Dark Breaks the Dawn

by Sara B. Larson

  Evelayn heard Tanvir behind her, keeping a few paces back instead of drawing alongside her. When they returned to the castle … when she could bathe, and change out of these sweaty, blood-splattered clothes, and try to calm down … then she would find Tanvir and apologize. She could compose herself enough to thank him for protecting her. But for now, she just wanted to run and run until she ran out of forest, all the way to her room, where she could be alone.

  As the sun arced ever higher in the sky, the trees began to thin and then, rising above the thick emerald leaves and creeping vines, there were the glittering white and gold turrets of her castle. The Light Sentries guarding the wall hadn’t noticed her sprinting through the forest toward them yet when someone grabbed her arm, yanking her to a stop.

  “How dare you—” she whirled to face Tanvir.

  “Please.” He cut her off, his gaze darting past her to the sentries beyond and then back again. “Let me apologize. The last thing I wanted was to make you angry.”

  Evelayn opened her mouth to command him to let her go, but something in his burning amber eyes stopped her.

  He was breathing hard, his hair damp with sweat again. “They were attacking us—attacking you. I’ve been on too many battlefields, seen too many friends and family die. The way he was looking at you—the way he smelled—”

  “Tanvir.” His name was little more than a whisper, but he immediately fell silent. As quickly as it came, her anger dissolved at his words, at the unmasked anguish on his face. She’d lost it over a stranger dying in front of her—a stranger who had tried to kill her first—and he had held it together, even though he was no doubt haunted by the memories of his mother and father dying, his battalion … his sister, who had been murdered so brutally her body hadn’t even been identifiable to bury and mourn.

  A breeze rustled the leaves beside them, lifting a few tendrils of her sweaty hair from her neck. The sun was hot on her back where it broke through the branches above them as they stood there, Tanvir’s fingers still wrapped around her arm, so close she could feel the heat from his body. His scent filled her nose—the mixture of spice and citrus that was uniquely his, but also the underlying scents that she was still struggling to understand. Possibly desperation … sorrow … and something else … the same rich, heady musk she’d noticed once before that made her belly tighten.

  His eyes darkened slightly when she took a hesitant half step toward him, lifting her hand to touch his cheek—

  A shockwave of power—not of her making—hit Evelayn, almost knocking her to the ground, yanking her out of Tanvir’s grip. The usually cold conduit stone embedded in her breastbone flared white-hot for one terrifying moment. Evelayn stumbled back a step, involuntarily reaching up to touch the stone in her chest. It had gone cold again, along with the rest of her body.

  “What was that?”

  A horrific, pulsing terror seized Evelayn. Empty. She was empty.

  “Blast that tree,” she commanded urgently, pointing.

  Tanvir gave her a strange look, confusion pulling his brows down.

  “Just do it.”

  He lifted his hand and … nothing happened.

  All the breath left Evelayn’s lungs, as if someone had punched her with a fist made of ice.

  “No,” she whispered, shaking her head and taking another step back. “No.”

  “Evelayn?” His voice wavered.

  Her eyes burned with the fire of sudden tears. “NO!” Evelayn shouted this time, flinging her hands out. Tanvir flinched, but nothing happened. There was no power to draw upon. Finally, the concern on his face deepened into shock and sorrow, as comprehension dawned. And still she fought against it—the horrible truth of what that surge of heat in her conduit stone and subsequent loss of power meant.

  Evelayn dropped to her knees, tears spilling out onto her cheeks. And then she crumpled forward, curling into a ball on the grass, the hot sunshine pouring over her as she shuddered with sobs. “Mother,” she moaned against the fist she had pressed to her mouth.

  Because there was only one thing that could have happened to take away the Light Draíolons’ power.

  Their queen was dead.

  ALL AROUND HER, THE OTHER LIGHT DRAíOLON WERE in a state of panic. The air was thick with fright, grief, and shock. Some were shouting, others sobbing. But it all faded to a dull roar as Ceren shoved through the huddled groups of nobility and servants, trying to escape the morning room where she had gone to wait for Evelayn to return.

  She’d been pacing the floor near the dormant fireplace when it happened.

  And now she was desperate to find Evelayn. Tears burned near the surface, but Ceren forced herself to swallow them. She didn’t have time to break down right now. She had to find Evelayn. Their power was gone, which could mean only one thing—King Bain had killed Queen Ilaria. Only a royal had the power to kill another royal.

  It meant her friend was now an orphan.

  She’d almost made it to the door when someone grabbed her arm.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Her mother’s voice was strained and her familiar scent was tinged with the tang of fear.

  “I have to find her,” Ceren responded, yanking her arm free.

  “Don’t you dare—”

  But Ceren had already grabbed the door and flung it open, bursting out into the hallway, where the chaos continued. She ignored her mother’s pleas as she plunged into the surge of Draíolon rushing through the castle. To do what, she couldn’t imagine. As she dashed toward the stairs that would take her up to Evelayn’s room, the original shock of their loss of power seemed to be giving way to sheer anguish. The air was thick with the acrid tang of it.

  It was a relief to fling open Evelayn’s door and quickly shut it again, closing off the majority of sounds and smells. But the relief was short-lived when Ceren quickly searched the room and realized there was still no sign of Evelayn.

  Loath to return to the chaos beyond the door, Ceren hurried over to the window to see if she could spot her friend outside.

  Sunlight poured over the grounds, turning the grass emerald and reflecting off the other buildings of the castle. Bright and beautiful and completely at odds with the terror coursing through her veins. Ceren’s gaze darted across the grounds, where Draíolon were in just as much of an uproar as those in the castle. But then she noticed a small circle of males and females who were completely still, looking at something on the ground.

  Ceren squinted, her eyesight sharpening, and that’s when she realized there was a girl on the ground, curled into a ball, a male hovering over her. She immediately recognized Evelayn’s flaxen hair with the pale lavender streaks and Tanvir’s bark-brown hair and the protective tightness to his body as he bent over her.

  I’m coming, Ev. I’m coming.

  Ceren turned and ran.

  Some part of her knew that she needed to get up, that she needed to stop crying and act like the princess she was. Her people needed her; they needed comforting and guidance.

  But Evelayn couldn’t do it.

  Sobs tore through her body, through the emptiness that gaped like a terrible wound. She was vaguely aware of Tanvir speaking to her, his voice low and concerned, but his words didn’t penetrate the grief that throbbed through her head with the pounding of her blood.

  She didn’t know how much time had passed, only that she never wanted to move from that spot. Moving meant she had to stand up and face a world where her mother no longer lived, where she would never again see her violet eyes light up when Evelayn walked into a room, or feel the warmth of her embrace. Where she would never again hear her voice.

  “Ev.”

  She shook her head, but Ceren reached out and gently brushed her fingers against the princess’s cheek. Evelayn’s tears came even harder.

  “Ev, come with me. I’ll help you to your room.”

  “I can’t,” Evelayn whispered. “She’s gone. She’s gone …”

  “I know,” Ceren whispered back, her v
oice thick with choked emotion. “But we need to get you somewhere private. Come on, Ev. I know you can do it.”

  She shook her head against the lawn, ignoring the murmurs of those gathered around them, no doubt cataloging every second of the spectacle of their princess losing control.

  “Tanvir, help me,” she heard Ceren mutter, and a split second later he had scooped her up, pulling her into his arms, against his chest. Though he had to be exhausted after everything that had happened that morning on top of their extra-long run, he still found the strength to sprint toward the castle as quickly as possible. Evelayn didn’t speak, didn’t open her eyes. She just let herself bounce against Tanvir’s body, allowed him to carry her away from the probing eyes and whispers, as a door was opened and the daylight beyond her eyelids was replaced by the dimness of her home.

  She was vaguely aware of being jostled, of Tanvir pushing his way through other Draíolon while Ceren shouted for them to move. But Evelayn tried to close it all out, to stay deep inside herself, where there was no sound, no judgment, no war, and no death. As he made his way to the stairs and carefully ascended, Tanvir’s arms tightened around her body.

  “Here, come this way.”

  It was quieter on this floor. Evelayn felt Tanvir nod at Ceren’s hushed directions, his chin brushing the top of her head. Moments later they entered a room—her room, she realized as she inhaled the familiar scent—and the door shut behind them, blocking out all noise except that of their breathing.

  “Should I lay her on the bed?”

  Ceren must have nodded this time, because Tanvir strode across the room and gently laid her down on her feather-stuffed mattress, her bed still unmade from when Ceren had slept in it.

  “Ev, look at me.” Ceren’s voice was close, coaxing—concerned. “Please open your eyes.”

  Evelayn shook her head again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ceren whispered, her words turning into a half-strangled sob. She took Evelayn’s hand in hers, gripping it tightly. “I can’t believe it, either.”

  Tears leaked out from beneath Evelayn’s eyelashes, even though she’d squeezed them shut as tightly as possible.

  “I should go …” Tanvir’s voice came from near the door, quiet and full of remorse.

  Evelayn took a deep breath, inhaling through her nose to fill her lungs, trying somehow to stop the grief from consuming her.

  And then she opened her eyes.

  The curtains were still drawn, casting her room, Ceren, and Tanvir into shadow. Just as her entire world had been thrown into shadow. The darkness that relentlessly continued to spread from King Bain across Lachalonia, tearing families apart, and now this. Leaving Éadrolan without a queen.

  And that’s when it hit her. An icy realization that sharpened her grief into fear, hardened it to bitterness.

  Evelayn’s gaze shot to Ceren’s, her eyes going wide.

  When she finally spoke, her words were a hoarse whisper. “I’m the queen now.”

  THOUGH SHE HAD SPOKEN IN A NEAR WHISPER, EVELAYN’S words sounded through the room like the blast of a war-horn. Tanvir watched as she squeezed Ceren’s hand once, and then let go to wipe her cheeks.

  Her tears were suddenly gone, locked away as the sorrow that had turned her face even more pale than usual hardened into something else—something almost frightening. Her lavender-tinted hair was falling out of her braid, with pieces of grass and crushed leaves stuck in it. She was still in her running clothes, and her violet eyes were red-rimmed. The nearly overpowering scent of her grief still filled the room, but as Evelayn stood up, visibly composing herself, Tanvir watched her transform from a naïve princess into a cool, collected queen of Éadrolan.

  “How many saw me?”

  When she turned her gaze to him, Tanvir hesitated to answer. He knew she meant how many of her subjects had witnessed her collapse.

  “Tell me.” Her tone made it clear it wasn’t a request.

  “Perhaps twenty? More if those in the castle recognized you.” Tanvir tried not to grimace, but Evelayn merely nodded.

  “That’s unfortunate. It won’t happen again.”

  Ceren, who was still crouching beside Evelayn’s bed, slowly stood up, shooting a baffled—and concerned—glance at Tanvir, before turning to Evelayn. He couldn’t quite understand how Evelayn had controlled herself so quickly, so easily, after how distraught she’d been. At least, visibly. He could still scent her sorrow, but now there was more. Many emotions fought for control in his new queen.

  “No one will fault you for it, Ev. You had just learned your mother was …” Ceren cringed as she trailed off.

  Evelayn’s jaw tightened, the only sign she still didn’t have total control, but then she responded, “And yet, I refuse to show such weakness ever again. My subjects will be looking to me for strength. To somehow save them.”

  Tanvir’s stomach twisted at the thought of her bearing up the weight of what was now coming to rest on her shoulders. But what else could he have done? At least he’d saved her this morning. That unexpected twist to King Bain’s attack hadn’t succeeded.

  “Lord Tanvir, will you please send word to General Kelwyn to meet me in the throne room immediately? And please also send word that I am assembling a meeting with all the High Lords, priestesses, and advisors from my mother’s council present at the castle.”

  Before he could respond, she turned to her only close friend and continued, “Ceren, will you find Tyne and ask her to have every available servant make sure refreshments are available in all the major rooms? And then if you could go help comfort those who seem most upset by this morning’s turn of events, and assure them that I am handling it—that I will make Bain pay for what he has done—I would greatly appreciate it.”

  Ceren blinked and then nodded. “Of course, Ev. Whatever you need me to do.”

  Evelayn turned to Tanvir expectantly, and he, too, nodded. “Of course,” he echoed Ceren.

  “Do you want me to help you change first?” Ceren asked.

  “No,” Evelayn replied immediately. “My people don’t need to see me in a dress to be comforted right now, they need to know that I am taking care of them—of Éadrolan. And I will. I will.” The fierceness of her declaration was tinged with desperation, but Tanvir couldn’t help the swell of pride within him.

  Yet, grief, especially when buried, had a way of rearing its head at the worst of times, sometimes leading to terrible mistakes and decisions, as he well knew. He could only hope that she was truly as in control of herself as she seemed. For her sake—and for all of Éadrolan.

  Exhaustion bore down on Evelayn, but she refused to give in to it. She’d tried to lie down to take a quick nap earlier, after hours and hours of meetings—mostly full of alarm and speculation, as no official word had reached them yet from the battlefront—but the moment she’d rested her head and closed her eyes, the loss of her mother had knifed through her again, fresh and agonizing once more. She didn’t dare let herself cry, couldn’t allow herself to mourn. She had to be strong. Her subjects were counting on it. And if she let herself break down, even in private, she was afraid the tenuous control she’d managed to wrestle into place earlier would crumble, leaving her a mess once again.

  So she’d stood back up, dressed once more, and gone to the battlements to pace, watching with her sentries. High Priestess Teca had stayed long after everyone else to go over what Evelayn had to do to transfer the Light Power to her conduit stone. They only had three days from the time her mother was killed to reclaim it, or the power would return to the Immortal Tree deep inside the Sliabán Mountains from whence Draíolon power had supposedly originated before time began.

  Evelayn knew how the first Light and Dark Draíolon had been gifted their powers to bring day and night, summer and winter, to the world—to work together to create a perfect harmony. And she also knew what happened when a queen of Éadrolan or a king of Dorjhalon died. The power remained dormant in their conduit stone for three days and the new queen or king h
ad to complete a special ceremony to transfer the power to their own stone. If they were too late, the power returned to the Immortal Tree, and the monarch would have to travel to the sacred interior of the Sliabán Mountains, where the tree thrived without water or light, sustained by the power that flowed through it. But High Priestess Teca had explained it in much more detail, going over exactly what Evelayn had to do once her mother was returned to the castle.

  It was yet another weight added to Evelayn’s shoulders. If her mother’s body wasn’t brought back soon enough … if she failed to complete the ceremony …

  There was an uncommon bite to the breeze that ruffled the cloak she’d hastily thrown on before leaving the silence of her room, a chill that made her wonder if their world was already changing because of her mother’s death. It was summer—the height of Éadrolan’s power. It should have been a balmy, mild night. Instead, she shivered as another gust sent a few strands of hair across her face. It was second nature to lift her hand, ready to summon light to warm herself. The chill sank much deeper than her skin when nothing happened and she had to let her arm drop to her side, the realization that her power was gone hitting her all over again.

  Evelayn wrapped her arms around her waist, squeezing tight, trying to hold back the dread that threatened to crash over her now that she was alone, powerless. All day she’d done her best to act like she was strong—in control. To pretend she was the queen her people needed, that she had to be for them. But the truth was, she was scared. No, she was terrified. Bain had killed her mother. What hope did she have of defeating him?

  Despite her best intentions, Evelayn’s eyes began to burn. She blinked rapidly to force back the tears. And when that didn’t work, she turned her face to the wind, letting it dry the moisture from her eyes.

  “Your Highness—I mean, Majesty—”

  Evelayn jumped and whirled around to see Lord Tanvir hesitating on the last step leading up to the turret where she stood.

  “What are you doing up?” She hadn’t meant it to sound so accusatory, and she grimaced when he flinched. He wore only a white linen shirt, loose breeches, and knee-high boots. His hair was hastily tied back, as though he’d done it himself, rather than called an attendant. He looked how he did when he met her early in the morning to go running, after he’d just rolled out of bed.