“Me too, pumpkin, me too.” Aidah sighed. That all three of them suffered nightmares was bad enough. That Nerisse and Clara dreamt of the same man was disturbing, an ill omen Aidah could do without, but at least the girl hadn’t mentioned Ainslen and a box.
Soon after breakfast they were preparing to return to the Empire Road when Terestere arrived at Aidah’s wagon on horseback. “Good morn,” the queen said. “I just came to say goodbye to you and the children and to tell you to be strong in all of this. The Dominion shines on you.”
“Thank you,” Aidah said. “May they light your path also.”
A wrinkle formed on the queen’s brow. “You look tired. Trouble sleeping?”
“Yes, I had a terrible nightmare.”
“I can relate. All I do is dream of my husband’s death and imagine my hand around Ainslen’s throat.”
“Such dreams would’ve been pleasing,” Aidah said. “Mine are usually of Clara’s death as we tried to flee from Ainslen’s reach in Kasinia. Or of her going mad, destroying a village, killing innocents. This last one contained Ainslen and a box of remains.” She quickly skipped over that bit. “There was also the Caradorii, Berendali, and Casda Esdan. It all seemed so real as if I know the place and its people. Nerisse and Clara suffer from nightmares also, but theirs are of the same man, a man who takes Clara.” Aidah was frowning now as she contemplated the reason behind the similarities. “Is it possible that Clara melded in her sleep, forced what she saw on Nerisse?”
“A melder cannot use their skill while asleep. At least that’s what the Blades claim.”
“Then why am I seeing a place and people I’ve never visited? Why are my daughters sharing a dream?”
“Perhaps you read of them somewhere? As for Nerisse and Clara, who had the dream first?”
“Clara.”
Terestere smiled. “The explanation for them is similarly simple. Clara hides nothing from her sister. Most likely she told Nerisse about this man. Think of the stories you heard in your life, particularly when you were young. Didn’t they make you imagine you were there or that you knew the people?”
“They did.” Aidah nodded. “Still, seeing Clara suffer so.” She shuddered.
“Did you see her actual death? My mother always said that was the only time to worry, when a person died in the dream.”
“I saw her die in all the ones where we fled Ainslen throughout Kasinia.”
Terestere’s brow furrowed. “And the dreams of the western kingdoms.”
“She was sick, perhaps dying.”
“But she wasn’t dead.”
“No.”
“I would take that one as a sign,” Terestere said.
The drum of a horse’s hooves caught Aidah’s attention before she managed a reply. A man galloped down the hill toward the queen’s camp, hair and cloak flying behind him.
“One of my rear guard,” Terestere said.
“Is that good or bad?” The guardsman headed to an ebony-skinned Thelusian who was easily twice the size of any other Blade.
“Bad, and most likely a reason for us to leave.” The queen flapped her reins and sent her mount trotting toward her men.
“Lomin,” Aidah shouted as she watched the animated conversation between the Blades. The new arrival pointed south. Lomin arrived moments later. “The queen says it’s time for us to go.”
“Packed and ready.” Lomin nodded in the direction of the queen and her two men. “Looks like trouble.”
“Where are the children?”
“Inside the wagon.”
Aidah glanced over her shoulder. She could just make out Nerisse’s face peering through the canvas opening. Two of the new guards were on their mounts next to the wagon. In the queen’s camp the Thelusian Blade captain was shouting orders. Men scrambled atop their mounts and followed the first soldier back the way from which he’d come.
The queen returned, amber eyes grim. “There’s a squad of King’s Blades and Farlanders headed this way, riding hard from Garangal.” Aidah’s gut clenched. “They will be on us within the next hour or two. My men have already ensured that no one sent word north, and I have Blades in every town from here to Melanil, keeping the ways safe, so stay on the Empire Road.”
“Your Majesty,” Lomin said, “why does it sound as if you don’t intend to head to safety?”
Terestere smiled. It was a thing of genuine pleasure. The woman was mad if she intended to stay. “There’s no safer place than with my Blades, Lomin. Besides, these Farlanders defeated Jemare’s men, didn’t they? Or so the rumors say. My Blades are a little … rusty. It’s as good a time as any for them to find a proper whetstone.”
“But—” Lomin began.
“I will be fine.” Terestere waved off his protest. “Worry about the task before you. Your life belongs to Lady Rostlin until Danalyn. See her there safely. Now, I must speak to Aidah alone.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He bowed stiffly to the queen and then turned to Aidah. “M’lady, I’ll be at the wagon when you’re ready.”
Aidah acknowledged him with a nod. She watched him walk away. “I often wonder if all men are like that.” She recalled Kesta being similarly protective, a trait she’d admired.
“Most are,” the queen said, “even when the woman is a stranger. Sometimes their concern can be flattering, but at others it can be burdensome. But it’s not limited to men. I count it as a natural trait among warriors: the belief in physical strength first and foremost.”
“With what might be coming I could use some of that strength,” Aidah said. Terestere’s men were mounted and ready, horses stamping impatiently, mist rising from their mouths. “I’m worried that neither myself nor the children will survive. Frightened, really.” The admission made her quiver.
The queen brought her horse closer. “Look at me.”
Unwavering amber eyes stared at Aidah. A depth existed within them that made Aidah feel as if she would lose herself.
“I will be fine,” the queen said. “Say it with me. I will be fine.”
“I will be fine.”
“My children will be fine.”
Aidah repeated the words, voice low.
“Say them with conviction,” the queen urged. “Don’t just speak them, believe them. I will be fine; my children will be fine; the Dominion will watch over us.”
The intensity of Terestere’s words stirred something in Aidah’s chest. Aidah said each sentence again and again. With each repetition the force of her speech grew until she was staring past the queen but not actually seeing the woman, her words soft but yet filled with determination. Belief became a pillar that made her straighten her back, clench her fists. “And I will have revenge on those who made my family suffer.”
“Good,” Terestere said, “now you know how I feel. Your family needs you. Go to them.”
“Thank you so much.” Aidah bowed to the queen, turned on her heels, and strode toward the wagon, her steps light, the wind no longer seeming to cut through her garb.
Weight of Blame
Thunder cracked again. Aidah started whenever the sound rolled through the air. With each angry rumble Aidah swore she felt the wagon heave unevenly, and on one occasion several boulders fell away from a rock-strewn incline. The first time the rumble came she looked to the heavens, expecting to see storm clouds and lightning. Instead, the sky was clear and blue. Lomin said Blades caused the sounds when they unleashed their melds. Flashes lit the hilltops behind them. The full-throated cries of warriors in combat were a muted roar, waves crashing on a distant shore.
Lomin’s whip cracked as he urged the byagas on, the beasts braying as they ran. Clara huddled in Nerisse’s arms, gaze transfixed on the hard-packed road behind them. They trundled past the winding road that led to Torens, a few of the town’s rooftops sh
owing above a small forest. The guards rode beside each wagon, beating off the occasional traveler who tried to grab on or chased after them, crying out for a ride. Driving the wagon directly behind, Aran flapped his reins, face a mask of concentration.
Out of habit, Aidah prayed to the Dominion. She expected victory for Terestere’s men, but the little doubt she harbored was more than enough for concern. She lost track of how long the battle raged, but as the din from the clash of soul magic dwindled, so did the fearful jolts. Her focus remained on the road and land behind, seeking any riders other than those who were obviously refugees. When none became evident she let out a long exhale, closed her eyes, and relished the feel of the sun bathing her face, its warmth in counterpoint to the cold gusts that stirred her hair.
Afterward, to help ease any lingering anxiety, she prepared a meal of dried rabbit, fruits, and water for herself and the children. They ate in silence, bodies rocking to match the wagon’s movements, the byaga’s brays and Lomin’s shouts a constant reminder of their flight. Aidah barely tasted or smelled the food as she contemplated the journey ahead.
“There’s something I must tell you both.” Aidah glanced from one girl to the next. Not so long ago they had both been innocent children with bright futures. Uncertainty now clouded much of that. “Ainslen has set a bounty on our heads. Although I thought Melanil would be a place where we could find safety, we might have to go farther still.”
“How far?” Nerisse popped the last bit of rabbit into her mouth.
“I haven’t made a final decision yet, but the journey would be to Berendal in the western kingdoms,” Aidah said with a resigned breath. “To a city called Casda Esdan.”
Nerisse stopped chewing. “What? That’s on the other side of the world.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Mother, we don’t know anyone there. No family or friends of ours reside in those lands. Kasinians aren’t allowed within the western kingdoms.”
“The first two are true. The last less so,” Aidah said, “but those are the exact reasons for us to go. Those kingdoms might offer our best chance at a life where we won’t need to look over our shoulders every day, or worry about a knife in the dark, or the Blades showing up to drag us off to the gibbets.” Clara giggled and then leaned down to whisper to one of her dolls. “And it’s the best chance to save your sister, perhaps the only chance.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Clara,” Nerisse said defiantly, but her tremulous voice made a liar of her words.
“It’s time we both faced the truth.” Aidah smiled a gentle smile, but her heart was heavy. Clara was still talking to her dolls. “Your sister has been different for some time now, but since the night at the estate it has only grown worse … the dreams, the dolls. She’s losing her senses, and before her ailment becomes any worse we must do something to help.”
“It’s all my fault,” Nerisse blurted. She burst into sobs. “It’s all my fault.”
Clara looked up at her sister, frowning. She stood and hugged Nerisse. “Don’t cry, Neri. Don’t cry.”
“I’m so sorry, sis. I should’ve tried to stop him. I should’ve told Father.”
“Stop who? What do you mean?” Aidah asked.
“Ainslen, Mother,” Nerisse said between sobs. “I was there when he induced Clara. Oh Gods, I’m so, so sorry.” She squeezed her sister tight.
Slack-jawed, Aidah covered her mouth. She repeated Nerisse’s words. They could not be true. Nerisse was mistaken. She made to ask if Nerisse was certain but the question fled her. The pain in Nerisse’s expression as she clung to Clara spoke on its own.
“When,” Aidah began, voice hoarse. She cleared her throat. “How did this happen?”
Red-faced, Nerisse wiped at her eyes with the back of her hands. Clara resumed her playful banter with the dolls. “Ainslen had come to our home to see Father,” Nerisse said between sniffles. “The servants brought him into the sitting room to wait while Father had another meeting. Clara and I were there, reading. Ainslen asked to see my progress with soul magic. I was happy to show him the skills Father taught me.
“A time came when he peered over at Clara and started, as if he’d seen a spirit. He muttered something about not seeing Clara’s soul, like Father would say sometimes. He called Clara over and touched her head with soul. I-I didn’t give it much thought until the estate when Lomin mentioned induction. Ever since then I’ve had nightmares about it, but what happened was real. Thinking back to that day, I know now what I saw. Father began teaching Clara how to meld a few days after Ainslen touched her.”
Fire blazed within Aidah, red, scalding, blinding. Quivering under its spell, she watched Clara talking to her dolls, recalled her precious little daughter’s nightmares, and the flames grew. She did not yet know how, but she would make Ainslen pay.
The Forever Princess
This is all Ainslen’s fault. All of it. All this pain and suffering. Aidah looked at Clara where she lay under the blankets. The thoughts rekindled a simmering rage and brought hot tears.
Two weeks on the road, traveling from dawn until well into the night to stay ahead of any pursuit, had not lessened her feelings. They’d reached Monere, a little over three quarters of the way to Melanil, and still she heard Nerisse’s story as if the girl just told it. Lomin had wanted to continue on, but dwindling supplies worked against them. This time they chose to go to the town together.
Aidah was glad for the stop. She felt the children needed some semblance of normalcy, even if it was just for a day. She could certainly use it. Since Garangal they’d spent every night sleeping outdoors, and to once more have a roof over her head and the comfort of an inn and a feather bed felt like heaven. Besides, the vast majority of people they saw on the road had been refugees like themselves. The occasional soldier had taken little notice of their caravan.
Sighing, she lay back on her pillow, staring at the wooden ceiling, and nursing her wrath. Vengeance had filled her thoughts since Nerisse’s revelation. Clara’s deteriorating condition made her crave it. The girl had taken to dancing with her imaginary father and brother, her dolls never far from her side. She sang with them all each night on the road until she fell asleep. On many occasions Aidah had found herself watching Clara slumber, ready to comfort her from the rampant nightmares.
When sleep would eventually take Aidah, dreams assaulted her. They were of Clara’s death, her madness at some small village or town within the Empire, or of Ainslen and the box. Most were of the western kingdoms where Clara grew more ill by the day. She woke each morning, often in cold sweats, reliving the things she saw: Clara on her deathbed, colorful lights swathing the sky like those reflected from a crystal, and the woman, the unnaturally beautiful woman with silver hair, dressed in blue who seemed so familiar. The woman would point and mouth some words, but no sound followed.
Nerisse had spent most days in a black mood as she carried the weight of blame. Aidah had tried, but neither words nor actions comforted her daughter. Nerisse had taken to practicing the sword and melding with Lomin again, which Aidah supposed was a good thing, a way to work off the girl’s dispirited condition.
She felt so helpless. Melanil should’ve been their place of safety, a new life, but now they might have to go farther still, beyond the Chanting City into lands unknown. And Clara’s sanity, possibly her life, hung in the balance.
A week, Aidah thought, a week until I petition the Patriarch, and another month and a half to reach Danalyn. And there’s still the distance to Casda Esdan, with Clara growing worse all the while. She had begun to harbor doubts due to her dreams, but Clara’s condition made the situation seem hopeless. If her rate of deterioration continued, Clara would be completely insane or dead before Danalyn, much less Casda Esdan. To compound matters was this growing need to see Ainslen suffer.
I’ve always been faithful to you, Oh Gods, why do y
ou now test me in such a way? Why have you turned your back on me? Or is this a part of your plan? Are you already showing me the way? Her brow wrinkled at her question. She considered her next destination: Melanil, home of the Grand Chantry and the Order of the Dominion, the most pious of places and people.
She shook her head, wondering how she had not seen it before. This was the Dominion’s intention all along. Not to avoid the wisemen, but to bring Clara to them. The wisemen were blessed. They would have the cure she sought. At the same time she would be able to put her riches to use under their protection, plot Ainslen’s demise. For the first time in months Aidah fell asleep with a smile.
The dreams came as they always did of late. She traveled across Carador into Berendal. After a stop at Casda Esdan, the world shifted. Lush rolling plains, small forests, rivers, and lakes in the kingdom of Aladel swept across her vision. Cities dotted the landscape, towers in brick, silver, or bronze, glinting in the sunlight, spearing the heavens. It was as if she were a great bird, swooping over the land, warm winds ruffling her hair as they would feathers. She basked in the feel of it, smiled in wonderment at the beauty of the orchid laden plains, the colors like paint splashed across a canvas.
And then the plains ended.
No gradual lessening of forests into copses and then into single trees. No shrubs and grass becoming brown and faded. One moment the vegetation was vibrant, dancing in the breeze, its wildlife thriving, the scent of flowers carried on the wind, and the next it was gone, all of it, replaced by barren, stony ground, shale, and sand.
Black clouds swarmed sections of the sky, swirling this way and that before diving in a long, dark stream. Similar masses rose into the air like a pall of black smoke. An incessant, repetitive dissonance carried to Aidah, a sound she could not place. She caught a whiff of something foul, something so repugnant that she retched.
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