She opened her eyes before it overwhelmed her, then searched from side to side. Her kimono lay draped over the nightstand. Sloppy, like she’d torn it off in a fit of passion and thrown it aside. Slowly reaching for it, careful not to make too much noise, she grabbed it and scampered for the door before her arms were even in the sleeves.
A moment was all she’d needed to collect herself before finding herself rushing through the halls of a place she now recognized: the Reba’s lower quarters. The Captain’s Quarters were separated by the Crews’ Quarters by a long empty corridor. The ship swayed and bowled her back and forth. She took the bumps against her shoulders in stride and let the momentum carry here to the stairs.
When she reached them, she heard a voice thundering in her head. “Stop fighting, Sora.” It made her temples throb, and she had to lean against the wall to keep from falling. A grubby hand fell on her shoulder, and she whipped around to see Hestor, one of Gold Grin’s crewmen. Half his teeth were missing, and his hair and ratty beard were knotted from the salt of the sea. An orange glow caught the color of his tanned skin.
Sora looked down and saw embers floating around her hands. She wasn’t bleeding, and she didn’t feel the haunting of Elsewhere, yet there it was: fire at her fingertips.
“You are willful, my dear,” the sultry voice spoke in Sora’s head. “Close your eyes. Let me back in, and I’ll take care of everything.”
“Nesilia?” Sora said out loud. Now she remembered. The mystics, littering the floor like garbage. Cut open. Aihara Na on her knees, begging for her life.
“H-Hestor, Lady Sora. Ye be all right?” the pirate asked, voice trembling.
Sora’s vision snapped back into focus, and she saw him with his hands raised, eyes bright with fear. She ignored him and swept up the stairs. Cold rain whipped across her face like a hundred tiny needles and the hatch slammed hard behind her, caught by the wind. She turned her cheek and pushed through until she stood looking at nothing but gray clouds and gray sea.
The ship dipped to the side and sent her stumbling into another crew member. He tried to catch her, but Sora’s hand wrapped his forearm, and he squealed from the heat of her touch.
“Get off me witch!” he howled and shoved her away.
He promptly earned a backhand from Fortist, Gold Grin’s first mate. “Cap’n catches ye addressing her like that, ye’ll be drinking sea water,” he said, having to raise his voice over the heady winds, driving rain, and waves. He turned to Sora. “Milady, ye shouldn’t be out here.”
She spun around. The crew was hard at work keeping the deck clear of water. It was a losing battle, but they had discipline. Men swung from the sails as they turned them to catch the wind. Another climbed up the foremast like a worker ant; a knife clenched between his teeth.
“Where is here?” she asked.
The first mate’s brow furrowed. “The Torrential Sea, Lady Sora. We’re a few days away from Yarrington, just like you asked.”
“Like I—” Confusion caused the words to trap in her throat.
“Ye should go back below deck until this storm passes.”
She ignored the warning and walked toward the ship’s prow. Rain soaked her kimono through. Her hair dripped, sticking to her skin. She felt eyes on her from every direction and shuddered.
“Lady Sora, watch out!”
She looked right and saw the boom of a sail swinging toward her. She ducked just in time and staggered against the rail at the ship’s front. An unseen force kept her from flipping over and straightened her back. She peered down into the icy depths of the violent waters below—a raging, foaming wall of blue, desperate to reach out and sweep her off her feet.
“Careful now, my dear,” Nesilia spoke within her. “We have so much to do together, and I won’t suffer another prison.”
“Get out of my head!” Sora snapped, grasping the sides of her head.
“It’s our head now.” The words echoed, all around her. Sora spun as if she’d see the goddess standing there, beautiful and terrifying at once, but all that greeted her was more of the endless sea. Her hand’s squeezed the rail as she squinted off into the distance. No land in sight, no end to the storm that blotted out even Celeste’s bright light.
A pair of burly arms wrapped around her. She looked down at the hands covered in an assortment of jewel-emblazoned rings, and green tattoos, then turned to see the face of Captain Grisham “Gold Grin” Gale. He smiled, his golden teeth shimmering from the light of the lantern hanging over the bow.
“Ye should come back to bed,” he said. “This be no place for a lady, even a mystic such as yerself.” He gave her an all-too-familiar squeeze. It made her skin crawl. She liked the man’s company but not enough to…
“Did you think your first time would be special?” Nesilia said. “Trust me, my sweet Sora. Love is overrated.”
“What are you?” Sora was speaking to Nesilia, but Gold Grin paused. The way he looked at her… she’d seen that glint in a man’s eye before. The drunkards back in Troborough regarded Alless, the barmaiden at the Twilight Manor, the same way.
“Something wrong?” Gold Grin asked.
Sora tried to respond, but words didn’t come. The ability to control her own body waned. Suddenly, she looked through her own eyes, but the view was distant. Her arms extended, wrapping the pirate’s thick neck as she pulled herself close.
“Nothing at all,” her mouth said. Why was she talking? She didn’t want to be talking. “I must thank you again for the passage to Yarrington.”
He flashed his famous grin. “Anything for the Queen of the Reba.”
“Perhaps I should show you again how thankful I am.” Sora leaned in and pressed her lips against his. Sora shouted in defiance, but the words never came out. She did, however, gain control of her arms enough to push Gold Grin away. Embers swirled around her hands. She expected him to respond with fear. Instead, he bit his lower lip.
“Want me back in the sack already, do ye?” he said.
Sora fought to keep her lips sealed, but doing so gave over control of her body. She watched as she took his hand and pulled him back toward the cabins.
Sora’s vision flickered. She smelled sweat, heard moaning, felt skin rubbing, and bodies gyrating. When she saw clearly again, she lay beside Gold Grin in his quarters once more. She was upright in the bed, wearing nothing and not shy about it. The pirate was back to snoring, and a fresh layer of perspiration glistened on his forehead.
“What do you want from me?” Sora asked before realizing the conversation was in her own head. She was present, but not, seeing through her own eyes as if looking through the Well of Wisdom.
“To give you what you’ve always wanted,” Nesilia answered.
“I don’t want any of this!” Sora shouted. Gold Grin shifted slightly but didn’t wake.
“Do not forget, my dear, I see all within you—your deepest longings. Together we can make them all come true. You want a family, to belong? I will make all the world bow and call us ‘mother.’”
“Just leave me alone!” Sora was able to gain control of her arm and swung it toward the nightstand. Her knife—Wetzel’s knife—was so close but her fingers halted near the handle and hovered over it.
“Careful, my dear,” Nesilia said within. “You aren’t thinking clearly.”
“I’ll carve you out of my head. Get out!” Those final words escaped her lips, and Gold Grin woke with a startle.
“Do ye ever sleep, girl?” he grumbled. He threw his arm over her waist and pulled her close. Sora couldn’t fight it. Upon his touch, she felt herself sinking away, losing any semblance of control as she had in the chamber of the Secret Order.
“Relax, Sora. I’m taking care of everything…” Nesilia spoke. “Redstar failed me, but his servants belong to me.”
And then, once more, Sora was gone. Watching from somewhere deep within herself, silent, frightened… alone.
III
THE KNIGHT
“You mustn’t
look away, Your Grace,” Torsten said, not missing the irony of his words. He patted King Pi’s shoulder, then slid his hand up until he was able to touch the boy’s jaw with his thumb and forced his attention toward the square.
“I thought we’ve had enough blood?” Pi asked, his voice small and frail again. With Nesilia’s influence over him vanquished, he was a mere child again. Every bit the sweet twelve-year-old boy he truly was, except he wore the crown of the Nothhelm line. And that circlet of jewel-encrusted glass, although infused with glaruium now, was as fragile as the kingdom he ruled. Even still, being the king of Glass meant being the king of the most powerful nation on Pantego.
Torsten exhaled, giving Pi’s arm a reassuring squeeze. “Iam make that true one day. But for now, the people need closure. Wren the Holy’s death has left a deep chasm in the hearts of our people. With none yet selected to take his place, we have to offer something.”
“She’s so fair… beautiful even now that the paint is stripped away. How could she be guilty of such heinous acts?”
“The dark magic of disgraced gods make wicked those who fall for their lies. You don’t have to worry anymore, Your Grace. Neither she, Redstar, nor any of those Drav Cra heathens unwilling to see the light as your mother has can hurt you any longer.”
Torsten couldn’t see Pi’s throat bob—a month had passed since he’d lost the use of his eyes due to Redstar’s vile blood magic—but he heard the boy swallow. Pi seemed fully back to his old self—the one Uriah and Oleander always spoke of, that curious, kind boy with a craving to devour books as if they were sustenance. Yet, Torsten couldn’t imagine the scars that filled Pi’s mind from everything he’d suffered. Being cursed, brought back from the dead, possessed—the very fact he still seemed sane was a sign that Iam’s blessing was with him.
Torsten offered the king another reassuring pat on the shoulder, then continued by. He scratched the mottled skin around his eyes that burned with a deep itch as it often did now.
“This way, my Lord,” said the squire who took Torsten’s arm.
Torsten bit his lip as he allowed the young Shieldsman-hopeful Lucas Danvels to guide him across the castle’s outer parapets. He hated being led around like a dog, and he was getting handy with a cane, but atop the walls and before so many of the kingdom’s citizens, he couldn’t risk any mistakes.
Nobody could.
The Glass had endured much at the hands of Redstar the Deceiver, as he’d come to be known. Enough to rattle the peoples’ faith in God and Kingdom. An inability for the Church of Iam to quickly choose a successor to Wren, in addition to the continuing war in the South with the Shesaitju and Drav Cra marauders in the East didn’t help, but things were coming around. All the violent ripples of the great Liam Nothhelm’s passing were beginning to settle.
“Here you are.” Lucas guided Torsten’s hands to the lip of the wall facing out over the Royal Avenue. Torsten grunted, then forced a nod. He never meant to be rude to the new recruit, especially since Torsten had been the one to name him a squire in the first place.
“The streets are full,” Lucas said. “All the way from Pike’s Crossing to Cathedral Square. This was a fine idea, Sir.”
“I long for the day when it wouldn’t be,” Torsten replied. “Though I imagine I’ll be long gone by then. Above, or below.”
“She did this to herself. With what they caused in Dockside…”
Torsten could practically feel the young man’s anger. He’d become good at sensing these things since facial expressions were of no use to him now; good at noticing the tiny inflections in voice and tone which accompanied certain emotions.
“Careful, Lucas,” Torsten said. “I know you hail from Dockside, but to be the King’s Shield, is to shield all of the kingdom. Where we come from or who our parents are… those are irrelevant details.”
“Is that why things never get better there—in Dockside?” Lucas replied.
A brief silence hung on the air between them, made tolerable only by the constant chatter of the hundreds below.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I meant nothing by it,” Lucas said.
“I know, but you’re right,” Torsten said. “I neglected a great many things when I was Wearer.”
“You did all that you could.”
“If only that were true,” Torsten growled.
“Your Grace!” the familiar voice of Sir Austin Mulliner shouted up from within the battlements. “The Queen Mother sent me to inform you that she will not be attending.” With the current Wearer of White, Sir Nikserof Pasic, along with many other Shieldsmen, still fighting Afhem Muskigo in the South, Mulliner was the most experienced man left in Yarrington who still had eyes.
The news reminded Torsten of his surroundings as grumblings from the Royal Council rose behind him. So many of them were strangers to Torsten as the mess Redstar left behind was rectified. However, they were worthy men invited from high posts and loyal houses throughout the Glass.
Lord Kaviel Jolly, Sir Wardric’s older brother and the new Master of Ships summoned from Crowfall, hushed them. He’d been extremely eager to honor Wardric’s sacrifice by serving his kingdom in a meaningful way. When Oleander, the Queen Mother, recommended him for the new Royal Council based on a longtime friendship, he was already visiting Yarrington to lobby for himself.
Torsten turned back toward the castle. Sight wasn’t needed to know its direction. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he could feel Oleander’s presence on a balcony high up on the tallest spire, watching from afar where people couldn’t see the wounds she felt made her a monster.
“That’s her watching, isn’t it?” Lucas said. “She’s never visited Dockside. Is she as beautiful as the legends say?”
She was, Torsten thought, then cursed himself. Oleander agonized daily over the burns which now coated half her body, more gifts from her brother, but Torsten tried not to allow her dour spirits to affect him. To him, she remained that tortured beauty who, after so much failure, finally stood up against Redstar atop Mount Lister as the champion for her kingdom, who finally proved herself worthy of the light Liam saw in her.
“She is,” Torsten said.
“Did she really have Sir Langley hang all of those people?” Lucas asked.
“Redstar’s influence blinded us all, from kings to peasants. Now, today, we wipe the stain away for good.”
“Not a moment too soon.”
The crowd broke out in moans and cursing. It grew louder and closer, a wave of loathing unable to be contained.
“What’s happening down there?” Torsten asked.
“They’re leading her out,” Lucas said.
From the Castle’s deepest dungeon, Redstar’s pet warlock, Freydis, was being escorted to the gallows. She screamed in Drav Crava as the guards shoved through the crowd to bring her to the platform set halfway between the Yarrington Cathedral and the Glass Castle. There, she would stand trial for helping murder and manipulate Wren the Holy and so many others. It was all a formality.
“What of the crowd?” Torsten asked.
“People from all corners it looks like,” Lucas said. “Guards have her surrounded though; they can’t get close. Windows within arrow range overlooking the area are all barred as you requested.”
“Good. What about up the street, toward Old Yarrington and away from the mob?”
“Bunch of nobles in their fancy trousers,” Lucas replied.
“Anyone worth noting?”
“I… I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t meet many men of their class back home.”
Torsten withheld a sigh. He was so used to scouring rooms for any sign of danger to the Crown or men with agendas. It was hard to let go of that part of himself. There were other, more capable men, to stand guard. Torsten remained a King’s Shieldsman, but per Pi’s request, a new position was added to the Royal Council for him: Master of Warfare. Torsten couldn’t stand the title, though he accepted graciously. He longed for the day when such a position was no longer necessary.
&
nbsp; “Spotted someone shady,” Lucas said. “Valin Tehr is here. Do you know him?”
Torsten’s stomach lurched at the thought of the crime lord who ran Yarrington’s most infamous brothel, the Vineyard. There was a time when he tried to shut the place down, but Valin had a way of sticking around like a cockroach, as well as having the support of unnamed nobles who frequented his establishments to unwind in ways Iam dare not see.
“We’ve run into each other before,” Torsten said. “I’m from South Corner, remember?”
“Right,” Lucas said. “Well, he’s nestled in with the common folk, but I’m pretty sure it’s him. I’d recognize his creepy Breklian assistant’s white mustache and fake eye anywhere. Used to show up at my father’s shop every month demanding tribute.”
“These affairs bring out the worst Yarrington has to offer.”
“Should I have someone keep an eye on him?” Lucas asked.
Torsten shook his head. “He’s a cockroach, but he’s no danger to the Crown. He likes to play in his own fiefdom.” Torsten believed what he said, though he couldn’t ignore the thought in the back of his head that something was off. It had been many years since he’d dealt with Valin in the name of the Crown, and suddenly the man popped up again, even helped Rand free Torsten from the dungeons. Torsten understood how the Drav Cra savages with their refusal to use coin could have harmed all the businesses Valin owned. However, now he was doing something far beyond his nature: showing his face outside of Dockside.
“Lucas, when this is all over, remind me to finally pay Valin a visit in Dockside,” Torsten said.
“For?” Lucas asked.
Torsten ignored him. It had been a month, and until that moment, thanking Valin for helping Rand free him from Redstar’s prison had never crossed his mind, what with learning to be blind and tending to the Crown’s affairs. Rand and his sister had vanished from Yarrington after saving Torsten, not a soul knew where. Torsten spent weeks having Rand searched for until he feared the boy and his sister were killed in the riots and lost in the piles of bodies carted away.
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