her to come out, deciding—perhaps rightly—that she was a lost cause. Funny, they gave up earlier and earlier these days.

  Barricading herself in was becoming rather a regular habit of hers and one she wasn’t too keen on breaking any time soon. Some days she had to escape from the stifling, overbearing surroundings outside her room. If only for a little while.

  She had locked herself in to escape the evening religious rituals. Being royal blood, she was technically required to attend, but she never had much stomach for it. The spore potion used for trances was revolting and the stuffy, hot darkness of the temple made her head swim. Hardly the way one wanted to end each day. So, once her lessons were over, or after she could no longer stand them, she dashed up to her room and bolted herself inside. By now, she supposed, it had become expected of her.

  At nineteen, Victoria was a typical Scrabian: dark, with hair so curly, everyone, including herself, had given up on it years ago. People said she had lovely, soft eyes, but Victoria thought they contrasted with her other blockier features, making her countenance look indecisive about being stern or gentle. Still, as far as appearances went, Victoria supposed she was pretty. Not that it really mattered. But being a princess, it did certainly help to not look like a sand hound chewed her over.

  With the window open, she sucked in a deep breath of hot desert air and listened to the noises of the day’s end. The distant pounding of sacrificial drums from the temples and the moaning of slaves entering the city found their way up to the Royal Layer. It wasn’t much to see. Dull, dreary, red and dusty. This is what she had to look forward to when she eventually ruled.

  The view was always the same. The only excitement was the occasional dust storm or the position of the Dead World, which hung close in the sky. The Other World was growing steadily nearer, and by the calendars, it was only a couple days from the night it would share the same sky as Scrabia and violently exchange things with her world.

  As Victoria stared out at the purpling evening sky it was not the nearing planet, but an airship that caught her attention. For a mad second, her heart leapt at the thought it might be her father returning home from campaign.

  She chided herself for the thought immediately. Of course it wasn’t her father. He wasn’t coming home. No-one did.

  Whoever it carried, the balloon approaching the city of Layers could only mean one thing—someone important was coming.

  Judging by the speed of the ship, she estimated it would arrive at the palace in a matter of minutes. Victoria launched herself up from her perch by the window and dashed to her washroom, snagging the first clean thing she saw in the wardrobe on her way. If someone was coming, her mother would no doubt request her presence. Victoria didn’t get out of things like this.

  Sure enough, it was not more than fifteen minutes later when a timid knock came to Victoria’s door. Victoria’s permission for the knocker to enter was rather terse. It wasn’t until the girl did not enter did Victoria remember she had locked her door. When she finally threw it open she was cross and the slave certainly picked up on Victoria’s mood as she stepped into the room. She shuffled her feet nervously and kept her eyes on the stone floor.

  ‘Miss? The Queen requests your presence downstairs immediately.’

  ‘Of course she does,’ Victoria sighed. ‘And what foul politician blew in this afternoon?’

  ‘I don’t know, Miss. But the Queen is in a real state.’ The girl bit her bottom lip, as if recalling just how bad the state the Queen was in.

  ‘Well, if Dearest Mother must have me present, what choice do I have? You can go; I can certainly dress myself. I’ll be along in a minute.’

  The slave left Victoria to her dressing and soon after, Victoria was gripping the door handle to leave the comfort of her room. She took a deep breath, relishing her last few moments of peace and then plunged out into the musty hall.

  Victoria swept down the all-too-long staircase, aware of how much noise she was making as she clattered down the steps in her heels. When she reached the end of her journey she let out a moan just quiet enough to keep the group below her from hearing. Her mother was standing with two people, and even from her distance, Victoria could, with much dismay, tell who they were. And it was the last two people on the planet she wanted to see—her uncle, Rovin and his son, whom Victoria was constantly at odds with, Reginald.

  Even from a distance, the sight of him made her grind her teeth in frustration.

  Victoria came down to stand next to her tight-lipped mother, Lucinda, who was watching her with disapproving eyes. ‘Ah, Victoria,’ her mother said in a clipped voice. ‘How nice of you to finally join us!’

  Lucinda was a tall, thin woman with skin just as dark as Victoria’s and thick lips that seemed to be perpetually pulled down in a frown. Even without noticing the tall, conical crown on her head, her very demeanour gave it away; by one glance it was obvious she was Queen.

  Her mother’s long hands wrung together. The only indication of her displeasure at Victoria not being perfectly on time. She never failed to find something to disapprove of when it came to her daughter.

  ‘Well, Mother, perhaps if you had informed me that we were expecting visitors, I could have better prepared myself!’ Victoria made sure her smile matched her mother’s quality of unpleasantness.

  While Lucinda’s eyes narrowed, her face adopted a sweet quality. ‘Isn’t this a surprise? Your uncle and cousin coming so far to visit us!’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine that your trip from the Underworld must have been rather tiring.’ Victoria smiled at her two relatives drily.

  Her uncle, Rovin, let out a humourless laugh. With his stern face and clipped black beard there was nothing amused in his features. He had a stuffy, aristocratic air about him but his style was not as regal as Lucinda’s for he sported somewhat drab, common robes. Still, back on the small patch of dust he governed, Rovin must have looked a rich sultan.

  ‘Ah, Victoria, always the charmer. It is always so nice leaving our uncivilised little province to tour the Capitol.’

  Reginald eyed Victoria like she was something rather unpleasant to eat. He gave her a thin smile and an awkward wave. Victoria curtly nodded her head by way of greeting. An uncomfortable silence followed.

  Her mother clapped her hands together a bit too loudly. ‘Well! I am sure you two are weary from your journey. I’ll have one of the slaves show you to your room and you can wash all of that dreadful dust off. Then we can meet back for dinner.’

  ‘I won’t complain about that!’ Rovin agreed, following Lucinda from the room.

  Reginald, dressed in baggy embroidered clothes, ambled towards Victoria, watching the corridor their parents had taken. He was a stocky boy, much taller than Victoria remembered. His hair was dark, like his father’s and cut close to his scalp and his nose looked as if it had been broken a few times—which it probably had. Even if he looked tough, Victoria knew it was all an image. He was, in her opinion, nothing but a pathetic sod. It was a miracle in itself he’d survived the Trials. Victoria quietly supposed he’d probably tricked the other boys into letting him pass. Reginald wasn’
t tough, but he was cleverer than she knew people gave him credit for.

  ‘You know what they’re up to?’ he asked quietly, dark eyes shining in the dull light. His accent, like his father’s, was thick and typical of the far eastern province he was from.

  Victoria shot him a glare. ‘Up to? What are you going on about? You’re father’s just here on business, right?’

  Reginald gave a heavy shrug. ‘Don’t know. Guess so. He’s been pretty vague about it. Hasn’t let me in on anything. And we never just come here this time of year, not with everything in our province going on. It’s only holidays and rot like that when we have to visit. Just thought you might know.’

  ‘You’re paranoid. Doesn’t matter what it is he’s here for. It’s got nothing to do with us.’ She crossed her arms.

  Reginald broke into a grin and slapped Victoria on the shoulder. ‘Right, what was I thinking? Sure everything is just bright sunny days and happy smiles. Couldn’t possibly be anything to worry about!’

  He waltzed away from her letting out a gleeful laugh, much too wild to be real.

  Victoria felt her stomach flip as she watched him go. She absently rubbed her shoulder, brewing over the words he’d said. Nothing to worry about… She had to admit that it was odd, them being here. Reginald was rarely wrong when he thought something to be off. He had a good nose for that sort of thing. A wave of suspicion rippled through her. By now she’d learned: when it came to life in the palace, when something smelled funny, it usually was. And so that just left the question: What was her mother up to?

  Victoria was not looking forward to the banquet which was to be held that night in her uncle’s honour. The only upside she saw to the whole event was that she finally would get a chance to wear her new dress—though it was hardly the occasion she was hoping for. She had wanted to set it aside for a ball, perhaps to dance with some handsome prince from a real province. Unfortunately, it looked like the banquet would have to do.

  She spent her few precious hours alone reading. Books were scarce on Scrabia. The art wasn’t highly encouraged and Victoria’s library was small and something she concealed. Still, she treasured the few she had. They offered good company for the lonely, like herself. In her stories, the people always led beautiful, daring lives, so different from her own. She was almost envious.

  She let out an unhappy sigh that felt too loud in the stillness. By this time in her life she figured she’d be used to being alone, but there was still a hollowness she couldn’t quite figure out how to fill. With all that Victoria had, there was still something missing. Her life didn’t feel complete. Victoria wanted to do something with her life, not just watch it roll by from a window. She wanted a point to her existence besides attending social functions, but couldn’t put a name to her desire. She didn’t know how to satisfy the answers in her head; what was beyond the walls of the city? What did it feel like to stay out with mates till dawn? What would it be like to save a life, or, the one question that she secretly ached over, to fall in love?

  It was the only problem with her frequent escapes, exposing the ugly truth to just how lonely she truly was, an uncomfortable subject she did her best to ignore. Being the High Lady, daughter of the Queen and therefore princess of Scrabia, Victoria Yasim thought her life wouldn’t be viewed from a window. But sadly that seemed to be the case.

  She put the book down in a huff. Sometimes, reading just wasn’t enough.

  She found herself hoping that Reginald might have matured since their last meeting. Sure, he was no charming prince, but she was rather starved for company her own age. She knew it wasn’t really worth hoping, but it would have been nice.

  The other royal girls, and there were very few of them, were so conceited and shallow Victoria could hardly stand to be with them. This seemed perfectly fine with them, for they had all taken the liberty of forming a pack that included every young female except for her. Normally she didn’t find this depressing, but today was different. Seeing Reginald had stirred a quiet ache in her that she’d kept still. She wanted someone to talk to, and not just pointless chatter with strangers. Conversations on politics and the weather could only go so far.

  However, her loneliness wasn’t quite enough to make her want to go to the banquet. She considered her options for getting out of dinner. Feigning ill or falling down the stairs she ruled out, though if the plans were more feasible, she would gladly have toppled all the way down to the atrium. Saying she wasn’t hungry wouldn’t do any good either. She’d simply be forced to pretend. Unfortunately, her options didn’t seem that viable.

  Glumly, Victoria surveyed herself in the foggy mirror. She’d managed to look presentable; she figured that would have to be good enough.

  The wind was howling outside as another sandstorm blew in. One of the benefits of living at the top of the city of Layers was that most of the tornados didn’t ever reach this far up. Of course, now she wouldn’t protest too much if the palace were destroyed by the storm—it might actually be a blessing. And it would certainly liven things up.

  Victoria glided down the stairs towards the dining hall, alone. The stairwell was dark and the candles that were placed along the way did little to improve the gloom. Still the storm raged outside, making Victoria shudder. Nothing was spookier than a lonely castle during a storm. She prayed silently she wouldn’t see the ghost rumoured to haunt the stairs; only that could make her all the feel worse.

  She was wrong.

  At the foot of the stairs the giant iron doors were being hauled open by two stoic guards. Victoria, pushing thoughts of ghosts aside, paused on the stairs in the shadows and peered down curiously. The gates weren’t often opened, especially during storms.

  The blasting wind blew in a troop of red cloaked figures and Victoria felt her breath catch in her throat. She could see the shrivelled clawed hands, illuminated by the lanterns they grasped. The bright red cloaks the figures wore did little good to hide their hunched, twisted bodies. Though their faces were obscured by hoods, Victoria knew what she would see. Elongated skulls, sharp teeth, and wicked, yellow eyes. The Denizens, the recognised Children of the Gods, had arrived.

  The tallest in their group Victoria recognised as Sinsetun. He was the high priest of all of Scrabia, rumoured to have been serving since Queen Feilldoria’s time. The waves of sickening power coming off of him made Victoria sway, even though he was several flights below her. She stood frozen, gulping for air, blinking stupidly at the group like a bewildered tunneller. Fear snaked through her. Why had her mother invited them here? They only arrived for proper festivals and Victoria could think of none near on the calendar. Her uncle and cousin were not so great an occasion to warrant this arrival, surely!

  Two slaves approached, bowing constantly, and led the foul pack out of the foyer. Victoria sighed with relief, not sure how much longer she would have been able to stomach Sinsetun’s power without becoming ill. Drawing her shawl tighter about her, Victoria scampered down the rest of the stairs, suddenly desperate for light and human company.

  Dinner’s silence could not have been more awkward if it had been planned. The clinking of metal on dishes sounded much too loud in the vast hall and Victoria felt self-conscious about every move she made.

  She made a considerable effort to not look at Reginald. They hadn’t spoken since their private discussion in the hallway and she wanted to keep it that way. It didn’t help that he kept attempting to catch her eye. His words were still eating away at her, making her food taste sour. The arrival of the Denizens only did more to add to her worry. Something was up and she’d been a fool to not see it till now.

  They weren’t the only ones at the table, which was a normal occurrence but bothered Victoria even more under the circumstances. Several other nobles, completely oblivious to the tenseness in the air, were chatting merrily away. Her mother was doing a valiant effort to keep Rovin involved with the discussions but Victoria could tell by the length of his responses that the talk of his small province would s
oon die altogether. Not many in Layers cared for life outside their city walls.

  The uncomfortable atmosphere of the room made Victoria feel all the more queasy. She stared down at her broth and mushroom soup and stirred the liquid absently, no longer feeling hungry.

  Her mother cleared her throat, making enough show of it to jar Victoria out of her thoughts. Victoria’s eyes reluctantly left her bowl and met Reginald’s on her way to her mother. He raised his eyebrows ever so slightly. Victoria read that as: ‘Well, looks like we’ll see what all this is about now!’ She made a slight face and then fixed her attention on her mother.

  ‘My, I can’t remember the last time we had such a quiet dinner together!’ Lucinda said lightly.

  ‘Still just a bit tired from our trip, I’m afraid,’ Reginald said with ease. He leant back in his seat; the picture of relaxation, but Victoria could see something in his eyes, an uneasy flicker in them that again caused her stomach to churn.

  ‘Well, once you two hear what Rovin and I have to say, it should wake you right up!’

  Victoria sat a bit straighter, wary.

  ‘As you know, the ruling history of Scrabia is a long one with a bloodline to be proud of,’ her mother began. ‘Our ancestry can be traced back three ages. That is a great a honour!’

  Victoria’s scalp prickled. The heat from the unnecessary fire suddenly became more noticeable to her. She felt her pulse inexplicably quickening from nerves. Her brain ticked through possible reasons for all of the show. Nothing plausible came to mind. What was her mother getting at?

  Reginald broke in. ‘We are very lucky to have the bloodline that we do, I’ll be the first to admit that. But what are you getting at, Aunt?’

  ‘The fact is, Regi,’ Rovin spoke up. ‘Is that you and Victoria have reached the age where it is no longer acceptable for you to be—’

  ‘Alone,’ Victoria’s mother finished. ‘And since that is the case, Rovin and I have agreed that it is only proper that you two be pledged for marriage!’