Magical lights illuminated her rooms as she padded through the bedroom to her bathroom and then sitting room. Fava often slept in the sitting room instead of her own small room off to the side in case Magna needed anything. Her heart pounded as she crept to her servant’s room. The door creaked as she opened it.
Fava’s bedroll sat untouched. A pitcher and bowl rested on a small trunk. Even the chamber pot in the corner didn’t smell.
Where had Fava gone?
“Of all the times,” Magna said under her breath. She returned to her bedroom and unlatched the wooden shutters. They swung open with a loud crack.
“Oh, son of Thean!” She clutched her hands to her chest.
Fire engulfed the hills surrounding Palamartia, where the palace was located. Thick smoke plumed into the night’s sky while flames licked various buildings. The din of swords echoed along the streets. Screams erupted and combated with the forever intoning of the bells.
“What the Hupobus!” Dressed in a nightgown, she grabbed her cloak and exited her rooms. She couldn’t run fast enough to her brothers’ quarters. “Thoran? Moran? The city is under attack.”
Like Fava, her brothers weren’t there.
Panic, with its iron-like fingers, seized Magna by the throat, but she pried it off. Were Moran and Thoran fighting in the streets? They would be fine, since Father was likely with them. She had to find her mother. Queen Vyvian would know what they should do. Magna raced to her mother’s rooms.
Empty. Every single one.
Fear sat in her stomach like soured milk. Were they already dead? Had the enemy struck the palace first? She shook her head and cleared it of the notion. Don’t be silly, Magna, the palace is impenetrable.
Besides, if the Apenthans had attacked the palace, then why would they leave her behind?
Magna summoned darkness, and it cloaked her like black velvet. In whisper softness, she stalked into the dungeons to seek their prisoner. Cyrun had to know something he hadn’t told them. He would tell her—
She stumbled just feet from his cell.
One guard reclined upon the floor. His eyes stared at nothing, and a blotch of red blossomed from his chest. A sword had pierced him like skewered meat. The second guard sat against the wall with his head at an awkward angle. His eyes were closed.
Magna knew what she would find in Cyrun’s cell before she entered it, but she still shivered when she saw it was vacant, just like her family’s rooms. Although Amoran guards had searched for other Apenthans when they’d captured Cyrun, they had to have missed the others. The Apenthans had breached the city’s walls, and Cyrun had somehow helped them.
“Oh, gods.” She collapsed against the wall. Her heart pounded in her ears as loud as drums upon the battlefield. Tears clouded her vision, but she refused to let them fall. Magna thrust herself from the wall and fled from the dungeons.
The charm she’d used to cloak her drifted off in a black cloud. She ignored her exposure, since no one was around to see her. She skidded to a stop when she entered the weapons room. Either guards or their adversaries had ransacked the place. Only a few rusty swords remained. She scooped up a dented old weapon. Wait! Something gleamed from underneath a pile of wooden practice shields.
She dropped the bent blade, clasped the golden metal, and yanked out her father’s sword from under the shields. The phoenix rising from the ashes emblem no longer gave her hope. Had the worst happened? Father wouldn’t have willingly left his weapon. Hot tears pooled in her eyes, and she clutched the sheathed blade to her chest. Her shoulders shook with grief.
Magna took a few moments to calm her surging feelings. At the age of eighteen, she could possibly be the kingdom’s queen. No! She didn’t know what had happened to her family yet. Her kingdom—her family—was in danger, and she had to do something to save them. After she wiped the tears from her eyes, she wrapped the belt with the sword around her waist and double-knotted it. She rushed from the room.
“Princess Magna, there you are!” Fava’s warm voice echoed in the corridor.
“Fava! Where were you?” Relief turned Magna’s muscles into jelly. She grasped a nearby wall to keep herself on her feet. “Where is everyone?”
“I ’eard the bells and went to see what was ’appenin’. When I got back, you were gone. We’ve been lookin’ for you. Guards ’ave secured the queen, king-consort, and princes in the inner palace. You must join them.” Fava flitted back and forth like a moth trapped in a glass. Her gaze darted to the windows, where shouts neared.
“They’re hiding while the enemy is within our walls.” Disgust tinged Magna’s tone. Her family was alive, but Amora needed them to fight as well. Shame burned her cheeks and across her chest. She’d expected her mother to shy from battle, but not her father and brothers. Amora had fallen far from grace. No wonder the Apenthans were attacking the city! “Go back to the queen. Tell her you didn’t find me.”
“Princess, it’s not safe.” Fava grabbed Magna’s arm.
“No!” A blast of white energy shot out of her hand and struck Fava in the chest. The servant slid along the stone floor until she hit the wall.
“Are you all right?” What had Magna done? She raced over to her servant and touched Fava’s bony cheek. “Please be okay.”
Fava’s eyelids parted, and she blinked. “Princess,” she said in a wispy voice, “come.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t. I won’t let our kingdom fall.” Magna gave one last look to her servant and sprinted from the palace. Since the guards were either with her family or attacking the enemy, no one stopped her. The sheathed sword knocked against her leg while she ran out a side entrance and down the cobblestone streets.
She rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. Men marched along the main road to the palace. She ducked into a nearby alleyway. Had they seen her? She held her breath while they passed her hiding place. No one seemed to have noticed her, and she quietly released her shaky breath. Sweat dampened her palms, and she rubbed them on her nightgown. Why hadn’t she thrown on a dress? She unsheathed her sword and stalked after the enemy. The shadows embraced her. She darted between the open spaces. A scent of burnt mortar and wood filled her nostrils, and it took all her will power not to succumb to a coughing fit.
She found a secret entrance to the palace and slipped inside. The palatial stone bit into her back as she pressed against it. Around the corner, Apenthans milled in the palace’s courtyard.
“Search for the Royal family and gather them here. They are to be unharmed.” A glimpse of a smile brushed against Prince Cyrun’s lips. He waved to his guards, and all but two scattered to find the Royals. “If you find the princess, I wish to speak with her.”
Magna clutched the heavy sword in two hands. The weight felt uncomfortable to her, and she wished she’d had more lessons with her brothers. She closed her eyes and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart. Although for weeks she’d wanted to participate in the battle raging beyond her walls, her resolve for the fight faded at her own threshold. When a shriek erupted within the palace, Magna opened her eyes.
It was time.
She edged along the walls. A dark stain of red appeared upon the horizon like a bloody paint stroke. She flicked a glance toward the two guards; they were across the courtyard at the entrance. Prince Cyrun stood alone.
Magna judged her distance to her prey. Ignoring the dull ache forming in her muscles from holding her father’s weapon, she lifted the sword and attacked.
Metal clanged against metal as Cyrun raised his blade in defense. Magna struck one more time before he lunged forward and backed her toward the wall.
“We meet again, Princess Magna.” Despite the bruises and cuts upon him, he moved fluid and graceful like a dancer.
From the first clash of their weapons, her arms tingled. He continued his attack as she went on the defensive and barely managed to keep her sword raised. A bead of sweat trickled into her hairline. Her feet skidded sideways as she bumped against the wall.
“Let
my family go. You don’t have to do this.” Her breath spurted from her lips while a rosy-fingered sky stretched over Amora.
“Which one should I execute to save your kingdom by dawn? Perhaps Queen Vyvian, your mother?” His mock tone slammed into her as he threw her own mother’s words back at Magna. He slowed his attacks and played with her like a child with a wingless fly. “Speaking of which, here they come.”
Enemy guards flanked her mother, father, and brothers. They tossed her family to the ground like litter. Chains bound her family’s hands. They huddled together and their eyes grew wide as they focused on her.
“Magna!” Father struggled against the bindings, as if he alone could protect her.
Magna’s heart clenched in her chest. She’d never seen her family so frightened, especially her mother. Those tears in Mother’s eyes stole the breath from her. “Release them.”
Cyrun shook his head. “It’s not so simple. I’ll trade your mother’s head for peace. Amora will become a city of the Kingdom of Apentha. I’ll allow you to be queen.”
Mother trembled and clutched Father. “Magna, give him what he wants. Save yourself.”
Magna couldn’t detect what Thoran was thinking. His shoulders slumped, as if the life was draining from him. Father fought hard against the chains again, but a guard struck him and knocked him to the ground. Moran kicked toward that Apenthan, but Mother yanked him back. Bubbling fury welled inside Magna. She would be their champion.
Her newfound magic boiled through her veins. Despite her lack of skill, she knew what to do.
“Flames of fury, light my sword, so I may save my kingdom.” From the hilt to its deadly tip, fire lapped upon the metal. With all her strength, she attacked Cyrun. The blade turned a fiery red with each strike.
“Impressive.” Clutching his own sword with both hands, Cyrun retreated from her.
“Get him.” Moran cheered for her, although his voice came out shaky.
“Fire’s death is an icy retreat. May I quench its thirst.” Ice etched along Cyrun’s silver weapon.
When fire and ice met, thick steam bathed them. The haze twirled around Magna and distorted her vision.
“Wind, I summon you to clear my sight.” A gust brushed against her feet and rose like a tornado to disperse the fog. The ring of metal deadened in the blustery gale.
“Water, come to my aid.” Cyrun summoned the element. A torrential downpour swirled around them. “You can do better than that.”
“Leave my kingdom alone.” Her sword struck Cyrun’s as she aimed the small twister at him.
The wind hit him in the chest, and his weapon flew across the courtyard. His lips parted in surprise as he fell. The water collapsed and extinguished the flames upon her sword.
Magna placed a sandaled foot upon Cyrun’s chest and pointed the blade at his throat. “I don’t wish to kill you. We can still have peace between our two kingdoms.”
“Still believe in fairy tales, Princess?” His amethyst eyes focused upon the sword and then her. An amused smile played along his lips. “You won’t kill me. You can’t.”
She hesitated, and the sword trembled in her hand. Maybe Cyrun was correct. She couldn’t kill him. Despite their kingdoms’ animosities, Apentha and Amora were family. Her gaze met those gathered around the courtyard. Moran assisted Father in standing. Thoran gave her a comforting smile, but best of all, her mother straightened to her queenly height. Pride shined bright from her eyes. All other fighting had ceased. The city walls still stood, despite the burning flames. In the east, the golden orb peeked over the horizon. Dawn had arrived.
“I love my city and kingdom. Order your men to stand down and let us speak peace, my cousin, or else.”
“Or else what?” His challenge rang out.
She edged the tip against his neck where his life’s blood pulsed beneath it. His cocky grin irked her. She would die before giving up her kingdom. Dark fury swelled within her, and she broke his skin. A thin line of red blood trickled from the neck wound. “Don’t think I won’t.”
His hard façade faded from his features. Once again, he was the prisoner in Amora’s capable clutches. “Lay down your arms, Apenthans. Perhaps we can brokerage an agreement.”
Upon the Prince’s command, the Apenthans set down their weapons.
“Have them release my family too.” Magna didn’t budge.
“Release the Royal family.”
The Apenthans listened to their prince and freed her family from their bonds.
Father, Thoran, and Moran seized the Apenthans’ swords. To Magna’s surprise, magic pulsed from Mother’s fingertips.
“Take his head, Magna.” Mother zapped a nearby Apenthan. “They will kill us all.”
“Princess, see how Amora treats family.” His whispered words pierced her. Sweat beaded down his temple, and he remained very still, so she wouldn’t cut him further.
Magna swallowed. A single downward movement could remove his head from his body, but she wouldn’t be the one to continue this war. “Cyrun, I want a guarantee of peace.”
“It’s hard to make guarantees by the sword.” His breath hitched.
“Your people had no problems with weapons before.” Magna spat her words at the ground. Fear and hatred burned her. She’d been so close to losing everything: her family, her people, her kingdom.
“I know.”
“I’m not my mother. Tell me why you started this war.”
“My father heard rumors Amora planned to attack us.” He shrugged slightly. “We Apenthans thought our kingdom’s safety resided in destroying yours.”
“We had to scurry to form an army. You caught us unprepared.” Whoever started these lies should be imprisoned. Magna started to withdraw her sword, but could she trust him?
“Perhaps we were wrong.” He caught her gaze, and she melted a little more. “I can’t say what my father and your mother will decide, but you showed me kindness when I thought there was none left. I’ve been the fool, not you.”
They both thought they were doing the best for their kingdoms. The last of her anger broke. Sheathing the weapon, she stepped off his chest. She stuck her hand out toward him.
Without hesitating, he grasped her hand and rose to his feet. “Nice nightgown,” he whispered hotly in her ear.
“Do I have a guarantee we will work together to bring harmony between our peoples?” She kept hold of his hand, despite the fire burning her cheeks at his proximity. The sun rose farther in the sky, and it bathed them in light. Night was over, and a hope of friendship lifted her spirit and dissipated the fear and doubt.
“A wise woman told me we aren’t all that different.” Cyrun kneeled before her. “I vow to you I will do everything in my power to help create a treaty.”
“Let there be peace.” Magna knew in her heart she was doing the right thing. Although they had a lot of work ahead of them, a prince and a princess could persuade their families to end the bloodshed. Golden tendrils of magic entwined around their hands and bound them to their vow of amity and family.
God-chosen as the Phoenix Prophetess, Yssa dares to challenge Fate to save the ones she loves. No matter the cost.
Forthcoming May 2014
Turn the page for a sneak peek of Cherie Reich’s debut novel.
The Island of Mournia
23 Day of Inasham
Year 2500 AUC
The infant lay limp upon the table, a thin cloth separating her from the wood. Her dark hair was matted down, and a smudge of birthing fluids tainted her pale flesh. The midwife had rushed to wipe off the baby after birth and deposited her in the nursery away from the child’s parents. Apenth, the God of Prophecy, Wisdom, and whatever else mortals had labeled him with this day and age, believed the little girl was perfect, except for one tiny thing.
She was dead.
Apenth had waited five hundred years for this child’s birth. Breath flowed from his nostrils and rustled her hair. He straightened as the wails from the other room clamored for her de
ath not to be so. The small crib sat discarded in a corner. A doll, sewn by an expecting mother’s steady hand, peered at Apenth with coal-black eyes. Her parents didn’t know a god was here, watching, waiting for an opportunity to save their child. His hand hovered over the baby’s heart.
One touch would change everything.
“Stop, my son.” A wrinkled and liver-spotted hand seized his wrist.
He cursed his lack of foresight. Shouldn’t he have known Postera, the Goddess of Future and Foresight, would try to stop him? He was the God of Prophecy, after all! Her bony fingers gripped tighter with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. With a sigh, he lifted his head and focused upon her clear blue eyes, so like his own.
“Mother, she’s the one. I have to continue Amora’s prophecy.” He gently pried her aged fingers from his wrist.
“No, you cannot go against Fate again. You have displeased the gods.” Clothed in the threads of life, she ran her fingers along the thrumming red yarn—each strand symbolized one life and weaved together to create her dress. All threads emerged from a ruby gemstone belted over her navel. The closer to death a person was, the more the yarn would change from bright to dark red. She reached into her dress folds and revealed the severed darkening strand of this baby’s lifeline. “It is too late. Fate has forfeited her life, and her soul shall reside in Hupogaia’s realm.”
His heart sank. The detached thread swayed back and forth from her fingers. Was it too late to revive the child? His body curled closer to the baby girl. Her chance for life was slipping through his fingers with each passing grain of sand in an hourglass.
This girl had to be the sixth prophetess.
“You know what will happen if I don’t do this.” He jerked away from his mother. His gaze flicked between the blackened thread and the baby. If he didn’t save the child, who would stop Fate? His Phoenix Prophetesses were more than normal seers. They had the power to take his prophecies and change what was to come, despite the other gods and Fate’s claims they shouldn’t interfere. Her future was fading into the dark depths of the Underworld. He owed it to his deceased love Amora and the kingdom she had created and ruled.
Magna's Plea (The Fate Challenges) Page 2