Vortex Chronicles: The Complete Series

by Kova, Elise

  “Here? Will it be here?” Tiberus asked, a little too eagerly.

  “No, I will find a new spot for it.” Fiera swept her gaze across the room, landing on Denja. Vi didn’t miss the subtle confusion that furrowed Fiera’s brow. “Too many people appear to know of this location.” Then, like magic, her whole expression softened. Fiera gave Tiberus the sweetest, most endearing smile one could imagine. “Now, my love, come with me to procure some refreshments? I’m both parched and starved from all the excitement this morning.”

  “Yes, the excitement…” Tiberus looked back to Fiera and his focus returned. “You must tell me what happened.”

  “Of course.” Fiera linked their arms, leading Tiberus out of the room. Denja fell into step behind, Vi and Zira pulling up the rear. Fiera locked the door and Vi could feel the pop of magic as she lifted the curtain of flame in the hallway once more.

  “Zira,” Vi said lightly, loud enough for Denja to hear but not so loud that it distracted Fiera and Tiberus. “Do you have time now to show me that sword technique you were telling me about earlier?”

  “Yes, I think now would be a wonderful time,” Zira said easily, without even missing a beat.

  “Excellent.”

  They paused at a landing, Zira taking the lead. “If you three will excuse Yullia and me, there’s something I promised to show her in the training ring.”

  “Good of you to do so.” Fiera picked up on the ruse. “I appreciate you taking such an active interest in Yullia’s training.”

  “I have other matters to attend to as well,” Denja said stiffly, adjusting the scarf around her head. “If you’ll all excuse me.”

  “Thank you again for informing me of the incident today,” Tiberus said to the blue-eyed woman. “I appreciate that someone made it a point to notify me of actions taken against my betrothed.”

  “Certainly, your grace.” Denja bowed. “I am here to serve.” After taking two steps backward, Denja turned, disappearing down the hall.

  Vi bowed as well, Zira mirroring the motion before leading them in the opposite direction as Denja. They rounded down two staircases, to a storeroom attached to an empty training pit. Zira closed the door behind her and settled on one of the room’s many unmarked crates before asking, “You wanted me alone and now you have me. What is it?”

  “Denja. How did she know of that room?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think Fiera told her.”

  “I don’t think so either.” Vi paced, running her hands along the dusty boxes of training equipment. “Which means she figured it out, interrogated someone else who knows, or followed us.”

  “Before today, only Fiera and I knew of it.”

  “Not even her siblings? Ophain?”

  “If they know, I’m unaware. But I doubt they would’ve spilled the secret just because some random councilor asked.”

  Vi stopped pacing. With stilled feet, her mind felt like it could move faster. “How long has Denja been in the employ of the royal family?”

  “Right around the time the war began, I believe. I’ve only served our princess for three years, so I can’t say for certain.” Zira pushed herself off the crate. “Long enough that if there was something to worry about when it comes to Denja, they would’ve already found out.”

  “Not always,” Vi said softly. “Some betrayals take decades to mature.” Like Jayme. “In the coming months, we must protect the sword at all costs.”

  “So you’ve said. What happens if it falls into the wrong hands, as you say?”

  “Would you believe me if I said the end of the world?” Vi gave a bitter grin. Zira let out a laugh that told Vi just how seriously she took the warning.

  “You really are an odd one.” Shaking her head as the laughter faded, Zira started for the door. But her hand stalled on the handle. She looked back to Vi and—for one brief second—Vi could see the woman taking the words seriously. “We’ll keep it safe.”

  “I hope so.”

  Zira gave her a nod and left. Vi crossed over to the window that overlooked the empty training field. They would keep it safe this time. She wouldn’t allow the world to repeat itself once more. There wouldn’t be another Vi pulled from her home to be Yargen’s Champion. There wouldn’t be another Taavin to suffer at the hands of fate.

  The cycle would end. Now that the sword was within her grasp, the real work could begin.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the dead of night, the halls were empty, and the castle was quiet.

  Vi made her way with ease, glyphs wrapped around her wrists. One masked her sounds. But should someone see her, the other gave her the face of a random Imperial guard.

  Once in the armory, Vi closed the door behind her, grabbed one of the swords off the racks, and propped it lightly against the handle. There would be no surprise guests this time. She wanted to know the moment someone came in.

  Though, hopefully, her paranoia would prove unfounded.

  The lock on the door to the sword’s chamber was easy to melt away with her magic. She repeated the same process she had in the Archives to get to Taavin after Ulvarth had locked his door. Vi melted and bent and separated the ring holding the lock in place, rather than destroying the lock itself, and set it aside. That way, she could return it to its previous position.

  As a Firebearer, Fiera no doubt knew of this flaw in the protection of the blade. That was why she kept the curtain of flame burning at all times within the hall. But the princess had also said she barely noticed the magic leeching away from her anymore. Vi surmised that if Fiera were asleep, she wouldn’t notice any slight fluctuations in that magic at all.

  Lifting her hand, Vi moved forward deliberately. Her fingertips dipped into the flames first. It was warm—Fiera’s power undeniable. But it didn’t burn her.

  She didn’t want to assume full control of the flames, merely adjust them. Pushing her magic out from her extended hand, a hole barely larger than her wrist appeared in the wall of fire. She extended her magic further, stretching the opening little by little until it was wide enough for her to step through, flames raging right at the edge of her power.

  On the other side of the fire, Vi released her hold, allowing the flames to ease back into place.

  “Narro hath hoolo,” Vi uttered, her eyes locked with the sword on the wall. She didn’t so much as look at Taavin when he appeared.

  “This is record time for you getting here.” He took a step forward, looking up at the sword. “What did you do?”

  “What you told me to: I befriended Fiera and found the sword. Then I came to it.” Vi crossed in front of him, lifting the weapon off its pegs.

  “You need to be more specific. It’s my duty to record all you do, and because I keep that memory, you do better every time… until, eventually, we succeed.”

  “We’ll succeed this time,” Vi insisted, focusing on the scabbard.

  “While I admire your confidence, we won’t know for sure until your sight shows us a future where Raspian is safely sealed away.”

  “Have a bit of faith.” She finally allowed her attention to stray to him. His eyes were twice as brilliant and three times as hard as an emerald. “Believe in me.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t.” Vi set down the blade on the table, taking a step away from it. Every time she was near the weapon it consumed her attention—but she wanted to give Taavin her undivided focus. “You don’t think we’ll succeed this time, otherwise you wouldn’t be so cautious.”

  “I’m cautious because the world needs me to be.”

  “Because you think I’ll fail.”

  “It’s not what I think that matters. It’s what’s happened ninety-two times…” he murmured, glancing askance. Vi refused to allow it, stepping into his field of vision.

  “When you look at me, you see me combined with ninety-two other versions of myself. You see actions I have not taken, but still could. Moments when I succeeded and, more often than not, failed. You see me in a way
that I can’t even imagine myself.” She looked at him from head to toe. “But when I look at you… I only see one Taavin. The Taavin who taught me my magic and guided me across Meru, who betrayed me and my father. The Taavin I still loved even when I thought one more betrayal would break my heart. The Taavin I watched burn—” Her voice broke and she allowed herself to fall silent.

  She didn’t want him to sweep her into his arms and kiss her fiercely with lips that weren’t really there. She wanted to feel like he understood—like he heard her. When he remained silent, she continued.

  “All I have is you, Taavin,” she whispered. “But you’re stuck with those other ninety-two versions of me, and part of you is already expecting to meet the ninety-fourth. You’ll never be with just me again.”

  “You’re wrong,” he said hastily. Emotions broke through all at once. His eyebrows pinched, his lower lip quivered slightly as he spoke. His hands trembled, as if wanting to reach for her, but they remained in place. She wondered if he, too, was held by the same invisible tethers that kept her rooted to the floor. “You are the only one I am with… the only one I have ever been with.

  “You consume every thought I have. There’s not a corner of my mind you don’t fill. Or—” He was before her now, toes nearly touching. So close she could feel the phantom warmth that radiated off him like magic and sunlight. Vi raised a trembling hand, resting it on his chest, feeling the simple fabrics where there had once been intricate embroidery.

  “Or?” she repeated, looking up at him through her eyelashes.

  “Or my heart,” he said finally. “You vex me. I have hurt you and you’ve hurt me in ways I cannot describe. And even now, I love you. I love you in a way I don’t know if I deserve.”

  “You do,” she whispered. She needed him here, now. She needed this love as much as she wanted it.

  “I’m not sure.” Taavin chuckled softly. The tip of his middle finger brushed against her temple. Soon his fingertips were in her hair, smoothing it away from her face, knotting in the strands at the nape of her neck.

  “It’s not your decision to make.” Her head tilted upward, obliging his unspoken guidance. Her eyes dipped closed. “You’ll be hurt again,” she breathed across his lips.

  “So will you.”

  It wasn’t quite a kiss, but a trembling of lips brushed together. Vi pressed forward eagerly, and Taavin obliged. His arms tightened and she was swept against him.

  Vi pressed her eyelids tighter together. This kiss… it wasn’t the same. She willed her mind to ignore the slight shimmer of magic, the heat of the glyph at the watch that brought him into her world, the thin barrier that couldn’t be lifted between them. She wanted to scream, and the only way she could keep the feeling contained was to smother it with his mouth.

  When they pulled apart, his cheeks were lightly flushed. His fingers caressed her face.

  “What should we do now that I have the sword?” Vi pulled away, flashing him a smile when she saw the confusion in his eyes at the swift change in topic.

  “You still need to tell me how you got to it so swiftly.” Taavin rested his palm on the small of her back.

  “Right… Well, I went to the ball just as we had discussed…”

  Vi recounted the events of the morning, the attack on Fiera, and her efforts to convince Fiera to take her to the sword.

  “What did you say to her, specifically?” Taavin didn’t miss when she’d glossed over that part. “Usually Fiera is far more cautious with the sword.”

  “I told her I was chosen by the Mother herself to defend this world and that I need to prevent the sword from falling into the wrong hands.”

  “Vi, you can’t let them know who you are and why you’re here. If the Dark Isle gains knowledge of the Champion, it could change the course of events.”

  “Just how easy is it to change the course of events?” Vi asked. “If I’ve failed ninety-two times, it must not be that easy.”

  He crossed his arms, a sour expression dousing his features. “You’re right. It’s not entirely easy.” Taavin sighed, bringing his hand to his forehead. “Think of time as a river, flowing along. There are three types of things you will find in that river.

  “The first are leaves floating along—these are people, pulled along by the course of fate, thrown this way and that by the flow of the world around them.

  “The second are stones—things that are immovable. They will happen regardless of what you do. The river runs around them, its current and pace distorted by these events.” He held up two fingers.

  “So… some things can’t be changed?” Vi said quietly. Taavin nodded. “What if Raspian being set free is one of those things?”

  “It’s not,” he said quickly. “Raspian being set free is a result of other actions, not an action itself.”

  Vi thought about that a moment and finally hummed in agreement. Raspian was set free because of the crystal weapons being destroyed. Prevent those actions, and he wouldn’t be freed.

  “And the third thing in the river?” she asked.

  “You—the dams and floodgates you create to guide the currents. The few locations where the river is quiet enough, or shallow enough, or narrow enough, to change how it flows.”

  Vi leaned against the table, Taavin at her side, the sword behind her. She hung her head, eyes on the floor, staring at nothing. She had to function like a surgeon of fate—cutting and stitching carefully, or the whole world would bleed out and die.

  “The Apexes of Fate,” she said slowly. “I can make them?”

  “Yes. You, the previous Champion, and the crystal weapons.”

  “That’s why there were so many in the North,” Vi realized. “Because the axe was there for a long time and helped shape the North itself?”

  “Exactly.”

  “So here in Norin, there must be many, too?”

  “Indeed. And now that you have access to the sword, we will seek them out in time. At the Apexes, you will peer into the future, and there we’ll learn if your actions have led to a change in fate overall.”

  “So where is the first one?”

  “Don’t be so eager. You’ve done enough for now. Lie low for a bit, build trust.”

  “There isn’t time,” Vi said hastily. “Fiera will be wedded soon, and then Aldrik will be born. That’s when the Knights take the sword, and my father told me that Fiera dies trying to protect it. We have months, Taavin, to prevent that from happening.”

  “Remember what I said about stones in the river,” he said cautiously. Vi didn’t miss the ominous undercurrent to his words.

  “Are you saying Fiera is—” Vi didn’t have a chance to finish.

  The flames at their right brightened as a woman pushed her way through. The fire licked around her skin but didn’t touch it, thanks to a protective barrier. When she was through, that barrier shattered with a snap of light.

  “Mysst soto sut,” Denja said instantly. Light spilled from her palms, weaving and solidifying into the shape of a war axe she hoisted with ease. Her muscles bulged against the thin fabric covering her arms. Her bright blue eyes leveled with Vi, Taavin having vanished. “We should talk, you and I.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Magic collected under her palm, ready to be unleashed. Vi bet they were about to do a lot more than talk.

  “We clearly have a lot to discuss.” Vi’s eyes darted to the weapon. Denja was a Lightspinner. No wonder Vi didn’t hear the crash of the sword she’d propped against the door. Denja had likely used durroe sallvas tempre to hide her movements. “Why don’t you release that, and we can do so calmly?”

  “Why don’t you summon one of your own like you did in the streets?”

  Damn. She’d seen. Vi pressed her mouth into a thin smile. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’ve yet to decide what I want to do with you,” Denja said casually. “I know you’re not one of the queen’s women. And I’ll assume you know that travel to the Dark Isle isn’t permitted, so I�
��ll give you one chance: why are you here?”

  What Vi wouldn’t give to have a simple answer to that question. Instead, she said, “How do you know I’m not one of the queen’s agents?”

  “If you have to ask, you’re not.” Denja had some kind of communication with Meru, Vi would bet. “You’re wasting a lot of what could be your last breaths not answering my question.”

  Vi locked eyes with the woman, swiftly debating her options. She could fight her way out—kill Denja. It wouldn’t be hard to get in a juth calt. Even Taavin had been surprised when she’d used the words in that way. Then again, there was always juth mariy—destroy magic; Denja would use that on her the moment she started chanting.

  Firebearing, then?

  No, killing one of the Queen Lumeria’s agents would create more problems than it would solve.

  “Really? Nothing to say for yourself?” Denja narrowed her eyes, blue and almost purple-ringed. She slid her feet forward and sank into her stance. “Then—”

  “Your name isn’t Denja,” Vi whispered. Her whole body relaxed, overcome with a sense of knowing. But this wasn’t magic. What she felt was the overwhelming relief of recognition. How had she not noticed sooner?

  “What?” She seemed genuinely startled, her grip relaxing slightly. Perhaps, Denja recognized her too, with some phantom echo of past lives they’d shared.

  “Deneya?” Vi asked softly, trying to superimpose the face of the slightly older knight who had taken her to see Queen Lumeria over top of the woman before her. “It’s Deneya, isn’t it?”

  “So you know my name. That’s possible for any good spy to find out.” Deneya tightened her grip again. “Especially one who could be working with the elfin’ra.”

  Vi balked. “The elfin’ra are still sealed away on their island, aren’t they?” They should be, if Vi’s memories and understanding served her. The elfin’ra were sealed away along with Raspian, a barrier on their island tied to the Crystal Caverns.