by Kova, Elise
“Your grandmother?”
“Princess Fiera, the last princess of the West.” Her insides wriggled in excitement. Vi’s fingers closed tighter around Taavin’s and they were drawn closer together, by just a fraction. “The woman said she came to see me, because in the West they say I am her, reborn. That I look just like my grandmother.”
“The grandmother of the Champion… a curiosity shop designed for peering along the destiny Yargen has laid for us…” Taavin’s grip tightened to match. “That sounds like it could well be an apex. You are brilliant,” he whispered.
“No, I’m not. I’m just doing what any good Champion should and helping find a way to save our world.” There was a small, determined smile on her lips. She wanted to joke and be jovial. But she couldn’t. She had seen the end of the world in all its horrifying detail. The only thing standing between her and the ultimate death of everyone she loved was finding the apexes, seeing the futures there, and helping Taavin use those visions to stop the destruction the freed dark god Raspian wrought—or would, if they didn’t find a way to thwart him from gaining a physical form once more.
“Don’t be afflicted by a false sense of modesty. You can be both brilliant and a good Champion.” His mouth quirked into a similar grin. Then it fell from his face as his eyes drifted back down to her wrist. “You should go,” he said softly.
“I don’t have much time,” she agreed. Yet their fingers lingered, entwined. “I’ll summon you again when I’m able.”
“Please do. It’s much less lonely with you.”
What were his days like? The question lingered in the forefront of her mind. It was obvious Taavin didn’t like talking about himself. But at some point he had to—at some point she needed to know, if for no other reason than to get to him when she finally made it to Meru.
“Keep your fingers crossed for me.” Vi released him. “Hopefully, we’re on our way to another apex.”
Taavin gave a nod as she let go of their communication. Vi watched, staring through the spot he’d once stood. The man seemed so real to her. She could feel him, touch him, smell him as though he stood before her. But when she let go of the magic strung between them, there was nothing—a sobering reminder that Taavin was, in true flesh, across the world.
Pushing it from her mind, Vi sprinted up through the fortress, taking the stairs two at a time to hasten toward the unorthodox jail of Soricium.
Chapter Two
On the far edge of the fortress were the holding cages. Getting to them was no easy task—a feat Vi shouldn’t be able to perform.
After the first stairwell, Vi headed to a second via a long walkway supported by a branch already several stories up. She crossed to a third that wound around the outside of the tree. From time to time, she would look down for the sole purpose of continuing to acclimate to the dizzying height.
She couldn’t falter when the time came.
Her legs were aching and sore by the time she reached the top of the stairs. But her journey wasn’t nearly over yet. She stood on a wide landing that stretched outward toward another landing on a tree opposite. This tree was unique from all the others in the fortress for two reasons: the first was the wooden and stone cages that hung off its tall canopy; the second was that it had no permanent connection with any other tree.
To gain access, a Groundbreaker, a sorcerer with earth magic, would stretch a branch from the canopy of the tree she now stood within over to the far tree. But Vi wasn’t a Groundbreaker. The magic she practiced didn’t belong to any elemental affinity—it was an ancient sorcery known as Lightspinning.
Vi inched her way to the edge of the wide platform. The ground was so far below her now, the details blurred. She leaned over slightly, swallowing air down a completely dry throat.
“I hope this works…” Vi muttered.
Mysst, to craft.
Xieh, shield.
The two words together saved her life once when she’d fought against an elfin’ra—an agent of the dark god Raspian. Together, they formed a shield of magic that guarded against any form of physical or magic attacks. But Vi had a theory about it, one she’d been testing in her room out of curiosity.
If the shield could block physical things, it could also support them. With that logic, she’d balanced books on the magical discus mysst xieh formed. But she was a lot heavier than a stack of books.
“Mysst xieh.” Vi raised her right hand, pointing it before her. The glyph appeared at her command, hovering above the balcony’s edge.
Timidly, Vi lifted her foot, resting it on the spinning light. It was firm, yet there was some give to it—as though she was sinking through a layer of magic to a solid base. She imagined this must be what snow felt like, based on what Uncle Jax had described—but thankfully, the magic was much less cold. Placing her weight on her leg, Vi lifted her other foot onto the disk.
It held, and she let out an audible sigh of relief.
“Now, for the second.” Lifting her left hand, Vi pointed before her. “Mysst xieh.”
A step away from the first, a nearly identical glyph formed. This one, however, hovered over the open air. There was no safety net of the balcony beneath her. If her magic failed her… she’d be dead.
Vi had fallen from these trees only once, when she was attacked in the night. She had no intention of doing it a second time. Steeling her resolve, Vi took a step forward, leaving doubts behind her.
Her right foot landed on the second glyph, followed by her left. She could see the ground underneath her through the shimmering rings of magic. Her stomach soured. Lifting her eyes, Vi looked across to the other tree.
Had it always been that far? Closing her right hand into a fist, the first glyph disappeared. She stood on the second with both feet as she pointed her right hand just ahead of her.
“M-Mysst xieh.” The light flowed together, failed to link up, flickered and vanished. Vi swallowed hard. She had to keep herself together or her magic would fall apart.
“Mysst xieh.” Vi’s confidence was rewarded when the third, much more stable shield formed. She quickly balled her hand into a fist, holding it in place as though she were gripping a lifeline in open, shark-infested water. Her nails dug into her palms as Vi stepped from the second shield to the third.
When all her weight was balanced, she released her grip on the second glyph and moved to make the fourth.
Like stepping stones, Vi made her own bridge of light across to the other tree. Every howling gust of winter wind swept up her long braid, catching it like a whip, trying to yank her over. Vi crouched, keeping her center of balance low, her magic focused.
Around halfway, Vi noticed the glyphs began to diminish in size. She had to conserve her magic, otherwise she’d risk them breaking under her weight. But if she made them too small, there may not be enough room for her feet at all. By the time she made it across, they were barely larger than her shoe.
“By the Mother.” Vi doubled over as her feet landed on the balcony at the other side. She grabbed her knees and breathed for a moment. Her whole body quaked with nerves she’d refused to acknowledge moments ago. “That actually worked,” she whispered in wonder. If she’d been a Firebearer like her father and grandmother, there would’ve been no way to cross.
Father. Vi stood straighter. Finding the apexes wasn’t just to prevent the end of the world—though the apocalypse was a pretty good motivator. It was also for him, to see him again, to confirm he had not died a watery death.
His body still had yet to be recovered.
Turning, Vi started into the tree trunk and up a final set of stairs. She reached the top of the trees as the sun crested the horizon. Vi blinked into the light as it broke. There wasn’t much time; the stewards and attendants would come soon, and if they didn’t find her in bed it’d arouse suspicion.
Around this walkway, the cages she’d seen from before drifted back and forth in the wind. Vines as big as her thigh held them in place, securing together a birdcage of rock and
branches. Most were empty—Soricium had a city jail for drunkards and cutpurses. These pens were for the exclusive use of the Chieftain.
The people held here were the worst of the worst.
At least… that was how it was supposed to be.
“You’re new.” A man in the cage opposite her as she rounded the tree trunk slowly raised his head. Vi could barely make out his words over the creaks of the swaying branches in the wind.
He was curled in a ball, knees to his chest, arms around them. His shoulder-length dark hair was stringy. The man’s clothes were dingy and his lips were chapped from exposure to the elements.
His eyes narrowed slightly as Vi approached the edge of the walkway.
“You’re not one of them.”
She assumed “them” to mean Sehra’s warriors—the guards of the fortress. “I’m not.”
“To what do I owe the honor of the crown princess of the Solaris Empire coming to see me?” he finally asked after a minute’s staring.
“How did you know I was the crown princess?” It was time to test her theory on familial similarity.
“You have her likeness.”
“How would you know what my grandmother looked like?” she asked, venturing her guess at his meaning. “You don’t look much older than I.”
“Princess Fiera is legendary. Any Westerner who grew up with sand between his toes knows her face.” A small smile cut his lips, the white of his teeth a shocking contrast to the deep tan of his skin. “And looks can be deceiving, princess.”
“That they can.” Vi glanced over at the other cages. Three others were occupied. “Where’s the rest of your caravan?”
“Why?” The smile fell from his face. “Are you asking as a Westerner, to help your kin by blood? Or as a Northerner, to help the kin who raised you?”
Vi knew why they were here, so she knew why he inquired.
Jax had been livid the night Sehra’s warriors had rounded up the remnants of the remaining Western caravans from the winter solstice festivities two weeks ago. After the outbreak of the White Death, the Northern capital was thrown into chaos. The people looked for a scapegoat, feet at which to lay their blame, grief, and anger.
The Western caravans fit the bill neatly.
“Neither,” Vi confessed. The man didn’t want to hear how Sehra’s imprisonment of them was as much for their own safety—to prevent the city from tearing them apart—as it was to keep some illusion of peace. At least, so she claimed. “I came to ask a question.”
“And why should I help you with your questions?”
“Because I am the granddaughter of the late Empress Fiera.”
He snorted. “I am not a Knight of Jadar. While I do see her likeness in you, I do not see you as her reborn, come again to liberate the West.”
Vi folded her hands in front of her. The Knights of Jadar were a small group of nationalistic antagonizers. Little else. She stayed focused; he would not distract her.
“Because I can put in a good word for you with Sehra.”
That gave him pause. “Truly?”
“Help me, and I’ll beseech her for leniency.” The night of Jax’s rage, Vi had overheard Sehra telling her uncle she had no intention of finding the imprisoned men and women guilty of bringing the White Death to the North. How could she? No one rightfully knew how the plague spread.
But this man didn’t need to know that now.
“What is it you seek?”
“I’m looking for a woman. I don’t know which caravan she belonged to… she was selling spices during the solstice. I had—”
“Bought some from her,” he finished. “Yes. Grendla. I know her.”
“You do?” Vi inched forward, but there wasn’t much farther to go.
“She wouldn’t silence herself after you bought the spices. Kept going on about the honor of your patronage.”
“Where is she now? Was she captured?”
“I’m sure she’s dead.” The man shrugged as though he hadn’t just dashed Vi’s hopes.
“Dead?” Vi whispered. “Why?” Sehra had intervened before tensions between the residents of Soricium and the solstice guests had erupted into violence.
“Why else? The White Death claimed her. Last I saw she was being taken to that useless clinic of theirs to die far from the Western sun.” The man shifted, looking out at the breaking dawn. “Not sure who was the luckier one between us,” he whispered.
Her insides tightened at the sentiment. Even if Sehra intended to set them free, even if this was a show to keep peace… These were men and women whose mental and physical wellbeing were being used like tokens on a carcivi board.
And Vi couldn’t do a thing about it.
Her hands were tied, especially while she worked toward something far greater. If she helped put an end to the White Death, then she’d help them all. Her father had told her once to always keep her eyes on her greater goal; never risk losing the war to win a battle. That was their burden as rulers—a burden Vi still wasn’t entirely sure she was ready for, or worthy of.
“Thank you.” Vi stepped away from the edge of the walkway.
“Wait,” he called after her, all but lunging for the other side of the bars. Vi paused, staring back at him. “If you… if you find her… tell her we’re all alive. The ones who got taken at least. Most were with her…”
“I will.” Vi gave a small nod. Her eyes stayed locked with his. They were black as well, a hallmark of Western blood. She swallowed. “And I’m sorry. Stay strong, you’ll be free soon.”
“Will I?” he shouted over the wind as she walked away. “Don’t forget, princess—you said you would put in a good word with the Chieftain. You said you would help us!”
Vi didn’t look back.
She kept her eyes forward as she stepped into the darkness of the hollowed tree trunk once more. She stayed focused and silent as she made her way back across her stepping stones of light. Not once, all the way back to her room, did she look back in the direction of the cages.
But the whole way, his words stayed with her.
You said you would help us.
Vi laid down in her bed, the plush feather mattress almost too soft underneath her. What did it feel like to sleep in a cage? Did the prisoners manage to sleep at all? This luxury was all she’d ever known and yet somehow it was swiftly becoming uncomfortable.
Did she even deserve it?
“I’m trying to help,” she vowed to the air between her and the gnarled wooden ceiling above her four-poster bed. She was helping in the only way she could—by trying to put an end to the source of the plague killing her world. But no one around her was likely to understand that.
Just like they wouldn’t understand when she finally slipped away, likely in the dead of night, leaving her crown and duty behind to make for Meru.
She would leave them all, for them all.
But first, she had to find a way to sneak into the deadliest place in Soricium: the clinic.
Chapter Three
She was one more droning minute of Martis’s lesson away from needing to physically hold open her eyelids.
“Yes, princess?” He paused, catching Vi at the start of a yawn. “Is there something you’d like to say?” Martis’s eyes darted to the man at the back of room.
Andru sat over Vi’s shoulder. Now and then he’d glance up through his blond locks and long lashes before looking back to his paper—scribbling away. He was the one the Senate had sent to assess her, to make sure she would be a “princess for all” and not just the North, despite where she grew up. He was the son of the Head of Senate, the same Head of Senate who questioned the crown’s authority in broad strokes.
By all counts, Andru should be her enemy. Dislike for the crown should have been bred into him. With one stroke of his pen, he could write the words that she was unfit to lead and throw her birthright into question, possibly even pen fodder for the Empire to question her whole family’s rule and allow the Senate to consolidate even more
power.
So she knew what Martis was doing. He was giving her an opportunity to save face for yawning and possibly being perceived as a poor student. He was trying to protect her, however misguided that was.
“I was going to say that I agree with your assessment on the grain stores in the southern capital. It sounds as though with every year, winter gets worse in the South and the harvest from the East grows thinner.” As though the land itself were going barren. Vi briefly spared a thought for whether this was yet another symptom of Raspian’s return; the end of the world had been bleak in her vision. She pushed the thought away, focusing on the task at hand for now. “It’s essential for us to prepare the populous for the worst.”
“Just so.” Martis smiled, glanced once more at Andru, and continued on.
Martis was none the wiser that Vi had transformed the person who should’ve been her enemy into a dear friend. Her tutor had no idea that the awkward man sitting behind her was an ally. Or that Andru was the secret lover of her brother.
Vi spared one more glance over her shoulder. Her eyes caught Andru’s and she saw the tiniest movement on his face—a smile shared only with her as Martis prattled on.
* * *
“That lesson lasted forever,” Vi grumbled, well after the main door to her quarters had closed behind her tutor.
“It was the normal time.” Andru slipped his paper into his folio and left it on Martis’s desk before starting out the door. Vi followed behind him, pausing at the edge of the desk.
“What is it you write?” She rested her fingertips on the folio.
“You can read it, if you’d like. If you’re worried.” He paused in the door frame, hands in his pockets, eyes on the folder.
“No, I’m not accusing you of anything. I know you’re not out to harm me.” She trusted her friend and needed him to know that. “Merely curious.”