by Kara Jaynes
The scene was straight from my nightmare. The room was circular, the floor stones polished and painted red. Candles, lit everywhere, glowed blue without a flicker. A pile of bodies lay slumped on the floor, pushed to the side of the room like broken dolls. I only had a moment to take it all in before my eyes were drawn to the center of the room where a long table with metal cuffs fastened to it stood. Three tall figures in black robes were standing at the table, one at its head and the others on either side, but I only had eyes for the small child strapped on its metal surface. Dahlia.
I screamed, unable to contain my rage. I called the enchantment, drawing as much of it as was humanly possible for me. The magic roared to life, crackling around me. I focused it and sent a lance of blue-white fire flying through the air to slam into the floor between two of the figures. Red tile and black stone chips showered everywhere. The two figures leapt back, and one of them threw their hood off. I was looking into the face of the man who’d tried to steal Dahlia weeks earlier. His yellow eyes caught the light of the candles and seemed to glow. His face looked puzzled, then a flicker of recognition crossed it.
“You came.” He sounded matter-of-fact, like he’d expected nothing less. Like our first meeting, I was struck by the thought that he looked familiar to me.
“I came for the girl.” I strode forward. “Give her to me.”
“She’s mine.” One of the other figures stepped in front of Dahlia and the iron strapped table. “I need her essence.”
“You’ll have to go through me first,” I growled. I held the magic ready, determined to kill if it came to that.
The man touched the other figure’s shoulder. “Let her have the child. We’ve drawn enough essence today, sister.”
The figure grunted in irritation, pushing back her hood. “Very well, Hydari.” I stared at them, incredulous. They were twins. They had the same dark brown hair, high cheekbones, and the same yellow, glowing eyes. The woman was slightly shorter than her brother, but still taller than me. Her eyes were locked on me. She was angry. Her hands clenched into fists and her eyes flashed.
“What is she to you, brother? And why spare the life of a Denali for her?”
The yellow eyed man, Hydari, gestured to me. “She’s one of our kind, Myyre. She wields magic.” He looked confused. “Why she has emotionally attached herself to a Denali, I do not know. But,” he waggled his fingers and the iron braces around Dahlia’s hands and feet sprang apart, “I would be interested to learn of her and where she hails from.”
“I come from over the mountains,” I said. I took a hesitant step forward, senses alert. I didn’t trust them, but then, they were magic users, and the prince had freed Dahlia of his own volition. It didn’t make sense to anger him if he was willing to free the child so easily. “I came east to find a better life.”
The prince cocked his head, considering. “What is wrong on the other side of the Dragon’s Tail Mountains?”
“Magic users are not welcome there.” I looked at Dahlia on the table. She hadn’t moved. “I came here hoping to live a life free of prejudice and judgment.” I felt my voice harden. “But you treat the Denali just as poorly as magic users are treated on the other side.”
Hydari smiled. “They’re Denali, not Twyli. Don’t worry about the land you left. Any persecution your people face will soon be over. The Twyli lands are expanding, and there isn’t a Denali alive who can stop us.”
I frowned at him, but before I could ask him what he meant the remaining figure at the head of the metal table spoke. “A strange one.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but masculine. “Giving the Denali child the same importance as a Twyli.” The voice was incredulous.
Myyre folded her arms and looked at me crossly. Her expression was one of jealousy, though I couldn’t begin to imagine why. Dahlia lay on her back unmoving, her little face looking up to the ceiling. I felt a tingle of uncertainty as I walked past them to reach Dahlia, but they made no move to stop me. I could feel the gaze of the hooded figure on me, but he was motionless as well.
Dahlia was ashen faced with fear, her brilliant blue eyes enormous. Her lips quivered. I reached out, tucking a white-blonde strand of hair behind her ear. “Shh,” I whispered. She hadn’t made a peep, but she looked terrified. “It’s all right, baby, Momma has you.” I paused a moment before scooping her up. I hadn’t called myself that before. I kissed her forehead. “Let’s go home, let’s go find Aaric.” Dahlia didn’t say anything, content to wrap her arms tightly around my neck, choking down a sob.
I turned around, and saw that the twins hadn’t moved. If they’d looked surprise to see me, they looked absolutely thunderstruck to see Fyrsil. He stood in the doorway, exhausted from expending so much magic, but standing ready in case I needed assistance. “Let’s go, Adaryn.” He jerked his head, indicating the hall behind him.
The shrouded figure stepped around the table to stand by Myyre. “Fyrsil? Brother?” The stranger’s voice sounded shocked. “How did you . . . you’re still alive?”
Fyrsil peered at him with narrowed eyes, silent. From his expression, he was as baffled as I was.
The figure pulled back his cloak to reveal a face that, while older than Fyrsil, was nearly identical in look. Graying hair at his temples, yellow eyes, and a few more lines in his face were the only differences. Fyrsil could be staring at what he would look like in twenty years. And now, with Fyrsil in the room, I could see why I thought the prince looked familiar. He stood the same way as Fyrsil, his shoulders pulled back, the same nose and jaw.
“Explain this, Father.” Myyre whirled to face the older man. “Who is this? Uncle is dead.”
“I—” The man shook his head, peering at Fyrsil suspiciously. “You’re not my brother. You’re younger than I am. Who are you?”
“I should probably be asking you the same question.” Fyrsil had smoothed his face and straightened his posture, hiding most of his fatigue. “Fyrsil is my name. It was also the name of my father.”
Hydari leapt forward with a hiss, summoning a yellow blade that glowed with a pale, sickly light. He rushed past me and swung his sword in an arch at Fyrsil.
The brigand king brought a pale blue blade of his own to meet his attacker’s and magic crackled around them. Fyrsil’s eyes were tight with strain.
“Fyrsil may have once been crown prince,” the prince spat, “but Twyarinoth is my father’s, and will someday be mine. The western lands will be mine too.”
Myyre ran toward her brother and I stuck my leg out, tripping her. She fell to her hands and knees with a startled cry, and I ruthlessly brought my heel down on her fingers. Ignoring her strangled yell, I flung a wall of fire up between the older man and myself, and hurtled toward Fyrsil, Dahlia clinging to me.
Hydari and Fyrsil were locked in combat in the doorway. I wove the magic and slammed it into the back of Fyrsil’s attacker. Hydari stumbled, nearly getting his head taken off by the brigand’s blade.
“Run!” The word rose from my throat in a shriek and I darted past him. Fyrsil snatched Dahlia from me and bolted back the way he came, with me on his heels.
“Adaryn!” the prince snarled. I felt the dark magic swell behind me. “You’ll be sorry you crossed me!”
The floor under me heaved and buckled and I fell to my knees, unable to keep my balance. I hoped Fyrsil could get Dahlia safely back to Aaric.
22
Aaric
Come to me. Come to me, child.
Opening his eyes, Aaric sat up, rubbing his back, and blinked several times to adjust his vision to the darkness. He looked up from where he had fallen. Nothing but blackness overhead. The earth appeared to have swallowed him. He grimaced. Not the way he would have chosen to die.
He stood, stretching his arms overhead. Standing on his tiptoes, his fingertips brushed solid rock. Blast it all, he was buried!
He thought of the brigand. “Zero!” he hissed. “Zero, are you here?”
No answer.
Aaric ran a hand t
hrough his hair, exhaling heavily. This was a fine pickle to be in. Kneeling down in the darkness, he felt around on the rocky ground, hoping he might locate the knife he’d been holding when he fell. Nothing.
Muttering a curse, Aaric stood and put his hand out, his fingertips brushing a wall of rock. Shuffling his feet forward, he moved slowly, keeping one hand on the wall. He blinked several times, but there was no change in the blackness.
Aaric wondered if Adaryn would be successful in her quest. He hoped so. He’d become very fond of Dahlia.
He counted the seconds as he crept through the inky blackness. Seconds stretched into minutes, and minutes into an hour. He lost count. Putting his left arm out, he found nothing but air, so he kept moving parallel to the wall on his right. It was warm. Too warm. Aaric removed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulder.
Come to me.
Aaric started in surprise, but searching the darkness found nothing. Who’d spoken? “Hello?” he asked hesitantly. “Who’s there?”
I’ve been waiting for you, Aaric.
The inventor swallowed, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. A dim glow flickered to life ahead of him. Trying to fight down his growing unease, Aaric walked toward it, his hand still on the rock. The light gleamed fitfully, a pinpoint in the overwhelming darkness.
The closer he got, the greater the light grew. The air stayed warm. Looking around, he saw he was in an enormous tunnel made of the same pitted rock that the volcano was made of on the outside. He grimaced, thinking of the lava the Twyli were able to summon. He very much hoped he wouldn’t come across any. He peered at the light ahead with some apprehension and slowed his steps, suddenly suspicious. Could he be walking to his death?
Come.
Something cold touched his face and Aaric jerked back, startled. Tendrils of mist wafted through the air, curling about his arms and legs as if it had a life of its own. How it moved he didn’t want to contemplate. The air was still. The mist thickened, turning into a thick, dark fog, obscuring the rock floor and walls. Only the light was still visible, cutting through like a keen blade.
Clenching his jaw, Aaric trudged determinedly ahead. The light grew closer, growing larger and brighter. On reaching it, the fog parted, still swirling around the edge of his vision.
He stood before a large, circular stone arch. It was worn with age, its surface white, not a part of the volcanic rock. It was so large he could walk under it without hitting his head, but at its center was the glowing, pulsing orb of light he’d followed. It filled the expanse of the arch, obscuring the volcanic wall behind it.
Enter, Aaric. The voice came from the fog, but when Aaric turned to look, nothing was there. Enter the arch. The voice pressed against his mind.
“Why?” Aaric asked. He removed his cap to mop his face. Just the heat getting to me, he thought.
The fog billowed around him, balancing the heat of the tunnel with cold. To save Twyarinoth and Omniah, the voice spoke again. To prove yourself. To prove you are worthy.
“Ah.” Aaric laughed, trying to mask his fear. “I don’t feel the need to ‘prove’ myself, thank you.”
The voice was silent for a moment before speaking again, but when it did, the words chilled Aaric to his core.
Then Adaryn will die.
23
Adaryn
The yellow-eyed prince leapt at me, his face contorted with a snarl, bringing his sword down in a vicious blow. I reflexively brought my hand up, scrambling for the magic, unable to grab it in my haste.
I felt a surge of enchantment from Fyrsil and the hall crumbled, destroying the chamber’s opening, sealing the three Twyli inside.
“Come on,” Fyrsil panted, his face tired. “Our chance of leaving this city lessens with every moment.”
We ran back the way we’d come, Dahlia slung over Fyrsil’s shoulder like a sack of grain. Where the brigand was drawing his strength from, I had no idea. I felt ready to weep from weariness.
We staggered out onto the landing where we’d descended with the gliders. How we’d managed to escape the notice of guards, I didn’t know.
I cast a despairing look at Dahlia. Between magic and sprinting down the halls, I was beyond exhausted; I couldn’t imagine how tired Fyrsil must be. How were we going to carry Dahlia to safety on the gliders?
Fyrsil noticed my expression and looked down at the small child he was holding. “Pass me your shawl.” His jaw was set in a firm line. “I’ll have her hold onto me, but secure her so she doesn’t fall when she tires.”
“You’re too tired,” I protested, tugging free the long shawl I’d tied around my shoulders.
He glared at me, snatching the fabric from my hands. “And you’re not?” In a few moments he'd secured Dahlia so her stomach was flat against his chest. She gripped his shirt, her little knuckles white.
“Let’s go,” Fyrsil said hoarsely. He gripped the glider and called the enchantment, working it so the wind roared to life, tossing us into the air. The sky was dark with falling snow, the temperature well below freezing. My teeth chattered and my hands gripping the wooden shaft of the glider felt frozen. We floated over the city, the lights below reminding me again of spark flies.
I started at the sudden pain in my abdomen, surprised to realize I’d nearly drifted off. I gripped the glider more determinedly. Another cramping pain caused me to grit my teeth, but I tried to dismiss it with an uneasy shrug. I’d have to take things a little easier in the future.
Finally, after what felt like ages, Fyrsil began to descend. I followed, my gaze glued to him. I hoped the shawl would hold. If he lost Dahlia, I’d kill him myself.
I staggered in the freshly fallen snow as we landed. The brigand king fell to his knees. Slogging through the snow to him, I untied the shawl with stiff fingers, pulling Dahlia to me.
Fyrsil lay on his side, his body curled in a fetal position, knees drawn to his chest. His face was gray. “Keep watch,” he gasped, and then he was asleep, exhaustion overwhelming him.
Still holding the child, I looked around, taking in my surroundings. We were less than fifty feet from the edge of the forest. Fyrsil had taken us further back than where we’d started. I glowered at his slumbering figure. If the Twyli started a search, they might possibly come across Aaric first.
Dahlia stirred, and I made a shushing sound, smoothing her pale blonde hair. “It’s all right, sweetie. You’re safe now.” I looked at the forest again. Too far to drag Fyrsil, but with the snow coming down, and the air getting colder, we risked freezing to death.
I wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep, but I forced myself to trudge through the drifts to the edge of the forest where I found some fallen branches. Holding Dahlia meant I couldn’t carry much and I had to make multiple trips back to the forest, but I wasn’t willing to let her out of my sight.
It was with trembling hands that I lit the small pile of firewood next to Fyrsil, my limbs shaking with fatigue. I clamped down on my urge to vomit. When was the last time I ate? I couldn’t remember. I huddled by the fire, Dahlia asleep in my arms, and tried to stay awake. The heat of the fire was a balm to my half-frozen body. My mind drifted, and I sat a little straighter, straining my ears for any sounds. Aside from the soft, hissing sigh of snowflakes in the dancing flames, there was none. We were alone.
24
Adaryn
Aaric stood before me, a sad smile on his face. I reached out to touch him, and he disappeared in a swirl of ash and smoke. “Aaric!” I called. “Come back!”
"He is not here, but he is safe." Something loomed out of the shadows. Something big. It towered over me, vague and terrifying in the darkness, sad, golden eyes peering at me through the gloom. I scrambled backward, trying to keep a distance from it.
"You must warn the others."
I opened my mouth to ask why—
“Thanks for nothing.”
I woke with a gasp, scrambling to my feet, snow flying everywhere. I spun in a circle, afraid the Twyli had found me
and Dahlia.
Fyrsil was seated cross-legged next to the dead fire, his face a mask of disapproval. “You fell asleep when you were supposed to keep watch.”
“Sorry.” I scrubbed a hand through my hair in relief when my gaze fell on Dahlia. She’d been lying next to me and was sitting up now, shaking her head groggily. There was snow in her hair. I looked up at the sky. It was still cloudy, but the snow had almost let up completely.
Fyrsil rubbed his eyes blearily and yawned. “No harm done.” He stood and brushed snow off himself. He grimaced at the tree line several yards away. “We almost made it.” He grimaced at the dead fire before nodding approvingly. “Thank you for the fire. We could have frozen to death otherwise.”
“You’re welcome.” I knelt down and gently brushed the snow off Dahlia. The toddler’s nose was red with cold, but with the shawl wrapped around her she’d fared all right.
Still kneeling, I looked anxiously in the direction of the Twyli city. “We need to head back. Aaric will be worried.”
“Right.” Standing, Fyrsil extended a hand to me. I took it, letting him pull me up. I felt a stabbing pain in my abdomen and stifled a cry.
Fyrsil eyed me. “Did the prince harm you when we were escaping?”
I shook my head. “It’s just a stomachache. I’ll be fine.”
I turned to pick up Dahlia, but Fyrsil stopped me, lifting the child and settling her on his shoulders. She grabbed fistfuls of his hair to keep her balance. “I’ll carry her.”
I didn’t argue. I felt a wave of apprehension wash over me as I thought of my unborn child. In my quest to secure Dahlia’s safety I never stopped to consider the fact that I might be overtaxing my body. I hoped my baby would be all right.
We set off, both cloaked in our own thoughts until Fyrsil broke the silence.
“I was thinking about what the Twyli said.” I glanced over at him, and Fyrsil’s face was troubled. “They knew my father. I. . .” His voice trailed off but his expression hardened and he continued. “You’re going to think I’m being pretentious, but I think I’m—”