by S. Young
The kral was dead.
Only Haydyn Dyzvati, Princezna of Phaedra, remained of the evokers. Kir told me Stovia was collecting those left with rare magic to help protect and reinforce the sovereign until Haydyn came of age and produced more children of the Dyzvati.
Kir was one of the Glava, a telekinetic.
“The Dyzvati power has waned,” Kir had whispered to me, his eyes flickering to our guard. That had been only two nights after the murder of my family. Kir had been with the Guard for a week. The other soldiers ate and talked quietly around the campfire. “Stovia has taken advantage of it. The way he talks … as if the violence of his crimes is justified. He’s protecting the sovereign and the peace of Phaedra with blood and cruelty. With a selfish pursuit for the last of the mage.”
“But I’m not a mage,” I whispered in shock. We were sitting together to the side of the fire. Strangers. But the wiry boy, a few years my senior, shared the haunted look in my eyes. They had destroyed his family too.
Kir had shrugged. “You must be.”
But I wasn’t. Was I?
I caught Kir’s gaze as we rode swiftly and quietly into the small village. His face was taut, his eyes narrowed. Something was happening.
The horses drew to a stop with not even a snort, so obedient to their masters’ will. An unpleasant shock moved through me at the feel of Stovia’s hand in my hair.
“Now, little one,” he whispered, “time to see how well that magic of yours works.”
I shifted away from him. “I have no magic.”
He chuckled. “You’re one of the Azyl, child.”
One of the Azyl? No. He was mistaken.
“I’m not.”
With a growl, Stovia dismounted and none too gently ripped me from the saddle. My feet hadn’t even hit the ground before he shook me, my eyes rolling back in my head with the force of it. “Stop pretending!” he hissed, careful not to raise his voice. He released me and I stumbled as he lowered his body so his austere face was level with my own. Those wicked black eyes bore through me. “In this village is one of the Dravilec. I want you to seek out my healer. Now.”
At the command, a wave of energy crashed over me and my whole body hummed with tingling vibrancy. I turned to face the village. And I sensed her. The Dravilec. Six years old. Valena of Daeronia. We were in Daeronia. Thought so. We were growing closer to Sabithia. To Silvera. To the princezna.
Wait.
I am an Azyl.
I swayed at the thought. Every time my father had told me the stories, I’d wished desperately for a little piece of magic in our lives.
I had been a mage all along.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to be with my family.
What would Stovia do to Valena’s family? Would he murder them in cold blood if they refused to hand her over? I knew, even without my help, that he would find Valena. He was a powerful Glava. Could sense magic. But that didn’t mean I had to aid in the destruction of another family.
“No,” I whispered.
“What?” Stovia growled.
I spun around, defiant, hatred blazing out of my eyes. I wished I were Glava with the ability to summon the elements. I’d set him on fire and watch him burn for what he had done to me. To Kir. For what he would do to Valena.
“I said … no.”
His fist connected with my face with such force, I flew to the ground. The breath whooshed out of me at the agonizing blow to my ribs as I hit the hard dirt. My eyes watered at the painful heat across the left side of my face. Blood trickled out of the corner of my mouth and I tasted copper on my tongue.
Kir cried out my name.
But Stovia wasn’t done. He grabbed me by the clasp on my cloak and held me so he could slap me across the right side of my face. The world rang in my ears.
I refused to cry.
“Find me the healer, girl, or you’ll wish you were dead.”
“No!” Kir yelled.
“Shut him up,” Stovia hissed.
I heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh, of Kir grunting.
No.
“No,” I groaned, lolling limply in Stovia’s grasp. “Stop.”
“Will you find the Dravilec?”
I couldn’t. “No.”
“Lash the boy to the nearest tree. He’s going to pay for Rogan’s disobedience.”
My heart lurched, and I shrugged around Stovia to watch through blurred vision as they dragged a bleeding, crying Kir to the nearest tree trunk. They tore at his shirt. One of them produced a horsewhip, and Kir whimpered in terror. Vomit rushed up my throat, but I willed the acidic show of weakness down.
“Stop,” I murmured weakly. “Stop. Don’t hurt him. I’ll do it.”
Stovia studied me, seemingly fascinated. Then he nodded at his men and they drew Kir’s cloak over him before dragging him back to the horses. His right eye was already swelling shut, matching my left one.
“Tut-tut, Rogan,” Stovia whispered. “You’ve just shown me your weakness. I imagine I could have battered you into oblivion and you would not have given in. But you won’t let someone else be hurt because of you. Interesting. And useful. Now find me the Dravilec.”
I was gripped with nauseating shame as I took the guards through the winding, quaint, peaceful village. By now we had made enough noise to rouse people from their homes, and they gathered on doorsteps nervously as their eyes took in the Royal Guard and the two beaten children with them. I came to a stop at the door of a shop. An apothecary.
“Here.”
Stovia smiled at me, his eyes brimming with pride. I hated him. “Yes, it is. Thank you, Rogan.”
He pulled the rope by the door and a brass bell rang. We heard hurried footsteps and then the door was thrust open by an older man. He was tall and imposing.
“Can I help?” he queried warily.
“I am Vikomt Syracen Stovia of the Rada. May I come in, Mr. Rosonia?”
Rosonia’s eyes widened but he nodded, his oil lamp casting his profile against the shadows of the wall. Stovia turned and nodded at two guards who strode forward to follow at his back. He pushed me past the threshold and into the shop. Sadist. He wanted me to witness this.
Once inside, Rosonia stood with a stout, middle-aged woman who appeared frightened, clutching her robes tightly around her. Two girls stood behind them, one a tall, attractive girl, possibly around thirteen or fourteen years of age. Clutching her hand was Valena, small and frightened, her large, dark eyes too big for her face.
“I come bearing sad news.” Stovia emanated power and intimidation. “The kral is dead.”
The Rosonias gasped at the news.
“Yes. I am afraid it is true. Princezna Haydyn is now alone in the world, the weight of carrying the load of Dyzvati too great for her young shoulders. As the only mage upon the Rada, I felt it was my duty to seek whatever Her Highness needs to aid her in her mighty responsibilities.”
“What can we do to help, my lord?” Valena’s father asked eagerly, his eyes full of genuine sadness for the kral.
“Very little magic remains in our world. However, I’ve been collecting the strongest of that which does. Here.” He put his deadly hand upon my shoulder and I fought not to shiver. “This is one of the Azyl, thought to be extinct. But she found you well enough.”
Mrs. Rosonia gasped at my bloodied appearance. “What happened to the child?”
“One of my soldiers. He has been dealt with,” Stovia lied smoothly. “But you have in your keeping someone who could help my little Rogan.”
“Mama.” The elder girl drew Valena closer. “Don’t.”
“Valena.” Mr. Rosonia exhaled heavily. “She is one of the Dravilec, then?”
“You had your suspicions?” Stovia asked.
Valena’s father nodded.
“She is needed. Your daughter is needed by her people.”
“You want to take her?” Mrs. Rosonia’s voice trembled.
Stovia smiled. “She will be well cared for at the palace. And you ma
y visit. She will be taught by the Royal Dravilec how to use her power. She is strong. I could taste her energy from Sabithia, it was so strong.”
The Rosonias stood in silence for a moment, mother and father silently communicating with one another. Finally, Valena’s father turned to Stovia and nodded. “You may take her, my lord.”
I gasped in outrage. My parents had died rather than see me in the hands of this snake of a man. And I wasn’t the only one outraged. The elder girl shrieked and grabbed Valena to her, refusing to release her. Valena screamed and cried, terrified and confused.
Mr. Rosonia wrenched Valena free, and his wife took her upstairs to ready her for departure. She returned quickly with the little girl dressed for traveling. All the while, she cried. Her mother hugged her, quiet tears rolling down her cheeks as her daughter clung tightly. Mr. Rosonia came over and pulled Valena away, ignoring his elder daughter who sobbed from the corner of the room. Mr. Rosonia kissed Valena’s cheeks and promised he would see her soon. Then he handed her into the arms of Syracen Stovia.
Sensing what only children could, she shrieked and writhed to escape. Careful to hide his disgust, Stovia thrust the squalling six-year-old into my arms. I pressed her close, ashamed for my part in this. Valena stopped struggling and instead looped her little arms around my neck, her legs around my waist, and bawled into my shoulder. A memory of my little brother doing the same not too many weeks ago when he had fallen from a tree and cut his leg flashed through my mind, and I squeezed the girl closer, as if I alone could protect her.
Stovia hurried us out of the house, and we walked a distance away to the bridge that would take us out of the village.
“Lieutenant Sandstone,” Stovia called, and the soldier trotted forward on his horse. “Take Valena. I can’t carry the two on my horse.”
Sandstone dismounted and tried to pry Valena from me. The girl screamed, her tiny hands gripped to my cloak, my hair, refusing to budge. And even though I winced at her tight hold, I declined to hand her over.
“That’s enough,” Stovia grunted. He pushed Sandstone out of the way and gripped a hold of Valena, bruising her small arms as he ripped her from me. I cried out as he drew back his arm and slapped her into silence. I rushed at him in a rage, beating and pushing at him. I was pulled off by the soldier. Stovia, to spite me, hit Valena one more time. Sobbing, furious, I fought against the soldier, only to be beaten by the pummeling fists of the captain of the Guard. The next thing I knew, Kir joined the fray, hitting and punching those who tried to hurt us. I no longer felt pain. I was too angry, too immersed in my fury to feel anything else.
Eventually I was pinned to the ground by the captain and as he stared down at me, I noticed his eyes for the first time. They were blank. Empty.
“Captain … after we leave the village, I want you to take two of your men and burn the apothecary to the ground. With the Rosonias inside,” Stovia demanded from somewhere to my left.
The captain nodded robotically, and it was then I knew. With the evocation of the Dyzvati weakened by Princezna Haydyn’s grief and age, Stovia’s magic was able to penetrate it. He was compelling the soldiers to do his awful deeds.
As the captain hauled me to my feet, I was weighed down by my despairing heart.
Stovia appeared before me, holding Valena close, her little cheeks red from his slaps. “You attempt to disobey me, Rogan, and I will make you pay. For this disobedience, the Rosonias will pay. You now must live with the fact you killed Valena’s family.”
Stovia laughed gleefully at my horrified expression.
“Don’t listen to him, Rogan.” Kir struggled against a soldier, his face mottled with anger. “He was going to kill them anyway. Don’t let him make you think you did it.”
Stovia curled his lip in disgust. “I’ve had enough of you. Sandstone!”
The whip appeared in the soldier’s hand and Kir was thrust into the dirt.
“NO!” I screamed, my heart lodged somewhere in my throat.
“NO!”
“NO!” I bolted upright in bed. The sheets twisted around my body, my skin clammy, my hair stuck to my neck. Almost immediately, I sensed I wasn’t alone. Glancing left, I saw her sitting in an armchair by my bed.
“You were having a nightmare again.” Her soft, gentle eyes were sad. “More memories?”
I nodded, my throat constricted with the nightmare that still held me in its talons. “More memories.”
Haydyn sighed and slowly drew to her feet. I watched her float across my large bedroom suite and pull the heavy brocade curtains back from my windows. I winced as the sunlight streamed in, too bright, too adamant, willing my bad memories away whilst I steadfastly anchored myself to them.
“I told you I’d speak to Raj to see if he had a tonic to help you sleep without the dreams.”
Raj was the Royal Healer; Valena was his apprentice. I shook my head. “I told you no.”
“You’re the only one who ever says no to me.” Haydyn sauntered back to sit on my bed. Her pale hair gleamed almost silver in the sunlight, her countenance serene except for the teasing in her lovely eyes. “I wonder why I let you.”
“Because you love me,” I stated matter-of-factly as I pushed back the covers. I needed to ready myself for the day.
“Yes, I do.”
The statement was so melancholy, I spun to face her. It was then I saw it. The gloom in the back of her eyes, in the dark purpling beneath them. Those exhaustion bruises had been appearing more and more over the last few weeks, and I didn’t like it. “Something’s the matter.”
Haydyn shook her head. “Just tired is all.”
“Perhaps we should speak to Raj about a tonic for you.”
She wasn’t amenable but as always, to appease me, she nodded. “Perhaps.”
I grimaced when I realized she was fully dressed. Most times when Haydyn came into my suite, it was still so early she was in her nightclothes. “I overslept?”
Haydyn grinned. “Haven forbid, but you did.”
I rolled my eyes at her teasing. “You know I hate oversleeping. It muddles up my entire day.”
“I know. That’s why I let you sleep.” She grinned unrepentantly. Sometimes she really was like an annoying younger sister. “You need to loosen the reins on your life now and then, Rogan.”
Making a face at her suggestion, I pulled on the servants’ bell to let them know I was ready for my morning bath. They would come to me as quickly as they would to Haydyn. After all, I was her best friend, her family. I had been ever since I had been brought to the palace nine years ago by Syracen Stovia. I was only twelve years old at the time. Haydyn was ten. Upon our arrival, Valena was taken from me and given to Raj. Kir lived with Syracen and his family. And I lived at the palace with Haydyn.
Both grieving for the families we’d lost, it hadn’t taken long for us to find solace in one another.
Haydyn’s mother had died in childbirth, leaving Haydyn alone with her father. The Rada had pushed and pushed him to take another wife, to have more children, but he had loved Haydyn’s mother too dearly. He couldn’t bear the thought of making someone else his kralovna. That left only the kral and his baby daughter.
Two peas in a pod they were, Haydyn told me. Inseparable. She had depended on her father for everything. Love, comfort, affection, friendship, advice, security. With him gone, she was adrift. And I happened to be the float she grasped on to in his passing. She demanded I be given the suite next to hers where I had roomed ever since. I was also granted the run of the palace as if I were royalty. In return, she looked to me for love, comfort, affection, friendship, advice, and security.
I feared my presence was hindering Haydyn to become the truly independent leader Phaedra needed, but I gave her my strength because she was the only family I had left. And because, after a number of years of begging me to tell her why I screamed in my sleep, I told her what Syracen Stovia had done to my family, to Kir’s and Valena’s families as well. There was only my word against his. B
y then I had been at the palace for four years.
Kir had escaped only a year after our arrival, and Haydyn had grown strong enough that Stovia didn’t chase him for fear of disrupting the peace. And Valena couldn’t remember anything before being brought here.
But Haydyn believed me. And she demanded the Rada listen. She ordered that all twelve members of the Rada Council travel to Silvera to judge Vikomt Syracen Stovia for his crimes. Even if the captain of the Guard had not come forward and confessed what he remembered doing under the compulsion of Stovia, I knew Haydyn would not have stopped until the vikomt was punished.
She was only fourteen years old then. But I was her family. And he had wronged me.
I pledged my everlasting loyalty to Haydyn that day.
The Rada were disgusted by Stovia’s methods and ordered him imprisoned in Silvera Jail—the lone prisoner. He didn’t take the news well. I remember the sweat beading on his forehead and the nosebleed he sustained as he fought to break through Haydyn’s evocation. Powerful as he was, he was strong enough to reach for Haydyn to use her as a shield in order to escape. The captain of the Guard did his duty, however, and killed the threat to the princezna’s life.
Syracen Stovia’s death didn’t ease my grief. But I felt freer than I had since the death of my family.
The servants arrived and Haydyn took her leave while I helped the girls fill the bath with the hot water. Like every morning, they swatted at me to stop.
“The Handmaiden of Phaedra shouldn’t be doing servants’ work.”
I grunted at the nickname I had been given many years ago. It made me sound like something I wasn’t.
After they were gone, I soaked in the tub and grew irritated at having lost productive hours in the day by oversleeping. I hurried out of the bath, toweling my long hair dry before braiding it. It hung heavy and damp down my back, the ends brushing the bottom of my spine. Quickly, I stepped into a dark rose dress of the finest velvet. All my clothing was chosen by Haydyn, and she loved clothes and jewelry. None of these things interested me but for Haydyn’s sake, I wore everything she bestowed upon me.