by J. B. North
I was pitched into a childhood memory, one where I was a little girl, holding an empty wooden bowl. Unlike the memory of holding my mother's hand in a meadow, this one was something I'd remembered since the day it happened. When the caretaker of the orphan girls had been Madam Lorraine, a ruthless woman with a permanent gash of a frown, straight, bone-white hair, and irises such a light blue, they nearly blended in with the milky whites of her eyes.
The orphanage was new to me. New and cold and frightening. The creak of the floorboards, the screaming winter wind outside the window, and the hunger that gnawed at my empty belly kept me awake at night. I always imagined that the shadows were more than shadows. That they were watching me, waiting for my eyes to close before they would grab me and drag me to the dark depths from where they came.
Every morning, after those sleepless nights, the other young girls and I were sent out on the streets to beg for money. Sometimes people felt sorry for us and took us into their homes to warm up, but most days, we stayed outside until we reached our quota of three coins. On one of those days, many of the girls had already received their quota and gone back to the orphanage. The only one left besides me was another young girl about my age. Helen.
We clutched each other for warmth, our bowls placed down in the snow, slowly sinking deeper as fresh flakes fell from the sky. At one point, they were buried so deep I had to bend over and dig them out. I had handed Helen her bowl, while I held mine in my icy fingers, the melting snow already seeping its way through my mittens. People sought refuge in homes and taverns, and I knew we would have to return to the orphanage without the rest of our money.
“We should go,” I said to Helen through chattering teeth and blue lips.
“L-let this man pass, and th-then we'll leave,” she said, her voice even shakier than mine.
I looked toward the end of the street in hope. If he was generous, he would spare us both a whipping. He approached us with hands in his pockets. He had graying hair, crinkled eyes, and a carefree look about him. For a moment, I thought that he was going to pass us by, but then he paused. And turned back.
“Why are you out here, in the weather? You should be inside, by a warm fire.” His voice was smooth, silky.
“W-we can't go back to the o-orphanage until we reach q-quota,” chattered Helen.
His face showed concern. “Why don't you both come with me? My wife and daughter are preparing venison stew. The house will be toasty warm.” His voice rose and fell playfully.
A shiver tickled its way down my spine, but this time, it wasn't the cold.
Helen let herself smile, gratitude clouding her blue eyes. “W-we would very much enjoy that, wouldn't we, Ivy?” She looked at me, her brown tangles draped messily over her shoulder.
I gave a small shake of my head. “We should go back. If we aren't there by lunchtime, we'll get a whipping,” I said.
The man waited for Helen to make a decision. To go with her friend or to take him up on his offer.
She shook her head at me and slipped her hand into the man's. “How old is your daughter?” she asked, looking up at him.
He passed me a fleeting glance, but started to walk away with Helen. “She's probably a few years older than you, dear.”
I watched helplessly as they walked away. Part of me wanted to go with them, to make sure Helen stayed safe. But I just turned in the direction of the orphanage, wading back slowly through the snow. I was rewarded with a spanking and no lunch.
The rest of the day, Helen was gone. At dinner, she still hadn't returned. At bedtime, the bed beside mine was empty. The next day they found her, buried in a pile of bloodied snow, stiff as a block of ice. Madam Lorraine disappeared before the law called on her, no doubt fleeing for Kislow while all the little orphan girls dealt with their grief.
I never told anyone that I'd let the man take her. Never met anyone's questions with more than silence.
After that day, my nights were so much worse.
Because in the shadows, Helen lurked.
-Chapter Eight-
By the time I came back up from my trance, the darkness of the tunnel had disappeared and we’d emerged into the misty day. Small huts surrounded us now, dotting the crater of Redrune. Sheep chewed on the grass, watching lazily as we passed them by.
Alyss was holding my hand, her voice tender as she asked, “Are you okay?”
I slipped my hand away, smiling even through my discomfort. “Yes, I was just...caught up in a memory. Do you know what slowed us in the tunnel?”
She nodded. “There was another carriage coming out of Redrune, but the tunnel wasn't wide enough for us to pass them. They had to back out.”
“I was wondering what was going on in your head,” the prince broke in. “Was it a good memory or a bad memory?”
“A bad one,” I said. I watched the sheep as they grazed. Watched the men as they mended fences and the women chasing after children. Prince Matthias, with all his riches, could do something about those people in the tunnel. I turned my gaze on him. “Couldn't we help them?”
The prince shrugged uncomfortably. “Most of those people are poor by their own actions. They may have been alcoholics or gamblers.”
“Not the children,” I said. “The children are innocent.”
“What can we do? If we give the children money, their parents will spend it...and we can't exactly take the children away from their families.”
Alyss spoke up. “What about a soup kitchen? The crown could fund it.”
The prince rubbed his stubbly chin. “My father is tight with his money, especially now…but it’s not a bad idea. I may mention it to him when we get there.”
The carriage started to rattle as the road we traveled on gave way to a more uneven path. We bounced along uncomfortably until the rocks all around us disappeared, replaced by cliff-face so close that if I opened the door, it would hit the stone. Several minutes passed and the cliff began to distance itself. Finally, buildings appeared again.
The carriage stopped in front of a large castle-like building with large pillars and a beautiful mahogany door.
I looked forward to going inside, but before I could follow the others, Sir Lochlan stepped in front of me. “We need to go see my family,” he said, his face pale and grim.
My heart sunk as I thought back on Roland's death and the promise I'd made him. Now it was time to keep that promise.
I followed him to the chestnut mare and hoisted myself up, waiting patiently as Sir Lochlan adjusted the stirrups to match my height. When he was done, he swung onto his roan and we were off.
We continued through the rest of the city. It didn't take very long. While Redrune looked quite impressive from the outside, it wasn't as big as Achron. More huts began to dot the hills as the larger buildings faded away.
The farther we got, the more spread out they became until we sidled up to a small cabin with a sizable garden. Nearby, a few wooly faces peeped out of a shed in curiosity. A chilly mist began to fall from the sky, seeping the cold down to my bones. Even though the glow of a warm fire flickered invitingly in the window, I dreaded going inside to meet Roland’s family.
“This is it?” I asked, stopping my horse beside Sir Lochlan's.
He nodded. “Seems a little small for a family of seven doesn't it?”
I didn't reply as I dismounted the mare. Sir Lochlan followed suit. He led the way up the stairs while I cowered behind. Before he could even knock, the door was flung open. Golden light outlined a silhouette of a thin woman. “Loch? Is that really you?”
“Yes, Mother.” He stood in front of her awkwardly, his head lowered.
She choked out a cry and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh, Lochlan, you have no idea how much I've missed you.”
She pulled back and seemed to see me for the first time. She squinted her eyes. “Is this the fiancée you wrote about? I thought you said she had black hair.”
Sir Lochlan shook his head. “No. Celia is back at the castle.”
> It impressed me to hear about Celia. I didn’t think Sir Lochlan had much of a soft side, but apparently, he did.
“This is Ivy,” Sir Lochlan said. “She went to the Crescent Isle Conservatory.”
“Oh?” his mom asked. “You must know Roland then.” Worry lines etched into her forehead when I looked away quickly without a reply.
Sir Lochlan looked past her, into the house. “Is Father or any of the others home?”
“Your father is out at sea,” she replied. “Brent is upstairs, he’s here for the weekend, and Kayta is here with her son while her husband is building their house in Silvonville. Jake is at the castle, of course, and Roland...” she trailed off as her eyes flicked to me. She wrung her hands nervously.
Sir Lochlan swallowed tightly and let out a strangled breath. “Roland is why we're here, Mama.”
“What's happened?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sir Lochlan placed a hand on her shoulder and led her back into the house. I followed hesitantly. At the sight of Lochlan, a woman—who I assumed was Kayta—stood up, holding a sleeping newborn in her arms.
Her mouth formed into a small smile until she registered the grim facial expressions on both her mother and brother. “What’s wrong?” she asked. She looked at me, her eyes narrowed in distrust.
I heard more footsteps sound above us. They became louder as they descended the stairs. A man that looked exactly like an older version of Roland appeared at the bottom. He studied each face very carefully until he came to mine.
“What is it?” he asked, his fierce eyes boring into my own.
I opened my mouth, but closed it again before I said something I'd regret. Why had he asked me? Why not his brother? I looked at Sir Lochlan for help.
“I asked the girl,” Brent snapped before Sir Lochlan could say anything.
Sir Lochlan pressed his mouth into a firm line, his eyes narrowing at his brother before he turned back to me. Every eye in the room was on me, save the newborn’s.
I took in a deep, steadying breath. “Roland and I were sent on a quest to the Isle of Ginsey. When we got there, the natives shot us with darts dipped in a sleeping draft.” I cleared my throat, not wanting to get choked up with emotion. “Roland had an allergic reaction...he didn't make it.”
My words were met by shocked silence. There was one more thing I needed to say. “He wanted me to tell you that he went to live in a place without fear or worry or anguish. He even got a glimpse of it before he died.” Tears pricked my eyes.
Lochlan’s mother’s face was as white as a sheet as she held his arm in a death grip. He led her to a chair and set her down gently.
Kayta's baby began to wail, but Kayta just stared straight ahead, her eyes glassed over with unshed tears.
Brent eyes were narrowed accusingly, and he took a threatening step toward me. Sir Lochlan pried his mother's fingers off his arm to step in front of his brother. “Brent, it's not her fault.”
Brent looked at Lochlan, his lip curled in anger. Before I had time to think about my actions, I bolted out the door, slamming it behind me. I changed in midstride, lifting off into the air. I couldn't help the untamed cries of sadness that escaped me as I flew higher.
Sir Lochlan's words echoed through my mind. “Brent, it's not her fault,” he'd said.
But I can't stop thinking that it is. If only I’d just gone alone.
It is my fault.
-Chapter Nine-
Sir Lochlan called after me as I flew over the rocky hills, but I paid him no mind. The hotel wasn't hard to find. It was easily the largest building in Redrune.
I folded in my wings and angled downward, plunging into a seemingly vacant alleyway. I landed on human feet and leaned against the stone wall to steady myself.
What have I done? Of all the times I'd thought of telling Roland's family about his death, nothing could have been worse than what really happened. I'd kept my promise to Roland, but I ran away like a feeble mouse at the first sign of danger.
I took in a deep breath and pushed myself away from the wall, walking swiftly around the corner to get back to the mahogany doors. I gripped the handle, but instantly jerked it away when it started to smoke. A glowing orange hand print was seared into the metal. I took in a deep breath to calm myself and opened the door quickly, elbowing it shut once I was inside.
The foyer was grand, with the ceiling stretched high above my head. Blue and silver banners with the king's insignia lined the hall. Flickering lanterns were hung on either side of each one, to the very end of the wide corridor. I took a few steps forward, and as I walked, the lanterns on either side of me went out one by one. I paused as the rest of the lights went out until I was all alone in a darkened corridor. Only the moonlight lit the way to the empty desk and the doors just beyond it.
My heartbeat skipped. I was still in first form, and yet somehow, power trickled through to my human body. I was absorbing the heat. I walked toward one of the unlit lanterns and cupped my hands around it, willing it to relight. A bolt of fire struck the lantern, glass and metal shrapnel shooting everywhere. All that was left was a blackened spot on the wall.
I jumped when someone cleared their throat at the other end of the hallway. Grix stood in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob.
“I’m guessing things didn’t go well?” he asked, studying the charred remains of the lantern.
I hid my stinging hands behind me. “No, they didn’t,” I said in a small voice.
He shut the door and came closer. “What happened?”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I turned away.
“Come on, was it that bad?” he said.
“I ran away,” I said, fighting back tears.
“Why?”
“Well, Roland’s brother threatened me, but that’s only part of it.” I paused. “I ran away because I couldn’t stand to see the pain on their faces for one moment longer before I…” I trailed off.
“Before you broke down, too?” Grix finished for me.
I looked back at him, trying to keep the tears from falling. “It was hard for me to lose him, but them? They had twenty years of knowing him, of watching him grow from a child into a man. And I keep feeling like I could have done something to spare them that pain.”
He put his hand on my shoulder in an awkward gesture to comfort me. “There was nothing you could do, or you would’ve done it. The past it over, so let’s live for the present and the future. What would Roland want you to do right now?”
“I’m not sure.”
Grix rubbed the back of his neck. “My bet is that he’d want you to take a deep breath and calm yourself…and then, he’d want you to go eat something before you starve to death.”
I laughed, and the tension in the room immediately lifted. All at once the lanterns relit, filling the hall with light.
He glanced at the lanterns and gave me a tight smile. “You’re getting stronger, Ivy. You need to control your emotions if this is what they can do. Perhaps a way you can cope with it for now is that question—what would Roland want you to do?”
He led the way back to the door he’d come through. “The dining hall has been cleared and everyone’s gone up to their rooms. I’m sure we can find something in the kitchen, though.”
He opened the door and let me slip past him.
Alyss was standing right inside, a worried expression on her face. “What was that sound?”
“It was just me,” I said. Unsure of how she would take the fact that I’d blown something up, I stopped there.
“She made a lantern explode,” Grix interrupted.
I shot him a look that he shrugged off.
Alyss’s eyes widened as she looked back at me. “How?”
“It was an accident,” I said. “I was trying to relight it.”
“And because she was angry, it disintegrated instead,” Grix added.
I glared at him and he raised his hands defensively.
“I didn’t disin
tegrate it,” I muttered.
Alyss gave me a worried smile.
“Let’s just go find something to eat,” I said, and walked past her into a room full of tables. A dining hall. Just beyond that was a door that I guessed led to the kitchens. When I opened it, the smells wafting up the stairs confirmed my assumption. Freshly baked cookies.
When the cook heard that I hadn’t eaten anything, he gathered together a tray of sliced meat, breads, and fruits. Not surprisingly, Grix ate most of it, though he claimed to have already eaten.
After I’d finished, Alyss led me up to where I was supposed to sleep, in a room adjacent to hers. It was nicely furnished, with a four-poster bed, a trunk, two chairs on either side of a window, and a table lined with books right between them. As soon as Alyss left for her own room, I sighed and tiredly headed over to one of the chairs. I flopped down and rested my elbow on the arm as I studied the titles of the books.
Most of them were history books about Leviatha, but one in particular stood out to me. Stories of Leviatha Castle. I reached forward, took it, and started flipping through the pages. There were many sketches of a white castle, built right over the water, and other pictures of different statues of sea serpents, like Roland. I flipped a little farther through the book. There were brilliant gardens, an aquarium, and a myriad of ships docked right next to the castle. King Horace IV’s personal fleet, the last picture was titled.
I turned the page to see a sketch of a princess on a balcony, her eyes wild with fear, smoke billowing out from the doorway behind her. The picture was titled, The story of King Horace IV’s daughter, Princess Rayna, and her new husband, Lord Vincent the Vicious. Next to it, there was a poem.
It flickers and flutters and sputters and twists,
It pops and crackles and sizzles and roars.
The mighty dance of the beast called Fire
climbs higher and higher up the castle spire,
where a princess with a long white veil
tightly grips the balcony rail.