by Josie Gold
South of Antress were the Islands of Tala. They appeared as a collection of lush islands. Neither our enemy nor our ally, but a mystery. They had never moved against us, but neither did they allow us on their land. Very little was known about their people, or about what kind of magic they could wield.
The last country on the map was covered in figurines as well, but not the stoic and strong-looking ones that stood on Kartheya. These figurines were frozen in aggressive stances. Weapons in hand. Across the Ezili sea was Kartheya’s greatest enemy: Vestan.
No one knew when or why Kartheya and Vestan began their war. But since the written word, we had been at odds with Vestan. The map depicted Vestan as chaotic jungles surrounded by spewing volcanoes. As children, we were taught that Vestians were a naturally violent race. Even their magic was inherently violent. We called it “dominating.” Rather than manifesting the magic from inside one’s self like Kartheyan mages, Vestian mages siphoned life forces from others to create evil magics.
“My men have reported seeing Vestian ships on the horizon,” the Major General said.
“How close to shore?” Queen Cheyla asked, still peering at the map. Her apparent disinterest caused a stir. People turned and whispered fiercely to their neighbors.
“Does it matter how close?” Highlar demanded above the whispers, “they shouldn’t be drawing near at all!”
My mother finally looked up from the map and gazed at Highlar with steely eyes.
“My son forgets that we do not own the sea,” Queen Cheyla said. More murmurs erupted. I smiled at Highlar’s tightly clenched jaw.
My mother allowed the murmurs to continue, speaking instead to my sister Karsea, who stood by her side at the center of the room.
Queen Cheyla took the crown young. At my age, 25 summers. Before she became Queen, she insisted on training with the War Makers. Even now, she was never seen without her sword, Realm Cleaver, strapped to her back. Now, she was 60 summers and as strong and regal as ever. Her skin was ebony and luminous as if lit from within. Her hair was deep red and cut close to her skull. Her eyes were dark and as clever as a fox. Rather than dress in the opulent styles of the court, she wore simple and comfortable long-sleeved dresses that emphasized her muscular body.
“The Queen is right,” my sister Karsea said. But her voice was too soft. She tried again, but still, no one heard. Finally, Highlar raised his voice.
“The Princess is speaking!” he thundered. The room settled and Karsea smiled at him, grateful.
“The Queen is right,” Karsea said, walking in a slow circle so she could look upon all the faces in the room. When Karsea spoke, everyone listened. My mother may have been a warrior Queen, but Karsea was a true diplomat. She had a way about her that made you feel heard.
“We cannot declare another war with Vestan without true cause,” Karsea continued, “we have been at relative peace with them for years. Think of what we might lose by behaving rashly.”
“Rashly?” hissed another lower General, “they attacked a squadron—”
“Allegedly,” the Queen interrupted sharply, “there’s no evidence that it was Vestians.”
The entire room seemed to scoff.
“With all due respect, Princess,” one of the politicians stood, a young woman with a smug face, “have you bothered to think of what we might gain by going to war?”
Of course, Karsea had. We all had. What was war but a bid for more? More land, more power, more people under our control. I was raised to fear and hate the Vestians, but I agreed with Karsea: Why go to war when we didn’t need to?
Karsea’s expression became pitying as if she could see the dark, greedy heart of the woman.
“Are you willing to risk the lives of men and women for just a little more?”
“Soft-heart,” I heard a mage whisper above me. I bristled. Soft-heart was what they called my sister because she didn’t want to go to war without reason.
Everything about my sister was a softer, more muted version of my mother. Her skin was a lovely light brown, her brown eyes lighter still. Her hair was a paler red and kept in two braids. Even her gait had a softness to it, a wistfulness that made her look like she was sleepwalking.
I reached into my pocket and found a coin. I palmed it and waited for an opportunity.
Sensing Karsea was losing the room, the Queen took charge again.
“If Vestan means to make war, let them make the first move. But we will not stoop to their level.” The room erupted again, but her voice rose above them, deep and strong, “But we will be ready for them!”
The anger turned to a feeling of collective triumph.
“The Major General and I will discuss adding more soldiers to the coastal lines. And I will discuss with the Council of Mages to better detect and surveil the Vestians,” the Queen decreed, and it was a clear dismissal.
I watched the crowd of people leave the room, and spotted a middle-aged mage gesturing wildly. I knew, without having seen his face, that he had been the one to whisper so rudely about my sister. I took a deep breath and blocked out the sounds and distractions from the room. And threw the coin. Right at the mage’s head. He was across the room from me in a large crowd, but it landed with a plonk square on the back of his head.
His squawk of pain and surprise was immensely gratifying. I had always had excellent aim.
I made my way toward my mother and sister. Cheyla frowned when she saw me, but greeted me with a kiss.
“You know you don’t need to come to meetings,” her voice was chiding and distracted.
“You know how the drama of war and politics amuses me,” I shrugged.
Cheyla said archly, “The lives and well-being of our land amuse you?”
I didn’t let my smile fall, but my stomach did.
“He doesn’t mean it,” Karsea said, always the peacekeeper, “and I’d rather see him here than day drinking.” Karsea kissed me with the same detached affection as my mother.
Karsea and I never had the chance to become close. She was ten years my senior and was always shadowing my mother. But I always felt a bond with her, an unspoken understanding. She was scholarly and observant, logical and gentle. Unlike our brother.
Speaking of which, I braced myself as Highlar made his way toward us.
“You can’t let them talk over you,” he said to Karsea, true concern on his face.
Although Highlar was panting at the chance to experience a true war, he always supported my peace-loving sister. Nothing made him more enraged than people not taking her seriously. That was about the only thing Highlar and I truly had in common.
“I know,” Karsea said, trying to look unbothered. But she was biting her nails.
Then, Highlar finally noticed me. He clapped my shoulder in what outwardly looked friendly. But the force of it made my bones rattle.
“What are you up to, Miracle Prince?” His smile was closer to a sneer. “Shouldn’t you be planning your next revel?”
Cheyla looked up from the map to watch Highlar and me. When my mother was around, Highlar pretended to be the long-suffering brother trying to toughen up the little brother. It was an unspoken agreement between us that our mother did not know the true nature of our relationship. She was too busy, too overburdened to deal with such petty issues.
But sometimes, I would catch her staring at me with a strange expression. Like she wanted to say something, or do something. But she didn’t know how.
“Now that you mention it” I replied, “I was hoping to celebrate the Harvest in a few months with a masked ball. It would all be very proper and posh.”
“Not like your last revel,” Karsea remarked, gently chiding. “Three vases from Antress were broken.”
I winced, then got down on my knees and took Karsea’s hand.
“Forgiveness, sister?” I said with exaggerated contrite. She laughed softly and pulled her hand away. I was excellent at playing the merry fool.
The Queen finally said, “Keep it… restrained.”
Karsea walked with me for some time after we left the War Makers meeting. We walked in silence, but I could feel the questions buzzing in her mind.
“I heard about the Librarian,” her eyes brimmed with sympathy.
Ice slid down my spine as the memory of the Librarian’s dried-out corpse came back to me.
“His name was Yenlon. He was 50 summers old. He had earth magic and liked to read suspense novels,” my voice cracked.
I knew all the Librarians. I had spoken to all of them at some point, trading favorite books and facts. Yenlon had been jovial and scatter-brained.
“Do they… Do they know what happened?” Karsea asked. I shrugged helplessly.
“The authorities aren’t sure. One thought maybe it was a draugr.”
But draugr only drank blood and left perfect but pale corpses behind. Yenlon was unrecognizable as if his body had been wrung so intensely that his life had dribbled out.
Karsea laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. I leaned into it. But too soon she was called away to meet with some complaining merchants.
HARKEN
I had a shift after supper. But I wasn’t going.
I pulled on one of my few dresses—I preferred soft pants and handcrafted tunics—but tonight, my destination called for a dress.
The dress was simple but lovely. It was a deep mauve that complimented my hair and made my eyes look like new coins. It also emphasized my height, so Mother would hate it.
The next part was going to be tricky. We were allowed to leave the Library only when it wasn’t our shift. I wandered the crowded streets of the Royal City as often as I could to get away from the Library. But, I had yet to attempt sneaking out of the Library during my shift. I just knew the blasted building would rat me out if I tried it.
But today, the Library seemed distracted.
Muted with grief.
It looked like an ordinary library today. Stacks and shelves and boring brown wood. The lights were dim, the air was stale.
It was almost like the Library was too tired to put any effort in.
So, today was the perfect day to try sneaking out.
I put the Librarian robes over top of my dress. I pocketed a few coins, then stole some of Telsey’s.
The Librarians’ dorms were connected to the Library and for the most part, the Library left them alone. So far, I never had to worry about the Library deciding to make my room underwater or cover it in snow. But part of me suspected that was because Telsey was my roommate.
I made my way to the front of the Library. The front door was so close. A couple of Librarians were around, restacking books. The front desk was being manned by Sollah, as usual. She was an old, strict woman with oddly sharp teeth and bright copper hair. Unsurprisingly, she had little patience for me. She was the dragon keeping me from my prize.
Luckily, Telsey was not around. She would’ve figured out right away what I was up to. I grabbed a couple of books off the shelf and meandered about, pretending I was re-shelving them. I moved closer and closer to the front door.
Another Librarian, an older and bashful-looking woman, made her way over to the front desk to flirt with Sollah.
Perfect.
I casually made my way toward the door. Sollah twirled her hair, and although she didn’t smile at the other woman, I could tell she liked the attention.
I opened the door and walked out into the golden light of the setting sun.
The Lonely Sprite was my favorite bar. It wasn’t rowdy and sticky, but it also wasn’t pretentious and overpriced. The furniture was made from deep, dark wood and the ceiling was hung with twinkling mage-lights. Mage-lights ran on either light magic or fire magic and wouldn’t burn out or burn anything up unless the mage commanded it. Merchants and middle-class commoners came here for the decent food and excellent live music.
I sat in a booth by myself, sipping on lavender wine. The band was playing something slow and melancholic. I wished they would play something to dance to—I loved to dance—not that I was especially good at it, but I loved the thrill of the music and the rush in my muscles.
As I watched the other patrons laughing easily and sharing their meals, I wondered if this was a mistake. Yes, it was an act of rebellion, but I also hoped it would liven my spirits. I blamed the music.
I finished the last of my wine and was still deciding whether I should leave when I saw him.
Prince Fennion was sitting with a group of men playing some kind of card game. From his relaxed but bashful body language, I gathered he was losing. The table was lively despite the somber music. I felt a stab of envy for the Prince. He was one of those people that could fit in with any crowd, that attracted people to him easily, and made his existence look effortless.
I stood, hoping to avoid his attention. But as if some part of me called his name silently, he looked up and our eyes met. His bright, laughing eyes narrowed to something slyer and more dangerous. Sometimes, the way he looked at me was frightening. Like he wanted something from me, but I was not a giver.
He blocked the exit, so I either had to go to him, or he had to come to me.
He swaggered toward me, pirate-like and confident. His deep blue jacket was open, revealing a loose-fitting white shirt with a V-neck showing off his chest.
He stopped directly in front of me, tipping his head at me.
“Harken,” he murmured deeply, “love.”
“I was just leaving,” I said firmly, curtsying stiffly.
“Nonsense,” he exclaimed and gallantly led me back to my seat in the booth.
Perhaps it was the wine making my belly warm, or perhaps it was because the band picked a merrier tune. But for some reason, I sat down and agreed to have a drink.
He ordered me another lavender wine. He got himself a whiskey but then he helped himself to my wine, wincing at it.
“Tastes like plants,” he complained. I could tell he was already a few drinks in.
“So,” he said, leaning his cheek on his hand as he regarded me, “what brings you here?”
“Same reason as anyone else,” I replied coolly, sipping slowly at my drink.
He cocked his head coquettishly.
“To get drunk? To have fun? To forget?” his smile faltered a bit there, but then he continued with a rascally smile, “To meet someone?”
I took a deeper drink, then raised my hand to the barkeep for another.
“To relax,” I said.
“I don’t think you are capable. You are the most coiled up, tense-looking person I’ve ever met.”
“Maybe it’s you,” I countered, “maybe you have that effect on me?”
His green eyes sparkled with delight and I realized my mistake too late.
“So I do affect you,” he leaned closer, gazing at me through his thick eyelashes, “why, Harken… do I make you nervous?”
“Nauseous,” I snapped. He threw his head back and laughed full and hard. Then he was standing and addressing the barkeep.
“Cancel her order! Bring us a round of dragon’s breath!”
Dragon’s breath was a spirit distilled using dragon venom and dragon fire. It was more potent than any other liqueur in Kartheya and incredibly expensive. I could feel my lip curling in disgust at his blatant flexing.
I stood again, this time determined to leave. But he caught my wrist. His face made me still—he suddenly looked years younger—and so sad.
“I thought we could toast to Yenlon.”
I refused to think of his dried-out face, the features etched with terror for eternity.
But I sat back down.
FENNION
I slammed my third shot onto the table with a gusty groan. Harken tilted her drink back with more class and daintily placed the shot glass beside mine. Even drunk, Harken was all haughty elegance.
Although, she did look mighty pretty with her cheeks all flushed. I looked closer at her face and realized she had a coy little mole perched on her sharp left cheekbone. I felt the wild urge to r
each out and touch it. She caught me staring. The pink on her cheeks descended down her throat and I smiled. She’s a bashful drunk.
“You hold your liquor well,” I said suspiciously, “too well. Where’d a politician's daughter learn to drink?”
Harken huffed, fussing with her complicated updo. Her hair looked more reddish in the low light. I suddenly wanted to know what her hair looked like down.
“None of your business,” she replied curly, adding, “your majesty.”
“Hmm, I bet you had a rebellious youth. You sneak out a lot, get drunk with handsome commoners with dangerous smiles?”
“You spend too much time in the Library. Life isn’t one of your silly stories.”
“Of course it is,” I said cheerfully, “all our lives are silly stories.”
Harken grunted, unladylike, but didn’t reply.
“Did you know Yenlon well?” I asked suddenly. The buzz of dragon’s breath had lulled my grief, but it still sat there at the back of my skull, a wet, black weight. Harken, who had been reaching for her glass of water, stilled.
“No,” she said. I couldn’t decipher her tone. It wasn’t quite remorseful, but it wasn’t indifferent either.
“‘Course not,” I scoffed, “you hate the Librarians, right?”
Harken drank deeply from her cup of water, avoiding my eyes. I watched her curiously.
“Why not just leave?” I asked.
“And go where? I have no money, no prospects.”
“Your parents, surely—”
“And besides, I was forced to make an oath when I became a Librarian.”
She pulled up her sleeve. On the inside of her forearm was what looked like a tattoo in a language I didn’t know. The words formed a circle. A never-ending vow. Like an ouroboros.
“I can’t go far without the Library’s permission.”
“Or what?”
She shrugged one shoulder.
“It would make me come back,” she said darkly, sending shivers up my spine. The Library’s powers were mysterious and unknowable and perhaps not all of them were wondrous.