Octavia turns slowly and comes face to face with a petite girl with sandy blonde hair and a fierce pointy chin pulling her face sharply into a villainous mask of angles and points.
“Did you like my handiwork?” the girl smirks as she examines her blood stained fingernails.
“How dare you,” Octavia snarls as she grabs the girl by the shoulders and rams her into the opposite wall with all her strength. She’s surprised by the shock and fear in the girl’s eyes.
Energy crackles through Octavia’s fingers, the same way she wields the magic in battle but this time, instead of inflicting cuts and broken bones the magic zips from Octavia’s fingers into the girl’s shoulders and travel up her neck and her cheeks as her eyes roll back into her head. Whether from pain or something else the girl begins to scream, a horrible keening sound.
“Make it stop!” The girl screams. “Dear goddess make it stop! I can’t stand it anymore.”
Startled Octavia loosens her grip on the girl and she lifelessly slumps to the floor before vanishing before her eyes.
“What in the world?” Octavia whispers as she backs away. When she turns back toward the wall of her friends’ severed heads those have also vanished as if they never were. Enraged with all the bizarre occurrences Octavia storms down another corridor, loose hair whipping in her wake.
Three wrong turns later Octavia finally stomps into the throne room and faces an amused looking Adventrya.
“What is going on here?” Octavia demands as she fists her hands at her waist.
“To what are you referring?” Adventrya tries to hide her grin.
“Cut the shi’ite,” Octavia growls feelings the magic pooling in her fingertips again. “I was attacked in the hall last night, trapped in a spinning cloud this morning, and shown my friends’ severed heads on pikes while looking for this throne room which seems to have relocated since yesterday.”
Octavia’s fingertips burn but she ignores the sensation as she stares Adventrya down.
“Your tunic is on fire.” Adventrya announces calmly.
Octavia looks down at her waist and jumps as she sees her hands aflame burning holes in her tunic.
“Shi’ite.” She exclaims as she raises her hands in front of her and finds hot blue flames flickering up from her palms. She blows on them to put the flames out but it does no good. The flames spread encapsulating her whole body, not burning her but dancing upon her skin. “I become flame,” Octavia whispers in wonderment. A soothing coolness flickers through her dousing the flames.
“Congratulations,” Adventrya stands and embraces Octavia. “You have passed the four trials of worthiness. Come, I will introduce you to your mount.”
❖
Shroudania
“Give me a status update, Daveen,” King Alem demanded as he strolled through the bustling harbor with his advisor.
“The royal alchemists have been hard at work developing a poison that will specifically target the Mistborn,” Daveen explains as he crosses his wrists behind his back. “At this time we believe we have found a solution — a poison the alchemists are tentatively calling Kaledulsecide - which upon testing on several species of marine life and a couple of our aquatic “guests” in the palace dungeon proves harmless on the fish and cephalopod test subjects but deadly to the Mistborn subjects.”
“What does it do?” Alem asks eagerly, a wicked glint in his eyes.
“In the Mistborn subjects it starts like many other poisons,” Daveen counts the symptoms out on his long bronzed fingers, “excessive thirst, fever, hyperventilating as their respiratory systems are unable to convert water into oxygen as they inhale, loss of motor skills, and within minutes convulsions and hemorrhaging of blood from the eyes, mouth, nose, ears, and pores. Their blood essentially pours out of them and their bodies turn to foam and collapse.”
“Excellent,” Alem nods approvingly. “And how will it be administered on a wide scale?”
“The alchemists consulted the royal kitchens on this matter who suggested marinating kelp and seaweed in the poison as well as injecting the poison directly into krill, both of which are major food groups for Mistborn. The poisoned plant life and krill will be dumped into the great sea as our fleet crosses to Vacantia.” Daveen gesticulates as he explains the plan he came up with.
“As I mentioned earlier, neither the poisoned plant life nor the krill will harm any other marine life that may ingest it but as an added bonus, any marine life that have ingested the poison that are eaten by the Mistborn will be another source of administering the poison.”
“Very good,” Alem smiles, “you and the alchemists have done excellent work. Has this process already been put into action?”
“Aye,” Daveen nods. “The krill and plant life have already been loaded into the hulls of the fleet to be distributed on our journey.”
“Very good,” Alem approves. “Prepare for departure, we leave before nightfall.”
❖
Lyra
The rain was pouring from the sky as thunder roared through the night. Zarouk was the storm and the storm was him and he was showing his anger through the loud booms rattling the window panes in the palace. Lightning flickered purple and gold and blue as Lyra stood at the double doors to her balcony. In the flickers of light a great man, a god, Zarouk himself, marched across the sky.
Lyra didn’t concern herself with the storm. The palace was reinforced against even the most violent of weather. She thrived on this weather as Zarouk’s anger sang to hers, a deadly duet.
No, it was those beyond the walls of the capital city — the mountain people and the poor farmers, and the coastal scum, should any have survived Garlyn’s cleansing - that should be afraid for they would feel the brunt of the storm, the full wrath of Zarouk.
Lyra could just barely see the coastline from her balcony, far beyond the walls of the city below. The choppy, white-capped waves battering against the rocky shores resembled small white creatures scuttling across an uneven inky-black surface in the distance. Across the sea, even as Lyra stood at her balcony the Shroudanian king and his fleet were beginning their trek across the sea to join with the Vacantian army. They just didn’t know what war they would be fighting in yet.
The Mistborn annihilation was just the beginning. Once the Mistborn issue is taken care of Lyra will persuade King Alem to marry her, aligning their two kingdoms forevermore.
She’ll have to be more careful this time of course, perhaps Alem will have to become an unfortunate casualty when the combined Vacantia-Shroudanian forces invade Lostero and strip the land of laborers, slaves, and resources. Yes, a noble death facing off against a rogue slave will have to befall the young healthy king. Then with both Shroudania and Vacantia under her control and the rebellious rabble of Lostero exterminated Lyra will be able to declare herself Empress of the three kingdoms and restore the respect and fear properly due her Waterborn people.
“You’re getting careless, sister.” The voice, melodic and amused echoes across Lyra’s bedchamber. She turns from the balcony and arches one sculpted eyebrow.
“Breaking and entering,” Lyra smirks vaguely. “I’ve executed others for less.”
“Luckily for me I’m too valuable for that.” The other woman replies. She’s the queen’s mirror image save for the puckered scar from a long ago burn marring half the other woman’s face, even her gown is the same shade as the dressing gown covering Lyra’s curvy body.
“Valuable,” Lyra concedes, “for now.”
The other woman snorts.
“How did you get in here?” Lyra tilts her head to the side. “Nobody saw you, did they?”
“If they did, they probably thought I was you,” the woman sits on Lyra’s bed and begins absentmindedly braiding her hair away from her face. “That’s the benefit of having the same face.”
“Nearly the same, sister. Never forget.” Lyra’s smile is cruel, a reminder of things best left forgotten.
“It’s nearly time,” the woman choose
s to ignore Lyra’s trite words.
“The Shroudanians sail for Vacantia as we speak,” Lyra confirms. “I address the Vanyians at daybreak and I suspect news will reach the far corners of the kingdom by nightfall.”
“What of Pavo’s son?” Lyra’s sister asks.
Lyra sighs, “He's probably starved to death in the forest somewhere. The pampered prince wouldn’t last five minutes outside the luxury of palace life.”
“How can you be so sure?” the other woman crosses her arms over her heaving chest and frowns.
“Honestly, Sydra, the boy is no threat.” Lyra shakes her head as she crosses the room and begins tossing throw pillows onto the floor next to her bed. “Now I need my sleep. You can sleep on the chaise. It should be a treat after your years living in caves sleeping on rocks. I can’t risk anyone else seeing you. Not yet.”
“Fine,” Sydra sighs as she slinks off the overstuffed bed and grabs a pillow from the mound on the floor as she mutters, “as if your bed isn’t big enough to share.”
“Queens don’t share beds, sister dear.” Lyra chirps as she slides between the sheets and sighs contentedly.
“Only Queen Regent for now, Lyra,” Sydra retorts darkly.
“Oh shut up and go to sleep before I decide to call my guards and have you thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the traitors.” Lyra snaps as she extinguishes the lamp beside her bed. Through the windows and the balcony doors the lightning still flickers violently.
❖
When morning comes Lyra shoves Sydra into her wardrobe when the maid arrives to attend with her dressing. She’s already laid out a frothy black gown with crisp orange accents for her address to the citizens of the capital city. The slick fabric kisses her skin as her ladies maid laces her into the beautiful confection. Hand sewn orange lace embroiders each layer of the skirt and with the back of the gown bustled the hem still drapes elegantly several feet behind Lyra. Her maid weaves her hair into dozens of tiny braids then braids the strands around the gold circlet atop Lyra’s head, cast to resemble thorns and twigs. Sweat beads the maid’s upper lip as she forces her hands not to jerk while applying kohl to Lyra’s eyes, blush to her cheeks, and color to her plump lips.
The maid bows away to attend to her other duties as a guard appears in the doorway to escort Lyra to the grand balcony where she will address the people. Her people. The people who, by the time she is done, will cease to be. The high council fall into step behind her as her heels click on the marble floor leading through the double doors into the dismal morning.
The voices of the people fade to whispers and then to silence as Lyra walks up to the balcony railing. The council fans out on either side of her as she surveys the turnout. The square below the balcony that stretches all the way back to the market district is crammed with Vacantian men, women, and children, merchants from across the sea, Losteroan slaves out doing their masters’ errands, soldiers of the royal army, and what the rest are blissfully unaware of, Waterborn witches scattered throughout the crowd, infiltrating the city.
“Men and women of Vanyia, visitors from far and wide,” Lyra begins as she casts her voice to the far reaches of the city. “It is with a woeful heart that I address you today. Word has reached me from the western coast that the Mistborn are rising up and planning on overtaking Vacantia. Already every village from the southern tip to less than a half-day’s walk from the city gates has been reduced to rubble and ash, the villagers gone to dust as well. I fear that this is only the beginning.”
Hushed whispers of worry ripple through the crowd as Lyra pauses for effect, pretending to be distraught by the news.
“Mistborn, as you may or may not know, can survive for periods of time on land without fearing ill-health. They’ve destroyed our coast, our first line of defense against them. What’s worse is that our Watierai Warriors have sided with them over their own people. Instead of saving the people of Vacantia as they are honor bound to do they are sympathizing with the sea scum.” Gasps echo through the crowd as Lyra fights to hide her grin.
“These sea scum, these monsters, have preyed on our people for too long.” Lyra’s voice thunders as the crowd hangs on her every word. “They addle the mind and steal our children. They crawl ashore and walk among us pretending to be one of our own. We’ve become lazy and allowed these monsters to worm their way into our daily lives, our families, even our beds. Are we going to sit back and allow them to overthrow our kingdom too?”
“No!” The crowd bellows, a thousand voices blending into one outraged cry.
“These Mistborn scum could be among us right now,” Lyra suggests as she makes sure the crowd sees her scanning their ranks. In turn hundreds of heads begin to turn this way and that, nervously peering at the person standing next to them. Lyra continues, “We need to root out this evil and kill them before they can get to us!”
The crowd cheers in agreement.
“I have a message to any Mistborn trying to blend in among us: we will find you! We will not stop until every single one of you meets the executioner’s block for your treachery. If you think you can slip from this city, from this kingdom, unnoticed you are sorely mistaken. As I address you this very moment, warships sail from Shroudania with King Alem himself leading the charge to aid us in our battle against the scum of the sea. There will be nowhere on all of Esternwhorl that you can go that you will be safe.”
The cheers grow in volume as the crowd writhes, fists and hands and objects at hand rising into the air enthusiastically.
“Loyal subjects of Vacantia,” Lyra appeals to the crowd, “I beg of you to aid us in our fight. Send your fathers, brothers, sons, any able-bodied man to train with the Royal Vacantian Army so that we may defeat these monsters once and for all. Your country needs you, your Queen needs you!”
The sounds from the crowd are deafening as Lyra meekly bows to her subjects and slips back into the palace.
Chapter 19
Andromeda
Andromeda was awake and dressed before even her ladies maids had climbed from their beds and trickled in to prepare her things. By the time Daegan arrived to escort her, Andromeda was sitting in a high-backed chair lined in lichen and sea moss disinterestedly flipping through a tome on a long ago war between the five first families of Perscesia.
“You ready?” Daegan asks as he scrubs his hands over his face to force himself more alert.
“I’ve been ready,” Andromeda points out as she sets the book aside and crosses the room.
“That’s good,” Daegan murmurs distractedly, barely glancing in Andromeda’s direction. “Carina wants to see you before we leave for the ships.”
“Hey,” Andromeda says quietly as she places a tentative hand on Daegan’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“What?” Daegan asks as his eyes snap to hers. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You seem distracted,” Andromeda points out.
Daegan shrugs off her hand, “We’re going to war against the Landborn, Princess. It’s not something to take lightly. Especially when we are surfacing to the unlikelihood of having a single ally among the landwalkers.”
“I get it,” Andromeda nods slowly, “I really do. It’s a frightening thing knowing that not one, but three kingdoms could be against you before you have a chance to plead your case. I’ve trained for combat my entire life and still my stomach churns at the thought of facing Lyra and her puppets.”
“I will protect you,” Daegan says as he grasps Andromeda’s hands. “I won’t let the Mad Queen near you.”
Andromeda rolls her eyes and shakes her head, “I am more than capable of holding my own, you know.”
“I’m aware,” Daegan smiles as his thumb caresses hers. “Fine then, I will fight beside you and never let you out of my sight. I will die with you if that’s what it takes. I am honor bound to you.”
Andromeda frowns. “No, cut the shi’ite. I’m not going to have your death on my hands. If I die in battle against Lyra, you better do everything
in your power to cut down as many enemies as you can. Otherwise I’ll have to escape Baster’s palace and kick your ass.”
“Such pretty words from a princess,” Daegan teases.
“Whatever,” Andromeda snorts as she shoves Daegan playfully and steps into the corridor.
Carina is waiting for Andromeda in her strategy room. A steaming mug of squid ink warms Carina’s palms as she looks up from the table when Andromeda and Daegan step inside the room. Ezra sits at the far end of the table laughing at the cooing dark haired babe squirming in his arms.
“Wink!” Andromeda cries out in relief as she races around the table and crouches down in front of the baby. Looking at him now Andromeda can’t believe she didn’t see the hint of Perscesian in the child.
His skin is pinker than hers or the other Perscesians but still much grayer and paler than the Vacantian villagers Andromeda and Midge grew up around.
“Do you remember your cousin, Eda?” Ezra asks the child, his voice more alive and alight with mischief than Andromeda has ever heard it before.
The boy, in response, reaches out and tugs one of Andromeda’s dark curls then bursts into delighted giggles that brings a smile to nearly everyone in the room.
“It feels like he’s grown so much since the last time I held him,” Ezra kisses the child’s downy head.
“He eats like a beast,” Carina comments as she studies some papers spread before her. “He was onto solid food within days of his arrival.”
“Since you kidnapped him, you mean.” Ezra shoots Carina a look.
Carina ignores him turning her attention instead to Andromeda. “I trust you know how to use that weapon you arrived with?”
Andromeda pats the aquaswift sword sheathed at her waist, “I do.”
It took Andromeda days after her arrival in Faeloria to discover Daegan had brought the sword with them to the palace and placed it among the belongings in her bedchamber. Daegan and Andromeda had been working the past few days to find a way to alter the blade.
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