by Hannah West
With a wail of fear, I limped faster. I fumbled with the keys, my hands quaking. My ankle collapsed beneath me, and I rammed my shoulder into the wall, knocking down a lyre on display. Its strings made a discordant noise as its hollow body bounced across the floor. I strove on, but Orturio bellowed with anger and the lyre flew past my head, breaking to pieces on the cellar door.
Just a few more uneven, halting steps, and I would reach it. My pulse hammered as I found the right key. I slammed against the door, jammed the key into the lock, and heard the click. But before I could open the door, a hand wrenched back my shoulder.
I turned to face my wild-eyed enemy, my controlling captor. The blood leaking from Orturio’s wounds made me queasy. He reeled back to strike me, but over his shoulder I saw the same stoic maid who had brought me my tincture. She held a kitchen cleaver in her grip. Its wide blade winked in the dim light.
Perhaps Orturio knew how to make servants obey, but he didn’t know how to earn their loyalty.
Setting her jaw, the woman buried the cleaver in the middle of her master’s back. Shock turned to pain as it passed over his features.
Turning my back on him, I swung open the cellar door and locked myself in the dark on the other side. I listened to the heavy thud of Orturio’s body slumping to the floor, and then the soft, careful steps of the maid finishing the job. A wet shink let me know she had dislodged the weapon from his back, and another announced the final, deadly blow. Orturio’s last breaths gurgled out.
I fled clumsily down the dark stairs and ran to the shrine, so focused on my destination that I forgot about the table and rammed into it with my left hip, letting out a yelp. I groped the idols until I found the round shield boss and flicked the panel open.
The thought hadn’t struck me until now: What if Orturio had moved the maid’s body and my elicrin stone after last night, threatened by the idea of anyone sneaking around in the cellar? Or worse, what if he had disposed of Lucrez’s body here, too?
When I yanked the shrine away from the hidden room, I felt the barrel at waist-level and the blood squelching on the floor. I pried off the lid and plunged my hands into the blood bath, refusing to think about the cold tangle of limbs and swath of matted curls. I whimpered in disgust at the vague odor that had begun to emanate from the corpse. But finally, finally, I felt something hard and small. A grunt of joy burst out of me when I lifted the elicrin stone from the muck and raised it high, its bloody chain dangling.
“May you live on in the land of light,” I whispered to the maid’s dead body. Then I clutched my elicrin stone. “Carathin har,” I said. Light spilled through my fingers.
I slipped the jewel around my neck with my blood-slicked hands and searched the shelves of the secret room by its comforting light.
I found a large leather satchel of gold coins and slipped it over my shoulder. I also spotted a dagger with an elaborate sheath and belt, which I lashed around my waist. I turned to go, but a gaudy silver cylinder perched on an overhead shelf caught the light: a scroll case. A round gold emblem depicting the four-horned ram winked at me.
Could this be the sealed scroll, the one that Ambrosine had burned that entire edifice hoping to destroy? If it was worth something to both Ambrosine and the Uprising, I knew I couldn’t leave it behind. I dropped it in the satchel.
The large door on the other end of the cellar beckoned me. I hurried down the aisle of wine barrels. Through the keyhole, I saw the two dogs pacing, wary.
I crouched to position my weight beneath the heavy plank barring the door, growling against the waves of pain that throbbed through my swollen ankle. I saw stars, but I managed to lift it and toss it away.
Shoving open the massive doors, I heard the dogs bark and scramble toward me. I could cut them down with umrac korat, the slashing spell, one of the few I’d practiced. But I knew I wouldn’t need to. The smell of blood and death lured them straight to the secret room. They didn’t mind me at all.
I snuck out of the cellar unnoticed, limping up the green slope and into the open twilight.
TWENTY-SEVEN
GLISETTE
THE NEXT DAY
A PEARL of sweat dripped along my jaw. The spring sun had emerged to thaw the ice and snow blanketing the woods. My skin warmed beneath my borrowed wool tunic as I helped Navara practice a basic sword-fighting maneuver.
“Hips toward me,” I reminded her, as Devorian’s instructor had reminded me so many times. I used to flutter my eyelashes and beg him to give me lessons even though Mother scolded us every time she found out.
Navara adjusted her stance and tightened her grip around her branch. “Like this?”
“Lower your dominant hand. You’d be squeezing the blade right now.”
“I’m useless,” she said, shaking her head. “How can I lead my people if I’ve never even held a weapon?”
“It’s more symbolic than anything,” I reassured her, lifting my own branch. “Your people think of you as a girl, not as a young woman ready to take command. You probably won’t need to know how to fight, but you need to look the part. The hair helps, I think.”
“Does it?” she asked, combing back a tangled lock. The blunt cut paired with her tattered dress had made her look young and helpless. But now, while wearing one of the boys’ winter tunics, she looked older, tougher, more resilient. Short hair drew attention to her regal, dimpled chin and acute dark eyes. She truly was a rare beauty.
“Yes,” I replied. “Now if we can set you atop a saddle and hand you a real sword without toppling you, we have a warrior queen in the making.”
Navara laughed, but when she resumed her stance, she was serious and determined to learn.
Her earnestness reminded me of Perennia, and I struggled to believe my sister was truly gone. Had Ambrosine held a funeral yet? What did Devorian think had happened that horrible night? A tracking map would take weeks to create, but I felt almost certain he would use every resource to find me.
“Are you all right?” Navara asked, searching my face. I realized my magic had stolen the warmth from the breeze.
“Fine,” I said, lifting the hem of my tunic to shimmy out of it. Perhaps pretending I was too warm might somehow make the cold disappear. Underneath, I wore only my tight linen chemise tucked into breeches, both of which were in need of rigorous laundering.
I looked uphill toward the hideout to see if anyone had noticed the chill. Sev’s father’s cabin was built into a hillside in the depths of the forest, earth-sheltered and cloaked in green. It was even smaller than the family’s cottage in the village and there were no windows, not even a chimney. But it provided us with basic necessities and crouched a safe distance from any roads or woodland trails.
“My father used to poach these lands to keep us fed,” Sev had explained to Navara and me when we arrived early yesterday morning. His brothers and sisters had started playing games in the middle of the only room, the younger ones chattering giddily as though this were some fun adventure. Sev, his mother, Stasi, and Jeno did a fine job of protecting them from even the fear of danger. “This was his hideout from the king’s foresters.”
“He was a poacher?” Navara asked, surprised. “How did he become my father’s head huntsman?”
“He heard about king’s foresters hunting for a thief who stole two horses from a nobleman,” he said. “My father caught the thief and the horses and delivered them to the king. He asked for no reward but steady employment and modest pay, and your father obliged. Years later, after they had become friends, my father confessed to having been a poacher. The king just laughed.” Navara had smiled at this.
No one came trotting down the hill in reaction to the cold, so I resumed the lesson. “Now, if someone is reeling back like this”—I picked up my branch to demonstrate—“you’re going to want to come down on their right shoulder. It will block any counterattack, and you’ve landed a solid blow.”
“I see,” Navara said, trying out the motion.
“Let’s say so
meone attacks you like this,” I went on, lowering my branch to mimic jabbing her with the tip. “You’re going to want to lean into your back foot to evade, as it’s harder to block a head-on offense of this manner than to just avoid contact.”
“Like this?” she asked, shifting her weight.
“Yes, then recover with a more decisive block once you’re less vulnerable. So swing your blade down with strength.” Our branches clashed.
“Wait…if this is just for appearances, why are you teaching me this?” she asked.
“You have a target on your back,” I said. “It’s good to know how to defend yourself. But if you have a choice, always run away rather than engage. Running gives you the best chance of survival.”
Navara bit her lip. “How did you do it?” she asked, lowering her branch. “You stormed the Moth King’s tower. Were you not afraid? I want to be a leader like you, but I’m so afraid.”
A dark truth came reluctantly to mind: my elicrin stone had made me brave. Knowing ancient magic waited at my beck and call had prevented fear from governing my actions. Without it, I didn’t know whether I could be courageous in the face of death.
For the first time, it struck me how terrifying it must have been for Kadri to accompany us, how bold she had been to refuse to let Mercer turn her away.
“Maybe see it as doing what you feel you must, one small choice at a time,” I said softly. “You’ve already started your perilous journey; you endangered your life asking me to meet you in the edifice. Today, you’re learning to wield a sword—”
“A stick.”
“A sword,” I insisted. “So that you can fight for your people. And tomorrow, you’ll do something even more courageous. You’re no less brave, and no more terrified, than I was.”
“Hmm,” Navara said, pursing her lips. “That makes sense. You learn courage as it’s required of you.”
“Exactly. I used to be perfectly content spending my days at social events, drinking wine, gossiping, and dallying with boys I didn’t even fancy just to feel a thrill. When my brother accidentally awoke the Moth King, it awoke something in me too. A sense of purpose. A calling to right his wrongs, for the sake of my kingdom and my family’s honor. You have the same love for your kingdom and family. You will find the courage you need.”
Navara smiled a small smile. “I’m sure Commander Larsio will be reluctant to put me in danger, but I hope I’m brave enough to defy him if I need to.”
“I don’t want any mortals to have to see battle,” I said, regret heavy on my heart. “The Realm Alliance started this, and we need to finish it.”
I mentally retraced the letters of the urgent missives I’d left with the village dispatcher yesterday morning. Mortal messaging was so inefficient. If we’d been able to establish magical missive routes across the sea, the others might already be on their way. I hoped they were regardless—that Mercer had seen a vision, that he and Valory would use the portal to come directly to Halithenica.
Had Devorian found a way to contact the Realm Alliance? Had Ambrosine stopped him from reaching out, or worse, did he believe her version of events? Had she imprisoned him within his own mind, like Myron? Had she shown Devorian the lovely, heart-rending visions she had shown me of our parents, our family made whole again?
These possibilities made a bitter cold comb through the wind. Suddenly, I could see my breath.
I knew someone would come check on us after such an abrupt change in the air. And sure enough, by the time I straightened, Sev was treading through the melting snow toward us, his leather boots quiet on the forest floor despite his confident stride. He had left the hideout last night to seek out the commander who had resigned. I’d slept with a lump of worry in my throat. What if Ambrosine or the Uprising captured him?
I expected to feel relief at his return, but I didn’t expect it in the form of heat flaring through my chest.
“Did you find Commander Larsio?” I asked, before Sev could question if everything was all right.
“Right where I expected him,” he replied with a smirk. “In the gambling den in Lorganti. We’re meeting him at an abandoned edifice in two days. He seemed relieved to have something to do.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to involve him?” I asked. We had discussed this already, but I hadn’t warmed to the idea. I trusted the Realm Alliance and the people at this hideout—no one else.
“The commander knows everything about the royal army,” Sev reminded me. “He knows any strategy it could use, every weakness it has. He will know what to expect from your sister’s forces. And he knows how to ready an army. We need him.”
“My friends will come—”
“What if they don’t?”
His sharpness lacerated what little sense of calm I felt.
“He was my father’s commander for twenty years,” Navara added gently, lowering her branch. “I trust him. Even when the elicromancers do arrive, it won’t hurt to have him on our side.”
Sensing I was outnumbered again, I fell quiet.
“So you know how to fight without spells and magic?” Sev asked me, skeptical. He folded his arms and leaned against a tree. A ray of sunlight shot through the leaves and painted the tips of his tousled raven hair gold. “Or are you two just playing with sticks?”
I let out a harsh laugh before I realized he was serious. I could have explained to him that it was tradition in Nissera for boys in royal families to learn the arts of warfare, a tradition that began back when kings were mortals and the few living elicromancers were just hermits in the mountains. I could have explained how I’d defied my mother to learn, or that wielding a sword in addition to my elicrin magic made me doubly deadly as a foe. Instead, I glared at him. “If you think I’m playing, why don’t you join the game?”
“Pff,” he said, and gestured dismissively.
“Come, now. You think I’m helpless without magic? Let me show you just how helpless.” I jerked my head at Navara. “Let him borrow your sword.”
“Stick,” Sev said.
“Sword,” Navara corrected, raising an eyebrow at him. She held out the branch.
“Very well,” he sighed, unfolding his arms to accept it.
I snatched up my tunic, used it to dab at the sweat on my neck, and tossed it over a tree limb before brandishing my weapon. Sev adopted a fighting stance, but the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
We each shifted our weight before I lunged. He reacted quickly and blocked a high strike that would have come down on his head. I ducked his answering thrust and swiped sideways at his knees. His branch collided with mine with a loud crack that made birds scatter from their perches overhead. We both reeled back, but he was first to recover. His next swipe was pitiful, perfunctory, and I dodged it easily.
“Don’t hold back,” I growled.
“I’m not—”
“Don’t hold back!”
My command barked through the quiet. Freezing air swirled around us, streaming my hair and toying with the sleeves and hem of Sev’s loose brown tunic.
The bitter cold made me realize that I was desperate to prove to myself that I didn’t need magic—that I could be strong without it.
Sev stared me down for a moment before he set his jaw and reengaged. This time, he attacked first, and he was swift. His blows were hard, aggressive, but graceful. Sweat dripped down my temples as I ducked and jumped and twirled out of the way, breathless. He put me on the defense; it was all I could do to evade his strikes. When I managed to outmaneuver him, my blows were weak. The need to release my rage was my only fuel as we struggled on. I did strike him once in the ribs and he answered by blasting my thigh with bruising force. When I grunted in pain, he apologized, and the annoyance at his pacification helped me recover my waning strength. We parried until our branches tangled over our heads. The next thing I knew, he had spun me in place, dropped his weapon, and taken hold of mine, which he used like a bar against my sternum to trap me.
“Let’s call it a draw
,” he said. I could feel the rise and fall of his hard chest and the warmth of his panting breaths gusting over my ear.
Twigs snapped in the distance, and I looked to see Stasi hiking toward us, hopping over snarls of thorns in her path. “Stew’s ready,” she said.
Sev and I disentangled. I wanted to glare at him, but the fight had depleted my anger.
Navara shot me a quizzical expression before I turned and led the way back to the cabin. All of us gathered around the campfire, where a large cauldron of rabbit stew bubbled. Many pairs of busy feet had melted the snow around the hideout. It had been a relief to see the children shedding their patched-up cloaks as we journeyed here, with Sev leading the three youngest atop his rouncey, Orfeo.
“What sort of magic spells do you know?” Eleni asked me as we ate in a large huddle.
“Oh, all sorts,” I replied. “I could put out this campfire and start it up again with only a few words. I could cut our firewood without lifting a finger. And that leather strap in your hair? I could make it look like a pretty ribbon, at least for an hour or two. What’s your favorite color?”
She bit her tongue as she thought. “Blue.”
“I could turn it blue, whatever shade you like.”
She grinned. “Could you make this dress into a fancy gown?”
“It would be hard work, and it would probably only last a few minutes,” I said. “But one of my ancestors could make anything look like anything else. She was beautiful, but she could make herself look like an old man with warts on his face.”
The younger children sniggered.
Sev plunked down his half-finished bowl of stew and stalked around the corner of the cabin. Frowning, his mother watched him leave before flashing Navara and me apologetic looks. Shortly after, I heard the sound of Sev’s axe splitting wood.
The children turned their attentions to Navara, allowing me to finish my meal quickly and follow Sev. I found him tossing split logs onto a growing pile. I could practically see the anger pulsing in the lean muscles of his forearms and hands.