by Elise Kova
“Remove her from my sight and find a place for her in the Lark’s dormitories. Let them be forced to deal with her,” Ulvarth commanded. “And for the love of Yargen, clean her before she stinks up the entire place.”
Chapter Thirty
There were three aspects of the Faithful, Vi quickly learned.
The first were the laymen—Faithful who studied Lightspinning and followed the teachings of Yargen but did little else. They were civilians. Followers, but not active participants in the structure of the Faithful. The laymen were scattered across Meru.
Next were the Swords. Vi had had enough of them for a lifetime. And, judging by how they shoved her into the care of a beady-eyed, sagely man, the feeling was mutual.
The final aspect were the Larks of Light. These were men and women who had pledged themselves to Yargen. But where the Swords where the militaristic strong-arm of the Faithful, the Larks were the teachers, theorists, theologians, scholars, and preachers.
They were quiet, calm, and kind.
Three things Vi hadn’t experienced in a long time.
“This way, young one.” The elderly man’s demeanor reminded her instantly of King Noct. “Let’s take you to a bathing chamber.”
“What’s your name?” Vi asked. She rubbed her wrists, gently inspecting the clotted blood and torn flesh left behind from the irons.
“They call me Kindred Allan.” He spoke without turning. Likely because every movement seemed stiff and painful for him. “And your name, young one?”
“Vi Solaris.”
“Not the same Vi Solaris as the Crown Princess of the Solaris Empire?”
“You know of it?” Vi asked cautiously.
“It is the Lark’s job to know of it,” he said thoughtfully. “We record all Yargen’s light touches, and even the places where it cannot, to keep record of all her designs and the ways mortalkind seeks to change them.”
It was a pleasant surprise not to have someone immediately telling her how terrible her home was. Allan seemed emotionally detached, but genuinely interested. Vi counted it a victory.
Allan lead her down a spiral stair in a different building from the one Ulvarth had occupied. It was the northernmost point of the triangular buildings surrounding and connected to the Archives. Every flight of stairs opened to either a long hall or a warm room. There were crackling fires, and men and women working quietly at desks or talking, while sinking further into plush cushions wrapped in warm-hued fabrics.
“This way, your highness.”
“Just Vi is fine.”
“Is it not your custom to always use some kind of honorific or title in Solaris for royalty and nobility?”
“Usually, yes… But we’re not in Solaris. And it’s not common for those who are close to royalty.” Besides, Vi had enough of being the crown princess for one day. She’d invoked her royal persona for Ulvarth and her walk through the city. Now, she felt too tired to deal with it.
“Are we close?” he asked.
“That depends on your actions, I suppose.”
“Spoken like a true princess.” He gave her a weathered smile as he opened a door, allowing steam to billow out. The room was tiled from floor to ceiling. A faucet continually poured hot water into a large copper tub, the overflow draining underneath the vessel. There was a small wooden stool with a soap bar and a few other scouring agents in jars.
Another shelf at her left had a variety of brushes, combs, razors, and other barbering tools. Over which was a mirror. A mirror. Vi hadn’t seen herself in a mirror since the small one in the bathroom of the Twilight Kingdom.
She stalled before it, slowly bringing a hand to her cheek.
“I shall leave you to soak. Please enjoy at your leisure. While you are soaking, do pull the screen before the door. I shall send one of our female Larks to come with clothing for you and she will drape it over for your convenience and modesty.”
“Thank you,” Vi murmured, too distracted by her reflection to say more than that.
The woman she saw didn’t reflect the woman Vi thought she knew. Her fingers trailed over cheekbones that were sharper than she recalled. As sharp as her father’s—she could recognize now that she had seen him again so recently. The harsh sun of the seas had further darkened her skin, as Vi suspected from her arms, but her hair was still as black as midnight and as fine as spider’s silk.
She slowly undid the braids she and her father had coiffed for their arrival to Risen. Vi turned her head this way and that, looking at how it fell just beyond her shoulders. There wasn’t the slightest bit of wild body to it, not even with the kink of braids—nothing like her mother’s and brother’s.
She was, indeed, her father’s daughter.
Stripping, Vi balled and burned her clothes. Once more, she incinerated everything of her last incarnation in life. What version of Vi would walk the Archives of Yargen when she emerged from the tub?
Pulling the screen mostly shut, Vi sank into the water, spilling it over all sides. It completely engulfed her and for a few moments she let the warmth soak off the filth that covered her. With the constantly running tap, the water was perpetually hot and the grime flowed over and away as she began to scrub.
Vi had just started rubbing her legs raw when the door opened.
“Princess?”
“Just Vi is fine,” Vi called over the screen.
“Vi, then… My name is Serina. Allan told me to attend you. I have clothes here; shall I drape them over the screen?”
“That sounds lovely.” Vi rested her elbows on the edge of the tub, looking at the clothes that appeared by two dainty hands. A towel was draped last at their side.
“I’ll wait just outside for you to finish to show you to your room… But do take your time. It sounds as though you’ve had quite a journey.”
“Thank you,” Vi said softly. For one moment, she thought about asking the girl to stay. Vi had questions about this place, about the Larks, and about the flame. But she ultimately decided to save them for Taavin.
She had no interest in making friends here. This was like the Twilight Kingdom—like Arwin. It was business. Vi retreated further into the tub, thinking of the morphi woman. She had definitely not grown any attachments to her, Vi insisted to herself. She only wondered how she was doing out of pure curiosity.
The door clicked closed and Vi finished, dried, and dressed. The robes were basic—not unlike those she’d seen the crones wear on the Dark Isle. They were a deep, sunset-red hue, cinched tight at the waist with a wide, golden sash. One benefit of clothes so basic—they were designed to swim on their wearer, and Vi didn’t have to worry about how her hips were going to squeeze into anything.
Vi opened the door to find the woman waiting just as she’d said. She had silvery hair, though she didn’t look much older than Vi, and bright hazel, nearly yellow eyes. There was something distinctly cat-like about her movements and Vi couldn’t fight the notion that if the woman ever became a morphi, her shifted form would be some kind of lynx or leopard.
“The rooms are two floors up.” She pointed upward as she walked to the stairs. “They’re not much, but we’ve managed to rearrange ourselves so that you will have a room of your own.”
“You didn’t need to do that.”
“We thought it appropriate,” she said with a note of finality that suggested there were more layers to why they thought it appropriate than Vi understood.
They walked up the stairs, passing one landing that led into a workroom, and then up once more to a long hall nearly identical to the last. Her door was the first on the left. It was just as Serina had said—simple. A bed, a small desk, a washbasin, an empty bookcase.
“Should you need anything, you can ask any of the Larks.” Serinia paused, stalling before she headed back to the stairs. Her eyes dragged over Vi from top to bottom. She opened her mouth, promptly closed it, and turned.
“Ask.” Vi let a slightly regal tone seep into the word, turning it into more of a command. �
�I know what it looks like when someone has a question.”
With a guilty grin on her cherubic cheeks, Serina turned. “They say you kidnapped the Voice.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Yet they tell me you are to be made comfortable while you are here…”
“And?” Vi kept her face passive.
“Those two things seem contradictory.”
“They do, don’t they?” Her attempts at stoicism failed, and a small grin made it onto her face.
“So are you our enemy, or our friend?”
“What do you believe?”
“I don’t know. I don’t have all the facts.” Serina spoke as though that should be obvious. “That’s why I ask… to collect them.”
Vi smiled tiredly. Something about the girl reminded her very much of her mother. She couldn’t put her finger on what, but it was there. Which was odd, given that she looked so young. The comparison already filled her with a dull ache.
“I’m not allowed to say much,” Vi answered honestly. She would honor her deal with Ulvarth only as far as it benefited her. But Serina seemed sharp enough to figure out the undercurrents on her own—she was already seeking to piece together the facts. And while Vi wasn’t looking for a friend, she could use an ally. “But I will say this: Taavin is the last person I would ever harm.”
Serina seemed startled Vi had used his name so confidently. Eventually saying, “You seem honest enough about that.”
“Good.”
The woman continued to hover. Her eyes drifted down to Vi’s hands. It was then that Vi noticed she was dripping blood onto the floor. The clots of her wounds, left behind by the shackles, must’ve been washed away in the bath.
“Would you like me to heal that for you?”
“I think not,” Vi said, after a long moment’s debate.
“It’d be no trouble.”
“I know it wouldn’t be as I, too, know halleth.” She wasn’t very good at it, but she knew it. Now the Larks also knew that she possessed Lightspinning. “I don’t think I want to heal these with magic. I think I’d like the scars from Ulvarth’s hospitality. It seems a fitting reminder of my time here.”
Serina regarded her warily, as if seeing her for the first time. It was the same look Arwin had given Vi when they had stolen Fallor’s boat, after Vi had killed a pirate with two words. Now, like then, Vi reached the same conclusion: Let her be wary.
Finally, Serina bowed her head, turned, and started for the stairs, not quite hiding her relief at the prospect of making her escape. Which only made Vi more surprised when her door opened again a short time later. Serina popped in just long enough to leave a small roll of bandages on the foot of her bed before leaving again without another word.
Vi debated her next move as she wrapped her wrists in the bandages. The mere mention of Taavin was all the direction she needed. She closed the door and headed back up the spiral stair the way she came, across the lofty bridge high above Risen, and back into the main tower of the archives.
She started up the first ladder she came to, arced around the wide landing that granted access to this stretch of shelves, then up a second stair. Up and up she climbed, higher and higher. It was nearly impossible to keep her attention on her destination among the ocean of books.
Close to the top of all the walkways, Vi was nearly level with the sculpted women holding up the brazier she’d seen from the first moment she’d entered. The light was blindingly bright and the fire that raged behind their arms was white-hot. How could anyone say this flame needed rekindling? If someone were to spark it further, they risked burning down the whole building.
Oddly, no heat reached her cheeks. She didn’t feel the slightest bit of warmth from the blaze. Even as someone who first learned to interact with fire as a Firebearer, she still suspected she should feel something.
Vi squinted at it, holding her breath. She was waiting for something… but she didn’t quite know what. A sign from the Goddess, perhaps? Taavin heard Yargen’s voice in the flame; surely as her champion, Vi should hear something, too?
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Vi turned, startled. She grabbed the railing for stability, suddenly off-balance and aware of the dizzying height. Ulvarth had ascended the stairs opposite her, the imposing man slowly walking around the brazier. Vi regarded him warily, still gripping the railing. “I asked you a question.”
“I thought it rhetorical, given it’s obviously magnificent.”
“I didn’t bring you here to admire it.” His voice went low and dangerous.
“Didn’t you though? I am to find a way to reignite the flame, am I not?”
He smirked. “You don’t already know how?”
“I couldn’t go into it, really… It’s something that can only be understood fully by the Champion and the Voice.” Vi borrowed the morphi’s explanation of their magic. He didn’t seem to notice, but for her it felt like a double-edged blade to shove between his ribs. Vi had the satisfaction of one-upping him, and the knowledge that she’d borrowed an explanation from people he unjustly hated.
“I hope you’re right, for your sake.” Ulvarth gave her a sinister smile. “After all, your father starts his trials at the queen’s earliest convenience.”
“Let’s hope it’s a fair trial.”
“Oh, I’m sure it will be.” Ulvarth finally came to a stop only a few steps away. “You think me a monster.” Vi kept her mouth shut and let that be answer enough. “But this is one thing I don’t have to be monstrous about. Your father dug his own grave, by digging the world’s.”
She searched his unflinching gaze. Ulvarth may be a monster. He may be ruthless and calculating and obsessed with his own power. But there was confidence in those blue eyes. Not just arrogance, confidence. At least in this instance, he genuinely believed himself right and just.
“So maybe I am a monster. But you’re the spawn of a monster. So you’re really no different.”
“Call me a monster and I’ll show you my fangs.” Vi sneered widely for emphasis. Ulvarth chuckled.
“A shame you were born a human to such poor parentage. We may have gotten along in another life, you and I.”
Vi was certain she’d hate him in any and every lifetime. She hated him from his pointed ears to his mirror-polished boots.
Ulvarth sauntered away as though he owned the whole world. The megalomaniac likely thought he did. Vi tracked him with a piercing stare as he ascended the staircase to the next ring of walkways, then up one more ladder to the highest walkway. She began moving, as quickly and silently as possible, following behind him.
Up the first set of stairs, Vi wound back, looking for a sign of Ulvarth. He had disappeared. She quickly climbed the ladder, not even caring if Ulvarth saw her or accused her of following him. But when she finally ascended… he was nowhere to be seen.
Vi walked all the way around the wide rung of the archives, her fingers trailing along the books. There was nowhere for him to hide. And no door for him to walk through. The only exits were the stairway she’d ascended and the rectangular windows at the top of the bookshelves—allowing the flame’s thick smoke an escape. But Vi didn’t think Ulvarth had gone through one of those.
Tapping her knuckles against the railing, Vi looked at the pillars that supported the roof above the flame. From all Taavin had said, she suspected this ceiling was also his floor. The pillars between the openings were wide enough to be hollow and fit a man though.
Taavin had said there were many secret passages in the Archives and he’d used uncose to find those passages. Vi didn’t have the same skill. But she would make up for it with her knowledge of blueprints, architecture, maps, and planning.
Chapter Thirty-One
Vi scoured the books for an hour. She walked through the archives—up staircases and down ladders—until her legs and arms were tired. But she didn’t stop until she located the tall shelves containing the information she sought.
“The Building of Risen,” Vi mumbled, selec
ting the book from the shelf. She set it down on a stack she had already collected, then pulled two more. The Larks had said they recorded all knowledge, so surely, somewhere in this vast labyrinth, there was something on the construction of the archives.
She continued flipping, searching, ignoring the growling in her stomach and Larks moving in and out of the Archives. Vi scanned pages on pages of blueprints until she began to find ones that matched the structure she recognized around her. To a layman, the sketched cross-sections would be difficult to line up. But for Vi, the whole building was slowly rebuilt in her mind’s eye.
Her focused stayed on the uppermost portions of the buildings, no matter how fascinating the rest of its construction was. The triangular buildings that stretched out from the central spire were a web of bridges and passageways. The foundation of the building was a feat of engineering—brilliant minds had outdone themselves here. There was more than enough substance for her to be engrossed for months.
Vi’s attention drifted upward to the flame. She didn’t have months; she had days, weeks at best. Tracing the lines in the book with her index finger, Vi could clearly see the layout of the uppermost portions of the archives—much simpler than the rest. Away from the outer buildings and their connecting bridges, it was only the hollow column of the inner archives, and whatever the architects had hidden in the walls.
Sure enough, just as Taavin had said, within the walls behind the bookcases were passages that swirled and crossed over each other.
“Where’s an entrance?” Vi murmured. She suspected one of the bookshelves was false—it wouldn’t be the first such trick door she’d seen. But she couldn’t find any indication of a hidden doorway in the blueprints.
Not wanting to give up on the theory, Vi went up to the landing and paced one, two, three times, running her hands along the bookshelves.
They didn’t yield their secrets.
She retreated back to her perch and her books. There was a way to Taavin from up there, but it may not be the only way. As Vi searched for alternate routes, she kept an eye out for Ulvarth—though there was no sign of him. He had been gone for a long time—long enough that suspicion frayed the edges of Vi’s concentration. The only good thing about his absence was that she could search in peace.