by Paris Hansch
Oh, no.
This wasn’t a battle of the Lanadese. This was treason against the empire itself.
“I found them! They’re still breathing,” called Ban.
Anton jogged over with the rest of them, but a silver glint in the snow caught his eye. He crouched, peering at the sword. It pulsated with a slight violet glow, the same glow that he’d seen throughout his body earlier. He realized that there were two swords—one stuck in a body, the other laying by his feet. He narrowed his eyes. They each had that script on them. The same scribbles his little sister was always going on about. And the imperial crest.
She must have stolen them; these swords were clearly property of the imperial family. That’s why the empire had come. And his brother had gotten caught in the crossfire. He shook his head. The girl must have been hiding them in Anadrieth this entire time. Coward. But that would mean that the empire believed that they had been concealing a thief. Anton swallowed. Depending on how important these artifacts were, the entire region could be condemned for high treason.
He was about to get up when the sword glowed a little bit brighter. It had that same presence about it, the same as he had felt when the girl was in the arena, the same as his hallucination. Anton reached out a hand, and his palm connected with the blade.
A scream tore at his throat, but no sound came out. Searing pain coursed through his arm. He couldn’t pull back, couldn’t pull away. His vision blurred, his senses both muted and incredibly sharp.
A foreign land, yet intimately familiar. Titanic creatures soared above, tails as large as rivers. A silent song tugged on his spirit.
Anton felt his face hit the snow. There was an overwhelming presence commanding his attention, his sacrifice—the circle of three.
Mysoviere, mysoviere.
Then, nothing.
Anton shot up, his fingers gripping blankets. He swung his head around wildly, blinking through the darkness. Had he had another episode? He took a few deep breaths to calm his heart. No, this was different. It was far from his usual episode but no less confusing.
There was a bandage wrapped around his left hand. He attempted to unravel it, but he was unable to get past the last layer where his raw flesh stuck to the cloth. He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. Better not touch it.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw his brother and the girl lying in the infirmary next to him, still passed out. He could hear Elaine snoring in her room next door. She must not have had enough energy left to heal his wound.
Anton’s feet hit the cold floor, and he leaned close to see the gentle rise and fall of his brother’s chest. He looked worse for wear, but at least it seemed like he’d make it through the night. He wandered over to the girl, gritting his teeth. That stupid servant girl. He should end her now while she was weak. It would save everyone else the trouble. He’d been right all along, but she was more dangerous than he’d ever imagined. Anton looked around for a weapon.
He felt a hand creep over his shoulder as the woman laid her head against him and muttered in his ear, detailing the many ways he could go about it. There were plenty of weapons right in front of him; he just had to get creative. Then, there were the twin swords laying on the bedside table, suffocating in layers of cloth. Alexander might hate him for it, but he would get over it eventually. This was the moment.
A sudden pang hit him in the chest, and he sunk to his knees. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill someone. Not again. The woman’s presence left him with a bad taste in his mouth. Besides, there was also no way he was going near those swords again.
Anton banged his head against the bed. Something was wrong with him. His mind drifted, the smell of the barbarian’s foul breath wafting across the room. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Go away.
It wasn’t real—the weight of the dead body crushing his own, threatening to take him down.
It’s not real.
There was an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. None of it was ever real. Was he fated to slowly lose his mind? Anton punched the stone floor, then bit his tongue, cradling his wrist. Wrong hand.
The room suddenly became brighter, and he leaped up with a start. His brother and the girl were glowing, an ethereal violet surrounding their entire bodies, concentrated at their hearts. Her light was unbearably bright. The swords were glowing, too. They both held an indescribable warmth, a fluttering innocence.
Anton rubbed his eyes, blinking furiously. Tiny colored lights danced through the air, everywhere he looked, and he backed away, bumping into the wall. This was far more intense than it had ever been. When he looked up again, everything was back to normal. It wasn’t just his eye acting up this time—it was his whole mind. A laugh escaped his throat. He was truly going insane. Maybe it was time he just embraced it.
Anton ran down the hall toward his room, a little bubble of air under each step. He jumped into his bed, grinning into his pillow. Perhaps there was peace in being insane. That would be nice.
Two days had passed since the incident, and the whole of Anadrieth was gossiping about who this servant girl really was. Anton stalked down the hall with dark circles under his eyes. Yet another night without sleep.
He’d heard nothing but talk of that girl and whether his brother was going to be fit enough to lead them into war. Alexander this, Alexander that. No one really cared about his brother’s wellbeing; they were just interested in self-preservation. And gossip; can’t forget how fascinating the gossip was. Neither Alexander nor the girl had woken up yet, and the rumors were growing out of control, becoming more outlandish every day.
Anton shook his head, willing the little lights to go away. He’d seen Elaine about his eye, but the lights didn’t seem to have anything to do with his vision, and she’d avoided his questions. Maybe he could tire himself out in the training grounds instead by hitting some things. That seemed like a manly thing to do, and though it wasn’t the ideal nighttime activity, it might send him to sleep at last.
As he neared the training grounds, he paused, spying one shape hiding behind a pillar and another lurking on the grounds. Anton stuck to the shadows. Was it an intruder? Maybe he should call the guards.
Moonlight illuminated the area briefly as the dark cloud drifted away. The figure behind the pillar was his brother, watching the figure on the grounds—the girl.
Anton frowned. He hadn’t been informed that they were conscious. What in dragon’s name were they doing?
The girl swung her swords around with frantic grace, her bandages discarded in a heap. Her chest heaved, and her exhaustion was evident. Droplets of rain started to fall, and Anton edged back as far into the shadows as he could. Slowly, the rain grew heavier.
Blood seeped through the girl’s shoulder, the water enlarging the stain. She faltered, clutching her wound. It seemed to spur her on, and her strikes grew more fervent. Although she fought only air, she swung with a force that looked like it could smash iron walls. It was nothing like her duel. This was carnal.
The girl let out a roar, and Anton held his breath, gripping his arms around himself. He couldn’t help but shudder.
Alexander ran out to her, and suddenly her blade was at his throat.
Anton’s hand went for his sword, but it wasn’t there. Of course, it wasn’t; he didn’t sleep with it, unlike his brother. It was stupid of him to wander the grounds without it, though.
After a moment, his brother drew his sword, and she came at him with incredible speed. Anton watched with his mouth agape. Now they were fighting? His brother was the best fighter he knew, but he was barely surviving on the defensive. Alexander was quickly disarmed, and his sword flung several paces away. It wasn’t surprising, considering her show against General Barrett. Not only was she some sort of terrifying beast, but she was also a trained fighter, just like he’d always said.
The girl fell to her knees, grasping her arms.
“Two years… two years!” she cried.
Anton hugged the wall
as she pounded her fist into the ground, sending out a minor shock wave with each blow. That same aura surrounded her, but it was not nearly as intense. She’d better not do what she did in the arena, or they’d all be in trouble.
His brother didn’t seem frightened as he knelt in front of her.
“And this! I’ve never made a mistake like this,” the girl exclaimed, gesturing at her wound. “Two years out of practice.”
Alexander pulled her into an embrace, and they stared at each other. Then, he pressed his lips against hers.
Anton retched silently. That had to be the worst method of courting he’d ever seen. Thank dragons no one else was here to see that.
“Are you serious?” Anton blurted out.
Alexander turned toward him in shock, grabbing his sword. Anton emerged from behind the wall, and his brother sighed.
Alexander stood, helping the girl to her feet and reaching for her swords.
“Don’t,” she said, retrieving them herself.
Anton narrowed his eyes. She was holding them with her bare hands, but she wouldn’t let Alexander touch them. That temptress must have enchanted them somehow; that’s why they glowed. He had just found out the hard way. He clenched his bandaged fist. It still hurt.
They walked past him without a word. His brother didn’t even look at him.
Anton pursed his lips, spinning in the opposite direction and stomping back to his room. He could have lived his entire life without having witnessed that.
Utterly disgusting.
So much for training himself to sleep. It seemed like it was going to be yet another sleepless night. Anton threw himself into bed, crossing his arms. His gaze was drawn to the window, where the subsiding rain was a glowing shower of deep blue. As strange as everything in his life was, the rain had never looked more beautiful.
For the third time in just over a week, Lord Alexander’s council was assembled in the great hall. Anton fidgeted in his seat. The air was stifling, and no one spoke. They were meeting as early as possible, but the anticipation was killing him. Alexander clearly had nothing against the girl, and he looked forward to seeing how he would talk his way out of this one.
General Barrett had his eyes firmly fixed on the table in front of him. His wounded pride made him even more irritable and dangerous than normal.
His brother entered with Adelia and the girl in tow. The girl was dressed in finery, her swords hanging on a belt around her waist. They hadn’t had sheaths before, but they certainly did now. They were decorated too, all imperial-like with golden designs on the white sheaths. Where was she getting all of this stuff? Anton’s eyes darted around the room; the other men looked just as perplexed, but this time, they didn’t object to the presence of the two women.
Alexander didn’t sit in his chair; instead, he stood to the right of it.
“Gentlemen, I understand that recent events have been nothing short of confusing and frightening, and the rumors have gotten out of hand. I can’t apologize enough that I wasn’t as present as I should have been. However, I hope this meeting will clear up any questions you might have.” He bowed his head, one arm across his chest. “It is my honor to present to you Her Imperial Highness, Princess Mina, the long-missing heiress to the empire.”
Anton gaped. There was a long moment of silence throughout the room before he’d finally had enough.
“What?” His brother was not usually one for practical jokes, and this was certainly not the time to start. Nervous laughter broke out amongst the table, the men’s disbelief echoing throughout the room.
“Nonsense.”
“That clumsy servant troublemaker? Impossible.”
“She’s manipulating you.”
“A pretty dress doesn’t make her our princess.”
“Ridiculous.”
Anton shut his mouth immediately. He could feel it again, strong and controlled. The girl’s presence radiated across the room, and her left hand raised in a claw-like pose. A violet, ethereal shape extended from her arm, forming a transparent dragon claw. It looked exactly like her glowing form, only this time, everyone else seemed to be able to see it, too.
The silence only lasted for an instant before a deafening crack echoed in the hall. In one smooth motion, she brought her great claw through the table, her talons shredding the mahogany with the ease of cutting through butter. Giant splinters flew across the room, and the men threw themselves to the floor in panic.
Anton fell backward on his chair, landing in a heap.
The claw gradually receded, and her arm was once again normal. The girl leisurely drew one of her swords, holding it in front of her face, the imperial crest clearly visible. She took slow steps through the wreckage. The men scrambled to press their foreheads to the floor.
Anton averted his eyes as she passed. Whether she was truly the missing princess or not, she was dangerous; that, he could admit.
Her voice cut through the room’s tangible fear.
“Long ago, my ancestors desperately desired power to forge this empire and put an end to war, once and for all. The power of the dragon gods came at a price—a curse that could not be broken by death. After a certain incident, this power passed into legend over the last four hundred years.” She dragged the tip of her sword across the ground. “But I assure you, that absolute authority has always been present. No one would blink if I were to execute all of you for your display of treasonous behavior.”
Her sword rested on the back of Councilor Dallan’s neck, his body visibly trembling.
“So fragile.” A drop of blood rolled down his skin as the sword pierced him. “However, I am not without mercy.”
She walked back to the head of the table, placing herself in his brother’s chair and leaning against one armrest, one leg crossed over the other. Some of the men began to offer apologies, but she waved her hand.
A messenger barged into the room, throwing himself at their feet. He looked unsure of who to turn to as he held a letter above his head.
“Urgent news from Lanadrin!”
The girl took the envelope, breaking the seal. Her expression didn’t change, as though she expected what was written there.
“I called this meeting to discuss the future of Anadrieth,” she said. “Currently, the reigning power in the capital believes that Lord Alexander has kidnapped me, which resulted in the aftermath you found us in. I will attempt to rectify this, but the situation has its… delicacies, which will take time to unravel.”
The girl shrugged. “In regards to the war, negotiations on my behalf won’t help. At the present time, Lanadrin and Calvera back my cousin, Prince Yukiya.” She spat his name, holding up the letter from the messenger.
The words last chance were scrawled across the page in large handwriting—presumably Lord Tamar’s—and it was marked with the Lanadese and Calveran seals. Beside them lay the imperial seal. Anton sucked in a breath, while those around him murmured their shock. There could be no clearer declaration of support. They had no chance now. It was over.
The girl continued as though nothing were amiss. “For now, we need to bolster the strength of the Anadese army, which is severely lacking. We’re going to need to move quickly. Barrett, I want your men ready in precisely one hour.”
General Barrett pursed his lips but bowed his head all the same.
Anton raised his eyebrows. Not even the general was going to challenge her anymore. His fingers touched a piece of the table. Well, it wasn’t particularly surprising. Even the most stubborn of men would grovel under an unknown power. Anton was going to have to be more careful, but it would take more than a broken table to convince him that she should be followed. She might be the princess, but he didn’t have to like it.
“Prepare five rooms,” she said. “I have no doubt that some guests will be arriving shortly, given the news.” She pointed to Alexander, Adelia and, finally, Anton. “Come with me. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Anton hesitated. He had no reason to go with her.
He felt her gaze upon him—on second thought, he wasn’t doing anything else. He got up immediately, following her out.
The aura surrounding her now was completely different. She was no longer the clumsy servant girl who broke everything in sight. He wasn’t sure what to think, but he was definitely going to keep an eye on her.
The four of them entered the war room, the door clicking shut behind them.
She gestured for them to have a seat, beaming.
“I’d like to thank you all for taking care of me, as you had every reason not to. In hindsight, it may have been a good idea to visit so that you would have actually recognized me, but in the end, things happen how they should. Speak freely, for I consider all of you my friends.”
Anton frowned. That was clearly a lie. He had only ever treated her with well-deserved contempt and cynicism. She just wanted him to put his foot in his mouth; then, she would trip him up. He remained silent. His sister, however, did not.
“I knew there was something about you,” said Adelia, almost bouncing in her seat. Her excitement didn’t surprise him; this was the equivalent of meeting her childhood hero.
His brother nodded. “Will you please explain… what’s going on?”
She leaned back in her chair, then glanced at Anton. He looked past her at a spot on the wall. This should be good.
“I’ll start from the beginning, then. It was the very last night I spent as a child.”
12
Chapter Twelve