Shadow Crown

by Kristen Martin

  Rydan blots the damp spot with the edge of his tunic, then hastily flips the piece of parchment over. There, right under his nose this whole time, is another list of names, but unlike the previous list, this one has a title. One that is dreadful enough to make him cringe.

  HERESY.

  Rydan knows immediately what this list contains. It’s a list of households that practiced illusié, or old magick, and were deemed heretics. Traitors. Although the origin and extensive history of illusié remain largely a mystery, Rydan had heard enough over the years to know that every single person accused of practicing illusié was stoned to death. To his knowledge, this order had been fully carried out, leaving not a single heretic in the Kingdom of Trendalath.

  But it was always possible a household or two had been missed.

  Rydan skims the crossed-out names, his index finger sliding down the page as he reads each one. His breath catches as he finally reaches the bottom of the second column. There’s only one name on the entire list that isn’t crossed out.

  SOAMES.

  CERYLIA JARETH

  CERYLIA SITS ON her iron throne, fully alert, her dark brown eyes darting back and forth as guards rush from her side toward the main doors. As curious as she is to know what’s going on outside those double doors, as well as on the outskirts of the Queendom of Sardoria, she maintains her usual air of indifference. From across the room, she can see that her most trusted advisor’s eyes are narrowed, his shoulders tense, stance at the ready. Surprising for a man with only one good leg. “Delwynn!” she calls out to him with a hint of urgency in her voice.

  Delwynn snaps his attention away from the doors. He grabs his white cedar staff from the pillar it’s leaning against and begins to hobble over to her. It takes him a full minute to cover just half the distance, but when he finally arrives, he sinks into a low bow. “Your Greatness.”

  Cerylia’s eyes flick to the doors. “Have you any idea what all the commotion is?”

  Delwynn rises, then slowly makes his way up the steps to the throne. His staff clinks against the white marble floor with every step he takes.

  Cerylia holds up her hand, knowing that if she has to hear one more clink of that staff, she’ll end up berating one of her most loyal confidantes. “That’s close enough.”

  Delwynn stops in his tracks, but leans forward as he lowers his voice. “It’s another one of them, Your Greatness,” he whispers. “And they’re demanding that they speak with you.”

  Cerylia lets out a long sigh. She knows exactly what he’s talking about. Another person claiming to be a long lost member of the Caldari. The Caldari were once the most powerful of all the illusié, or old magick folk. It was even said that some members of the illusié had magical influences greater than Mother Nature herself. The fact that yet another person desired to reveal themselves hardly came as a shock, especially after she’d announced to all of Sardoria a reward for doing so. The reward being residence in the Sardoria castle and an opportunity to become a member of the Queen’s Guard.

  Cerylia turns her attention back to Delwynn. “The one you speak of . . . is his behavior rash? Shall I retreat to the High Tower for the evening?”

  Delwynn shakes his head. “No, Your Greatness. I wouldn’t necessarily say she’s behaving irately . . .”

  Cerylia’s ears perk up. “She?” Interesting. Thus far, only men had chosen to reveal themselves as members of the Caldari, although not much revealing had been done. She’d expected many frauds to surface, but the amount of swindlers she’d encountered as of late was truly astounding. Without another thought, Cerylia looks pointedly at Delwynn and says, “Bring her in.”

  Delwynn opens his mouth to protest, but closes it as the queen shifts her focus from him to the doors. With a slight shake of his head, Delwynn motions for the guards to let the girl in. Cerylia grips the edges of her iron throne as the doors open, her knuckles turning white. It’s always a risk to agree to see an alleged Caldari due to their irate and unstable nature. But those could easily be rumors as well. The incentive is far greater than the risk. And so Cerylia waits.

  Through the doors appears a teenage girl, no older than seventeen. She stands tall, at about 5’10”, and her hair shines silver in the daylight. Stunning emerald green eyes set on a porcelain face meet Cerylia’s dark brown ones. She’s so stunning that the queen has to grip the armrests tighter in order to keep herself composed. It’s difficult not to be completely captivated by this young girl’s beauty.

  The girl takes slow steps forward—confident, yet nonthreatening. Not a single guard accompanies her on her way to the throne. Clearly, they’re just as mesmerized by the newcomer as the queen is. When the girl finally arrives at the bottom of the steps, she sinks into a low curtsy and nods her head. “My Queen.”

  Something bitter creeps up Cerylia’s throat. Although the girl hasn’t said anything wrong, Cerylia can almost pinpoint the malicious intent behind the greeting. She remains seated in her throne, back straight, eyes narrowed. Her white and gray robes seem dull in comparison to the girl’s striking emerald green cloak, the same color as her eyes. The queen clears her throat as silently as possible, but before she can speak, Delwynn appears at her side, unannounced. “Please recite your name and tell Your Greatness what it is you seek.”

  The girl appears to be taken aback by Delwynn’s sudden appearance, and also slightly confused that the queen hasn’t spoken for herself. From the look on her face, Cerylia almost expects her to shift from one foot to the other, but the girl remains still, like a statue.

  Her piercing green eyes land on the queen’s. “My name is Opal Marston, a member of the Caldari,” she says with unwavering certainty, “and I am here to be of service to Queen Cerylia Jareth of Sardoria.” She bows her head for a moment before raising it to look at the queen again. A flicker of something darts across her eyes. Hopefulness, maybe?

  Delwynn begins to speak, but Cerylia cuts him off mid-sentence. “There are many who have claimed to be members of the Caldari.” She regards Opal with caution. “But they were frauds, willing to betray the trust of their queen, and sentenced to be exiled to the wastelands of Eroesa.” Cerylia leans forward and folds her hands in her lap. She lowers her voice to just above a whisper. “With that being said, how would you like to proceed?”

  Her words don’t appear to rattle the girl. In fact, they only seem to make her more confident. She raises her chin with the utmost certainty and says, “I’m an inverter, Your Greatness.”

  Silence fills the room, the only audible sound is Cerylia’s sharp inhale. An inverter? She reminds herself not to get her hopes up, especially after meeting the latest bunch of alleged Caldari.

  Inverters, also known as time turners, had vanished centuries ago. Theirs was a powerful and dangerous gift, one that not only allowed for traveling back in time, but one that also held the capability of changing the events of the past. Only those in direct contact with an inverter would remember the time travel and the changed event; any other bystanders not in direct contact with the inverter would be just that—bystanders.

  “Your claims are futile—”

  “—unless I show you,” Opal interrupts. “That’s precisely why I’m here.” She motions toward the steps with a graceful roll of her hand. “May I?”

  Cerylia pauses for a moment. Does she really want to go through with this? Again? If the girl is a fraud, she’ll have to face the humiliation of believing yet another one of them. She’d have to exile yet another person to Eroesa.

  But if the girl is who she says she is . . .

  “You may approach,” Cerylia says without another thought. Delwynn turns to face her with wide eyes, but she ignores him.

  A coy smile touches Opal’s lips. “Yes, Your Greatness.”

  As she approaches, the queen catches a whiff of something familiar. Pine and ash. “Do you reside in Vaekith?”

  Opal simply nods her head.

  “How significant are your po
wers?”

  Opal tilts her head to the side, eyes sparkling in the morning light. “I can travel back a decade.”

  Cerylia considers her for a moment. Secretly, she’d been hoping for a more powerful inverter, one that had the ability to travel back at least twenty years. But seeing this girl before her, and how young she is, gives Cerylia a newfound hope. The girl has potential. And with the right training and advisors residing in the castle of Sardoria, she’ll have tripled her abilities in no time.

  Cerylia’s thoughts disseminate as Opal speaks. “If you’d like, I can show you.”

  The queen considers this for a moment, then extends her hand out in front of her, palm up. Opal steps forward and gently takes the queen’s hand in hers. The focus in her eyes is unlike anything Cerylia has ever seen before. Opal’s eyes begin to shift from emerald to a light gray, and Cerylia notices everything around them begin to shake. Images grow fuzzy, as if vibrating at the highest possibly frequency. A dark tide swells in Cerylia’s stomach as her surroundings fade to black. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes.

  When she opens them, Opal is standing directly in front of her. She doesn’t say a word, just moves to the side. Cerylia realizes they’re standing at the top of the Vaekith Mountains, overlooking the Queendom of Sardoria, the Kingdom of Trendalath prior to Tymond’s reign, Eroesa before it was a wasteland, Miraenia, Chialka, and way off in the distance, the Thering Forest, and Isle of Lonia. She can even see the tops of the trees that make up the dense Roviel Woods, their branches swaying to and fro in the breeze.

  “The calm before the storm,” Opal murmurs.

  Cerylia turns to look at her with knowing eyes. “Before Tymond overthrew Trendalath . . .”

  “ . . . before he banished illusié and exiled all practicing members of the Caldari,” she finishes.

  A deep pang of sorrow hits Cerylia right in the chest. “Is that how you ended up here, in Vaekith?”

  Opal gives a solemn nod. “But, to be frank, Your Greatness, I already like it better in Sardoria anyway.” She flashes a smile at the queen, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You truly are a great ruler, the best Sardoria has seen in a long while.”

  Cerylia is tempted to ask her how long, knowing that Opal has probably been around for decades, but she resists the urge. Instead, she asks, “Have you successfully changed any events in the past?”

  Opal bows her head. “I wish I could say yes. But I can’t go back far enough to change the things that really need changing. Not yet anyway.” A sad smile touches her lips. “Perhaps one day.”

  In that moment, Cerylia knows exactly what she must do. “I’ve seen enough,” she says, the words coming out much harsher than she’d intended.

  Opal doesn’t question the queen’s sudden change in tone. She holds out her hand and the queen takes it. She closes her eyes, silently praying for her stomach not to turn as they travel back to the present. The ride back is much smoother, and when Cerylia opens her eyes, she’s back in the castle, sitting on her throne with Delwynn standing right beside her.

  Without hesitation, she stands. She looks Opal directly in the eye. “Opal Marston of the Caldari, welcome to your new home. Delwynn will take you to your living quarters and will provide you with your assessment and training schedule before daybreak.” She glances at Delwynn, who looks as though he’s about to protest. Cerylia smiles. “I look forward to seeing your progress over the next few weeks.”

  Opal’s eyes remain trained on the queen. She doesn’t smile. She doesn’t move a muscle. Finally, she speaks. “Thank you, Your Greatness.” She bows and with a swish of her cloak, strides toward the double doors. Delwynn takes off behind her, struggling to keep up.

  Cerylia resumes her place on the throne. Excitement courses through her veins. The Caldari are here, in Sardoria, the door to their powers wide open.

  And it’s all hers for the taking.

  ARDEN ELIRI

  THE KINGDOM OF Trendalath slowly vanishes from sight as our ship sets sail. The waters are rough and my knuckles have gone numb from gripping the edge of the boat as we make our way out to sea. Rydan stands on the opposite side of the ship, strands of his once-smooth black hair flailing in the wind. He looks at me, and it takes everything in me not to laugh at how utterly ridiculous he looks.

  The only other person on the ship is the captain. He doesn’t appear to be much older than me, maybe in his early twenties. He stands a few inches taller than Rydan, but with a much stockier build and light brown hair with a hint of auburn. His eyes draw me in. Dark brown—so dark that his irises are engulfed in black. He’s been looking at me since we set sail. Not a so much a steady gaze, but often enough where it’s noticeable. Normally, I’d feel uncomfortable, but for some reason, I feel that it’s okay for him to stare, like we’ve met before in a past life and he’s trying to pinpoint where and how.

  I catch him staring again, but instead of turning away to look out at the never-ending sea, I meet his gaze and decide to walk over and properly introduce myself. As I approach, I realize that he doesn’t flinch or nervously shift his stance. In fact, he keeps his eyes trained on me the entire time.

  I try to keep his unnervingly cool demeanor from getting to my head, but before I get the chance, he frees his right hand from the helm and extends it toward me. I pause mid-step and awkwardly receive the handshake. “I’m Arden,” I manage to say as I steady my legs.

  “You can call me Barlow.” His voice is one that should belong to a man with many years under his belt, gruff and strong.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I say, quickly releasing my hand from his. He returns to his double-handed grip on the helm. The silence between us is deafening, but strangely enough, it doesn’t feel awkward. In fact, it’s surprisingly comfortable. “Have we met before?”

  A small smile touches the corners of his lips. “I get that a lot.”

  “It’s just that . . .” I take in every feature of his face: the chiseled jaw, the elongated nose, the thin lips, but my eyes are instantly drawn back to those obsidian eyes. “Never mind.”

  “I can assure you we haven’t met until now.” His tone is filled with a sort of longing, something I can’t quite place. Before I can ask another question, Rydan interrupts.

  “It looks pretty hazy south of here. Isn’t that the direction we’re heading?” When he realizes he’s interrupted our conversation, he blushes. “My apologies, I didn’t realize you two were in the middle of something.”

  I nonchalantly wave my hand in the air. “Not to worry. Just introducing ourselves to one another.” Truthfully, I’m irked by the interruption, but don’t care to show it. “Rydan, this is our captain, Barlow.” They nod at each other. “So what is this about a storm?”

  Rydan shrugs. “Well, I’m not sure if it’s a storm just yet, but it looks awfully dark a little ways south of here.”

  “I’ll change course,” Barlow says without hesitation. “We’ll go east for a little and try to go around it. Hopefully miss it entirely.”

  I give Barlow a questioning look. “So you’re saying it is a storm?”

  The captain lets out a low chuckle. “Dark clouds hovering overhead always indicate rain, especially out on the open water. Chances are, we’ll see a thunderstorm, although I’m not sure how severe it will be.”

  I don’t mind storms, but I feel a flutter of panic in my chest. “How long is our voyage?”

  Barlow gazes at the sky, as if it holds all the answers. “We should arrive by early morning. 0400 hours.”

  “Best we get some sleep then,” Rydan chimes in.

  “You can sleep in the mid-cabin, just below the helm.” Barlow taps his foot on the deck of the ship to further his point. “I’ll do my best to be quiet up here.”

  “Don’t you need to sleep?” I ask. “Should we take shifts or something?”

  Barlow turns his obsidian gaze to me. It’s enough to give me chills. “I assure you, I’m well rested. I’ve
completed many night voyages in my day.” He winks at me. When I don’t smile, he continues, “I’m used to it. I’ll get you there safe and sound. I promise.”

  I still feel the urge to learn more about him, but Rydan nips that in the bud. “We appreciate it, good sir. Just holler if you need us.” He throws his head in the direction of the stairwell, gesturing for me to go first.

  Reluctantly, I oblige.

  The mid-cabin is dank and smells of ale and rotting wood. I grab a nearby blanket from a barrel and throw it on one of the top bunks. Rydan follows quietly behind me. I can tell he wants to say something, albeit I have no idea what. We haven’t talked since earlier that day when I’d brought up the Langley mission. What a mistake that had been.

  I attempt to break the silence. “You tired?”

  He shakes his head, but the bags underneath his eyes say otherwise.

  “Yeah, I’m not either.”

  “We might as well try to get some shuteye,” he murmurs. “We need to be at our best and fully alert for tomorrow.”

  I don’t feel like arguing, so I just nod silently. I pull a nearby crate from across the room and use it to hop up onto the top bunk. “Well, goodnight then.” The sheets are scratchy and the wool blanket is heavy, but it still feels nice to lie down.

  He sighs. “Goodnight, Arden.”

  I close my eyes, but sleep eludes me. I keep picturing Barlow’s eyes, going deeper and deeper into the blackness. There’s no doubt we have some sort of connection. I felt it, and I could sense that he did, too. The creaking of the helm keeps me awake until it finally ceases and, eventually, my snores join Rydan’s as the ship rocks back and forth in a steady rhythm with the waves.