by L. L. MacRae
Her two griffins slunk along beside her like enormous cats. While without the intimidation of Hailathlyl, they were still exquisite creatures, with fur and feathers of vibrant teal and purple, and brilliant golden claws bred for their aesthetics. Four feet tall and just as long, they wouldn’t get any larger, but were strong enough to be a threat without proper control. They both stood to Furyn’s left, their orange eyes fixed on their mistress, bejewelled collars shining.
Her mother came to a halt several paces away from Calidra, her narrowed gaze passing slowly up and down her daughter. It lingered on Calidra’s hand, and her expression shifted into a sneer. ‘Oh. This fuss must be for…Jenna?’
‘Jisyel,’ Calidra corrected through gritted teeth.
Her mother sniffed. ‘Of course. I had thought you’d have come to your senses and left her on that cursed rock in the Salt Sea.’
Rage filled Calidra like an ocean swell, and she forced herself to keep a lid on it. She’d run out of time and patience. She needed her mother to see, to understand. ‘Mother, you have to realise Jisyel could be dying! Don’t you understand how important she is to me?’
‘Is that the best you can do?’
Claidra gaped, unable to say anything in response.
Furyn spoke again, her voice calm and quiet, ‘You really mean to behave like this? On today of all days? When your family is of greatest importance? You’re worrying about some Porsenthian peasant?’
Calidra couldn’t hold it in any longer, her mother’s words piercing the armour she’d wrapped her rage in. Her anger burst in less than a heartbeat, a furious storm decades in the making that rose to spew every injustice and unwarranted desecration against her. ‘You had nothing to say when Malora ran off with a spirits-forsaken thief! Didn’t he steal one of your emeralds? And you allowed that?’
Her mother’s fury rose like a tide, matching her own. ‘You will not speak to me like that in front of the servants!’
‘I don’t care about them! Tell me why you had nothing to say when Malora left? Made me think she was dead all this time! That what I’d said had pushed her to it! Do you even understand the guilt I carried? Tell me why you were happy to let her go, but I had to stay as your obedient puppy? Why you declared me unworthy of help when I finally left and found someone who cared, somewhere I could call home? Why am I the one being dragged back into this? Why are my wants shut down? Jisyel could be lying somewhere out there, dying, the Myr closing in, and again you’re letting my dreams burn because it might look bad on the family!’
‘Fellwood is your home! And you are the elder sister! You are the one who could inherit all this if only you stepped up!’ Furyn gestured widely with her arms. ‘Anything else is irrelevant!’
‘All this is false!’ Spittle flew from her lips, but Calidra was past caring about decorum. ‘You let Malora take everything from that golden spirit. You grew rich and lazy off it. We’re no better than the people you bring in as servants! We were servants! I remember a childhood of empty bellies and scraped knees, hard work for little coin, but fun and freedom, too!’
‘Your childhood was a sham. Filthy mud puppy. It became glorious! When we moved here, you had tutors. The best in Bragalia! You no longer had to play with peasants and ruffians. We gave you—’
‘I was forced into your dream! Yours and father’s! I’d rather have had a childhood covered in mud, without a care in the world, than all this hogshit!’
‘Stop that filthy language at once! Learned from the dregs of society in Salt Ash, no doubt. Disgusting Porsenthians and their influence.’
Calidra had never sworn in front of her mother before. Tried to avoid swearing in general. But she was too far gone to care. ‘Hog. Shit. This whole family is hogshit! It reeks of it!’
Furyn’s eyes darkened, a shadow of burning anger so deep and violent that Calidra knew there was no coming back from it. ‘I’ll not have another word spoken against our family.’
‘If you honestly think I’m going to spend another second here, with you, while Jisyel is—’
Her mother’s slap across the face was laced with so much fury that it sent Calidra spinning to the ground. Even the griffins backed away with a low whimper, their wings fluttering.
‘Not. Another. Word.’ Furyn’s voice was a hiss. ‘You’re back, finally. Your adventure ends today, Calidra Vantonen. And your responsibilities to this family, to our land, to helping protect everything we have built and stand for, begin now.’
Jisyel was usually right about things, and wanted to see the good in people. She’d always been sweet and silly, too kindhearted for her own good, but naive and reckless to the point she’d ended up cursed by her own forest spirit.
Calidra loved the woman, loved how she challenged her opinions and preconceptions on so many things. Even if she didn’t agree with her most of the time, she would usually end up understanding another viewpoint. Jisyel was good at that.
But the one point they’d argued on and off about for the past eight years was Calidra returning home. Jisyel only had her grandmother left. No siblings. No parents. No cousins. She’d give anything to be able to see them again, but wouldn’t get the chance until she, too, crossed over to the spirit world. She’d wanted Calidra to take the chance while she’d had it. Not regret turning her back on her homeland, not while her family lived.
Calidra had vehemently argued against it. She hadn’t wanted to return, not after everything that had happened. Her sister was gone, fallen in with the wrong crowd, and very likely dead—until Quillaja had brought her the revelation that Malora was alive and well. And a mother, to boot.
Jisyel had started gently, talking about how nice it would be to fix the relationship between Calidra and her mother.
Calidra had been scared, of course. She’d made a promise to herself that she’d never return. She’d sworn it! There were too many bad memories, too much pain and sorrow. Wounds so deep they couldn’t be healed.
And yet, slowly, over the years, she’d come around to Jisyel’s way of thinking. It would be nice.
In fact, after everything they’d put her through, they owed her a repair of the relationship. By the time Calidra had left Meadowhill, she’d decided that she’d make her mother see. She’d make her help.
But as Calidra sat at the farthest edge of their family’s grounds, where the grasses and plants grew wild, and the graves of old Lairds were marked with ornamental stone, tears streaming silently down her eyes, she knew Jisyel had been wrong.
Half the town had squeezed into the grounds for the funeral, all dressed in their finery. Many wore gold at their throats or wrists, but none were as impressive as Furyn. It was to be expected. Malora had been chosen by Chyram, one of the very few ever bestowed with the power to create gold. Who could create wealth from nothing.
Varlot had been offered a seat as an honoured guest, but he had continued to argue his pay, his face like a melted kettle, and refused to join. He’d stalked off into town, asking to be summoned when Lady Vantonen wished to keep her word.
So Calidra sat between two soldiers tasked with keeping her in line in case she tried anything. Not that Calidra had the strength of will to even think about it. Not after earlier.
Furyn, herself, was closest to the casket, her son next to her. The casket had been painted delicately with the family crest: three white feathers, tipped with gold. Calidra stared at the lad—her eleven-year-old brother—and hardly recognised him. Paicha had just seen his third birthday when she’d left. Funny. She cared for him less than Jisyel.
Calidra shook her head, a grim smile plastered on her face. Family was more than blood.
Instead of spending the funeral grieving her lost father or comforting her mother, she spent it planning her escape.
Amsel, however, hadn’t joined for the proceedings, but he hadn’t left Fellwood, either. Ever on guard, he and Hailathlyl had taken to the air to patrol the town, and their shadow periodically passed overhead. It brought some small comfort.
Her cousin—if she really was related to him—would probably be her best way out.
Calidra spent the time plotting her next moves, as three priests from Chyram’s Shrine performed funeral rites and recited their canticles. She was supposed to chant along with them, but she couldn’t muster the strength after what had happened with her mother that morning. She’d need every last ounce of energy if she was able to get out of this situation in one piece.
When the service was finally over, the candles had been lit, and the casket had been buried, Calidra stood beside her mother and brother as townsfolk offered their condolences and well-wishes on their way off the grounds. She offered them little more than a smile, the most she was able to give. She didn’t bother to look at her mother, her brother, any of the household guards.
They were all against her.
Any chance at rebuilding what had broken had been shattered. Calidra took that hurt, that searing ache, and used it to fuel her next actions. There was no going back.
‘Lady Vantonen.’ The commander of the household guard approached, once the grounds had emptied and chatter had died away. ‘There is another priestess at the gates.’
Furyn frowned. ‘Why did the shrine send another? We have three here already, and the service is finished. All rites have been performed.’
‘Shall I turn her away? She has a small retinue.’
Furyn considered. ‘Very well. Let them in, Sekano. I will take my herbal mix in the tea rooms, and greet them outside shortly.’
Calidra watched him head off, emotionless. ‘If there are no more people to impress, I will excuse myself, too.’
Furyn glared at her. ‘You are dismissed, but do not leave the house or gardens. The Laird isn’t an hour underground and you want to get away again. I think a discussion is needed, between us, Calidra. About your responsibilities and expectations. With the Myr on their way, we must unite.’
‘Unite.’ Calidra couldn’t believe her mother’s words.
‘Yes. It means you do not show disrespect. It means you stand with me, and with Paicha.’ She rested her hand on her son’s shoulder, who looked as bored as Calidra felt, his gaze drawn to the birds singing in the trees, oblivious to the boiling emotions.
Calidra was almost sad they’d never had a real chance to get to know each other, but she couldn’t give up any more of her life for a family that was no longer hers.
Jisyel was family. Bellandri was family.
Not whatever her mother had turned the Vantonens into.
‘Yes mother.’ Her voice was flat, emotionless. At Furyn’s curt nod, Calidra got to her feet and headed back to the house. She’d need to get to her room without being pulled aside by anyone, repack her bag, visit the kitchens and grab as many supplies as she could.
There was a chance she could make it back to the stables, but she didn’t want to risk getting caught again. She’d wear a long shawl over her shoulders to hide her bag, and wait in a shady part of the gardens for Amsel and Hailathlyl to return. Then, she’d make him take her into the air again.
She had her dagger. If she had to threaten him, she would.
Calidra was done wallowing.
As she approached one of the side doors into the villa, movement across the grass caught her attention. Commander Sekano was marching through the gardens, three figures trailing him. The one in the lead didn’t look anything like a priestess with a large glaive across her back, and if it weren’t for the swirling green tattoo across her upper arm, she wouldn’t have realised she was one at all. Calidra spent so long focussed on the priestess that she didn’t notice the other two figures until they were almost out of sight.
The strength went from her legs.
‘JISYEL!’ Calidra’s scream tore through the air, stopping Sekano and the others in their tracks.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.
In unison, they turned to face her, confusion furrowing their eyebrows at her shout.
Her gaze locked with the woman behind the strange-looking priestess, and tears fell again. Her eyes and ears burned, tears blurred her vision, and it felt as if the wind shrieked in her head—she couldn’t hear anything other than her pounding heart. All of a sudden it wasn’t her heart pounding, it was her feet—pounding across the grass as she sprinted towards them.
‘Cal!’ Jisyel’s voice rang clear as a bell above the rushing wind.
Calidra didn’t care about the other people with her, about Commander Sekano’s obvious frown.
The only thing in the world that mattered was Jisyel.
The Myr could have descended upon Fellwood in that moment, and she wouldn’t have cared. Jisyel was back, and there was no power in Tassar that could take her away again.
They crashed together in a tight hug—laughter and crying. Calidra could hardly believe it, hardly believe Jisyel was real. Jisyel’s face was flushed, red from the sun, her hair was unwashed and greasy, and her clothes had seen better days, but she was right there.
‘Your face!’ Calidra ran her thumb gently over a slash across Jisyel’s cheek. It was healing, and she hoped it wouldn’t leave a scar.
‘It’s nothing, Cal. It’s nothing.’ Jisyel grabbed Calidra’s face in both hands and kissed her fiercely.
Calidra tasted tears, the salt reminding her of home. Her true home. Their home. She laughed through her tears as relief flooded her, and wrapped her arms around Jisyel, pulling her closer, as if to make certain that she was real and not some apparition. ‘Jisyel, you’re alive. You’re here!’
Jisyel didn’t reply, simply kissed her more. Over and over, her hands trembling where they held Calidra’s face. ‘I knew you’d be here. I knew you’d be okay!’ Jisyel’s voice was a whimper punctuated by sobbing.
‘I was trying to raise an army to find you!’ Calidra rested her forehead against Jisyel’s, taking steadying breaths as the jubilation washed over her. ‘I couldn’t…I couldn’t bear the thought of you hurt. Swept away in the water. Dying somewhere, I…’
‘Sshh, Cal. Don’t do that to yourself. I’m fine. I’m here.’ Jisyel stroked Calidra’s cheeks, the motion somehow soothing.
Calidra choked down her next words. Jisyel was right. She didn’t want to give her worst fears voice. She didn’t know how long she spent with her eyes closed, resting against Jisyel’s face, focussing on her breathing and the feel of Jisyel in her hands.
Calidra had been on the brink of running away to find her, of threatening violence if she had to.
And now none of it was needed. Now, Jisyel was back with her. Safe.
They could face anything together.
Calidra gasped, eyes opening. ‘The Myr! They’re in Bragalia, Jisyel. Olmir, too. You weren’t hurt, were you?’
Jisyel shook her head. ‘Fenn saw one just outside Vaelar. But it didn’t come to town. Didn’t come near us.’
‘Good. Good.’
‘But the thing that attacked Ballowtown? That was one of them…’
Calidra glanced to the blue sky above. ‘It won’t be long before they get here, from the way Amsel was talking.’
‘Amsel?’
‘Griffin rider. Varlot and I flew here with him. I thought…I thought you might be here already. And when you weren’t, I…’ Calidra trailed off. Something Jisyel had said clicked with her. ‘Wait, Fenn saw one? Fenn?’ She stepped back from Jisyel, taking in her surroundings for the first time.
Fenn and the priestess stood off to one side, in low conversation, Sakano loitering awkwardly nearby.
‘He helped me out on the road, Cal.’ Jisyel grabbed Calidra’s hand, squeezing her fingers harder than was necessary. ‘Don’t push him to the guards or Inquisitors.’
It had been the furthest thought from Calidra’s mind. ‘Who’s the priestess? She looks…peculiar.’
‘She’s a Priestess of Neros, her name’s Selys,’ Jisyel said. ‘She gave Fenn new papers.’
‘What for?’ Calidra was instantly on alert.
Jisyel laughed. ‘R
elax, Cal. She’s fine.’ Then, Jisyel’s expression soured. ‘She…she thinks Fenn is Myr-touched. That’s what’s caused his…problems.’
‘Hmm.’ Calidra didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but with a Myrish threat on their doorstep, Fenn being tainted by their enemy in some way didn’t leave her with a good impression. ‘How has he been?’
‘Absolutely no threat to me! Like I said, he helped me!’
Calidra thought back to Meadowhill. The sick elthian. ‘No, I mean…his headaches?’
Jisyel looked at Fenn, saying nothing for several seconds. ‘He says he’s fine. Reminds me of you, honestly.’
‘But…?’
‘But they’re getting worse. He could hardly walk by the time we reached Vaelar.’
Calidra recalled her first instinct had been to get rid of him. People could rarely be trusted, and he’d been a stranger. Some young lad turning up on the Isle of Salt without any knowledge of how he got there. Why shouldn’t she doubt his intentions?
But here he was.
And he’d been with Jisyel this whole time. Had made sure she wasn’t alone. Brought her back.
Jisyel’s words rang in her mind. Fenn’s headaches were getting worse. Calidra hoped the elthian in Meadowhill had been afflicted by some other illness. That whatever hurt her wouldn’t affect Fenn.
She owed him enough gratitude to help him with whatever was wrong.
‘He wants to head into Porsenthia. The Nethal mountains,’ Jisyel added.
‘What for?’ Calidra couldn’t think of anything interesting in that part of the world, save snow and being too close to the Iron Crown.
‘Selys says it’s where a Myrish construct is.’
Calidra thought, scouring her memory for why that place stood out. ‘At the battle site? That old myth?’
‘Apparently. It’s not like he has much else to go by. With Selys’s papers, he won’t be handed in to any Inquisitors, but if they’re after lost souls…they might override the word of a priestess.’
Calidra thought, trying to piece together the puzzle. If the Myr were really back, there was something wrong with the Iron Crown. There had to be. Queen Surayo and Toriaken had kept peace alive for five years—what had happened to break her armour?