“It is,” she said, looking back out at the ocean and its white-capped waves, the salt water nearly reaching her before retreating. During high tide, the surf pounded against the castle wall. “And to think, it has always been this way and will be still after we are gone.”
“My James,” he said, dropping to the sand beside her. And with those words, she was fifteen again, and he had found her here, in their spot where they often held each other and mapped the stars. There, he would say, tracing lines that she couldn't see, connecting the shimmering white dots into shapes. The Lady of the Clouds. When we rule this kingdom, we'll be so fierce that she'll bow to us and there will never be another dry season. She could almost feel his arms around her, his breath on her neck as they laughed and imagined battles in the sky.
She forced herself to look at him, to bring herself back from that simpler time. “Not your James,” she said. “Not anymore.”
He smiled, and his face became impossibly more beautiful. “Always have been, and will be still,” he said, using her words.
“You mistake me for something as unchangeable as the ocean.” She moved to stand, to leave him behind as he had left her, but he grasped her hand and she paused. The feeling was so familiar that she would have leaned forward and kissed him had he not spoken.
“Where's Darcey, James? Is it true what they're saying?”
“What are they saying?” Her mind raced, but she couldn't let it show, not with his eyes on her. The wind whipped his hair into a frenzy and he released her hand to smooth it back.
“That she is dying.”
She made herself laugh. “Silly rumors,” she said, and she vowed to send all the women who had attended Darcey into the dungeons.
“I need to see her for myself, then,” he said.
“Wynn—” she started, but he held up a hand.
“No tricks, James. This could mean a war between our kingdoms. Show me my bride.”
It should have been me, Jamisen thought. Here I am. “Fine,” she said instead. “We'll meet you in the study. I trust you remember where it is.” She did walk away then, sure-footed on the sand, the salt water spray stinging her eyes.
✽✽✽
Jamisen arrived to find Darcey alone, with blood-splattered sheets bunched up to her chin, her cheeks red with heat. She stood staring at her little sister for a long time—the flushed cheeks, the nearly invisible rise and fall of her chest, the wheezing rattle of her breaths. The blood was new. The blood was bad. Blood Flu was rare in the dry season and usually affected only the old or the very young. But she couldn’t ignore the evidence now. Her father had been gone in a matter of days after the blood reached his lungs.
“Darcey,” Jamisen said, her hand on her sister's shoulders. The skin there was clammy to the touch. The younger girl didn't stir. Jamisen shouted for Darcey's maid. No one came.
Cursing, Jamisen went to the wash basin and soaked a cloth in the tepid water. As soon as she placed it on Darcey's brow, it grew too warm. She looked down at Darcey's soft, round face and wondered if this was the end. If she would ever see those warm blue eyes open again.
It wasn't a noise in the doorway that drew her attention so much as a feeling. She lifted her eyes and there stood their mother.
“Is she dead?” The older woman's voice was a whisper, but still too loud for the small room.
Wouldn't you know if she were? Jamisen wanted to ask. Don't you know when a part of your own heart stops beating? “No,” she answered.
“What do we do?”
“What can we do?” Jamisen asked. “Wynn is going to have Hail, one way or another.”
“We should leave.” Her mother had not moved from the doorway. Jamisen dropped her eyes back to Darcey lest her mother see the hatred there.
“You go, Mother,” she said. The woman's relief was nearly palpable. “Take the Farer and sail east for the Fields. Take Carys with you.” The Fields was her mother's homeland across the sea, known to be barbaric and dangerous. Her father had traveled there on a failed diplomatic mission, and Lady Lyess had stolen away in the cargo hold, where she stayed undiscovered until the ship docked back in Hail. Jamisen thought that even given the manner of her departure, they would take her back, their lost princess and her golden-haired daughters.
“Carys won't go.”
“Try. And Darcey. We'll load her tonight.”
“She won't survive the journey.”
Jamisen whirled on her. Where had that brave girl gone? Who was this frail, scared woman who stood before her? “Can you please just go secure the ship and the crew?” Trembling, Lady Lyess left on silent feet. Wynn was surely in the study by now, waiting. How long before he went to her rooms, then the queen's quarters? How long before a servant directed him here?
Closing the door, she began to cleanse her sister with the cloth and water from the basin. She wiped the sweat from her forehead, dabbed the blood from her chin. She was gentle in her ministrations, saying goodbye, not just to this sick sixteen-year-old, but to the girl that had come before. The cautious sister sent to balance out Carys' recklessness and Jamisen's stubbornness. The girl with the easy laugh, who danced instead of walked, sang instead of talked. The kind sister, always giving all of herself to others until suddenly there was nothing left but the broken body of a dying girl.
✽✽✽
Uncle Rollo slung Darcey’s feverish frame between his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her father’s brother, he had asked no questions when Jamisen had summoned him in the middle of the night. Instead, he had appeared in the doorway looking wide-awake and fully-dressed, ready to serve. Together, they crept through the halls. The docks were not far from the palace, but sneaking through the corridors and keeping to the shadows slowed their progress.
The Farer was not the only ship in port, but it was the fastest, and the only one ready to sail in the dead of night. When they arrived, two tight-lipped sailors took Darcey from her uncle and carried her into the cabin below.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Jamisen said, grasping Rollo’s callused hands between her own. “You should leave Orabel. Go home to your family until this has passed. Keep your grandson safe.”
“I could never leave you girls,” Rollo said, but she saw the doubt in his own eyes. His son had recently had a son of his own, and the little boy was the light of Rollo’s life. The thought of anything happening to him would be enough.
“It isn’t a request. It’s an order.”
Uncle Rollo nodded and pulled her into a hug. He smelled so much like her father that tears pricked Jamisen’s eyes. She sniffed and blinked them away before releasing him and shoving him toward the gangplank.
Lady Lyess appeared behind her and greeted her oldest daughter solemnly.
“Care for her, Mother,” Jamisen said as Rollo disappeared from view. She passed her the Hailian crown—a small circlet of intricately woven gold and silver strands that would someday sit again on a Malstrom’s brow. Jamisen refused to allow herself to believe otherwise. “Perhaps the sea air will help her.”
“Perhaps,” Lady Lyess said, turning the crown over in her hands. She was clothed head to toe in black, and though Jamisen knew it was for stealth, part of her believed her mother was prepared to mourn.
“Where's Carys?” Jamisen asked.
“I couldn't find her,” Lady Lyess confessed. Doubt tugged at Jamisen's thoughts. Should they wait? Should they keep looking? She shook her head—no, there was no time.
“No matter,” she said. She began to disembark but turned back. Her mother stood still, a silent beacon amidst the chaos of a departing ship. “You cannot come back. Not until I come for you. Keep the queen safe, and wait for me.”
An unexpected smile crossed Lady Lyess' lips, and for a moment, Jamisen thought she saw the girl that she had once been—scared but brave too, daring and cunning enough to sail across the ocean undiscovered. “You’re a force, James, a woman to fear.”
Jamisen offered a smile to her mother before turning an
d walking back down the gangplank. She could only hope that Prince Wynn Crowheart felt the same way.
✽✽✽
Jamisen closed the bedroom door behind her and finally relaxed. If nothing else, her mother and Darcey were safe. She refused to believe that Darcey would die. She would not die. She turned the dial on the lamp by her door and a flame caught—one of Carys' only non-weapon inventions, a little bit of magic that anyone could perform, whether or not they were touched by Enos. Crossing to the wash basin, she splashed water on her face.
“What is that smell?” came a familiar voice. Whirling around, Jamisen pressed her back to the vanity that held the basin. Water splashed over her hands and dripped to the floor. A figure stepped into the circle of light cast by the lamp.
“Wynn,” she said. “You surprised me.” He looked different than he had on the beach—wilder, madder, hungrier. Her knife was strapped to her leg, and there was another in her boot. Could she reach one before he attacked her?
“Salt,” he said, ignoring her. “Fish. Sweat. Not very ladylike.” He ticked a finger at her as if she were a naughty child.
“I never claimed to be ladylike.”
“I waited. Where is she, James?”
“I told you, she isn't feeling well. Perhaps she'll be down for breakfast.” Jamisen tried to feign nonchalance, which would have been easier if she didn't have to look at him, but she didn't dare turn her back on him. Instead, she crossed to her bed and sat, unlacing a leather boot. Her fingers brushed the hilt of a knife.
“And I told you that I would see her tonight, or—”
“Or what, Wynn?” she asked, dropping all pretense of formality, looking up at him. “You'll attack? You'll take by force what is already to be yours in a few months' time?”
“You know as well as I do that if she dies, the betrothal contract is void. Your precious Hail will be ripe for the picking, and I plan to be the first in the tree.” Hail under Crowheart rule, its people forced into slavery, her family hunted down and murdered.
“She's not dying,” Jamisen said, but even she could hear the tremble in her voice.
“That's not what I heard.” Wynn moved closer. The flickering lamplight cast changing shadows across his face. “You and I,” he said, “we could do this together.”
She laughed, removing her boot and holding it in her hand, the knife concealed inside. “There is no you and I,” she said.
“Don't be foolish.” He took the boot from her and set it on the bed, then gathered her hands in his, pulling her to her feet. “It has always been you and me, and Hail will always be ours. You love it as I do. As if it were yours already when really it could slip away from you at any moment. Everyone knows you should have been queen. So take it, with me at your side.”
Somehow, Wynn had looked into her eyes and seen the very darkest parts of her. The thoughts and desires that she kept hidden even from herself. She saw it now as she had seen it a thousand times in her dreams—the crown on her head, Wynn at her side, the rain blessing their union, her kingdom. Their kingdom. His hands tightened around hers. Startled back into the present, she looked up at him.
“Wynn,” she said. My Wynn, she used to call him. “I cannot betray my sister. Betraying her is to betray Hail, don't you see?”
“You cannot betray a dead woman.”
“She isn't dead.” This time, her voice did not falter.
He dropped his hands to her waist and the touch was at once familiar and foreign. The hands were bigger, their grip was stronger, but he smelled the same as ever—of fresh air and mint leaves. He pulled her to him, lowering his head until their lips almost touched. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she thought of the knife, nearly within reach. How easy it would be to end this now.
“Sunrise,” he said, and she felt his breath on her lips. “Tell me your decision then.” And with that final ultimatum, he turned and left the room as silently as he had appeared.
✽✽✽
Jamisen did not sleep that night. She spent hours searching for Carys, even going so far as to rouse the smith from his bed, but he had not seen her. In Carys' rooms, she dug through a collection of metalwork contraptions until she found what she needed, knowing that her sister wouldn't mind if it was put to good use. Then she stood at the great windows and looked out over the expanse of the Crows' camp wondering if Carys was out there somewhere, and if she would ever return, or if the three Malstrom sisters were forever separated from each other.
Before the sun rose, when the sky was still purple and dappled with stars, she dressed, selecting a green and gold gown with long sleeves in spite of the heat. She left her auburn hair hanging loose down her back, only pulling the front back from her face.
The walk through the palace was quiet, the staff subdued. Outside, the sky had begun to lighten. She cast her eyes once over the ocean. There was no sign of the Farer. She stood on the steps much as she had the morning before, but this time, she was alone. She did not have her mother to use as a shield, or her sister to say what no one else would, or her uncle to come to her aid. A sacrifice willingly given. This was how it should have been all along—the eldest sister, the hardest, the meanest, the coldest—sacrificing herself for the kingdom that would never be hers.
But could it be? She had turned Wynn's proposal over in her mind all night. There was no one to stop her. No one to tell her that she could not have what she had always wanted, what should have been hers. But the crown had left with her sister—a reminder of who she was and would be again. Without it, Jamisen would always be just an imposter, and so would anyone else who dared to touch the throne.
A small group emerged from the Crows’ camp and began its slow processional to the front steps. She glanced over her shoulder to see that her own guard was still there with a small group of her personal staff. Eyes forward again, she watched them approach. The shadow of the castle seemed to retreat before them as the sun rose to another cloudless day. Sweat prickled the back of Jamisen's neck already.
As the group drew nearer and their features came into focus, Jamisen's vision flashed red with rage. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked. Her rush forward was stopped by two Dusk guards. Wynn smirked at her. Behind him, her hands bound and her face bloody, one eye swollen shut, he led Carys at the end of a short rope, like a farmer leading a cow to slaughter.
“A little something to help you make your decision,” he said, “in case you were considering making the wrong one.” Jamisen pulled away from the guards detaining her and took a step back.
“It doesn't matter!” Carys shouted. Wynn jerked the rope and she staggered forward, her knees hitting the stone path.
“I think it does matter to you, James,” Wynn said. She felt the metal then, warming against her wrist, Carys’ clockwork contraption a reminder still secure inside her sleeve. “You can save her, or you can kill her.”
“Innis won't stand for it,” she said.
He spread his hands and looked around. “I don't see him here.”
Would he do it? Kill her sister just to spite her? No, maybe not to spite her. But to take Hail from her, he might.
“Okay,” she said, the word bitter on her lips. Her own guards murmured, but Wynn didn't move. For a full minute, he scrutinized her face from the spot behind his guards. She was sweating in the long-sleeved dress, directly in the sunlight now. The metal band around her wrist seemed to burn with sudden heat.
“Okay,” Wynn finally said, and she was surprised to hear relief in his voice. He handed Carys' leash to the guard beside him and moved up the steps, brushing past the others until he was directly in front of Jamisen. She tried to imagine what it would be like waking up beside him every day, knowing what he had done, knowing that he didn't want her, only the kingdom that came with her, the people of Hail subdued by her steady presence.
He reached out for her and gripped the back of her neck. “I knew you'd come around,” he said quietly, for just the two of them. “You were always the one I wanted.
” Like she and her sisters were horses on auction. He leaned in to kiss her and she turned her head, pressing her cheek to his. She caught Carys' eyes.
“I'm sorry,” Jamisen mouthed. Carys lifted her head, thin lips curling into a smile. A shadow passed over the girl’s face, but Jamisen did not have time to appreciate the cloud that drifted in front of the sun. Wynn turned his head, confused, when, with a flick of her wrist, gears whirred and a blade sang out from its hidden sheath and into her palm. She slid it between Wynn's ribs before he could even look down. She drew it back out and then drove it home again and again before anyone else even moved, the wet sound something she knew she would never, ever forget.
Chaos erupted. Hands gripped Jamisen's arms, hauling her away from the dying prince, throwing her to the ground. Someone landed a blow across her face and she rolled to her back. In the hands of the enemy, Carys screamed. Something wet landed on Jamisen’s cheek. Blood, she thought, but her hand came away clean. Metal clashed with metal. Men grunted. Then more drops fell until she was soaked through, and she lay there laughing as rain and bodies fell around her. Blood for water. Blood for blood. Her blood and Wynn's, running down the steps to join Carys’ blood on the stones below.
Miles away, a ship rocked on violent waves, the mainmast touching the low, gray clouds. Thunder clapped, and in the cabin, the Queen of Hail awoke.
✽✽✽
Continue the story!
WHEN RAINS FALL (The Lost Fields Book 1)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ONE OF CASSIDY TAYLOR’S earliest memories is flipping through a Peter Pan picture book and making up her own stories to go with the illustrations since she couldn’t read yet. It wasn’t long before she was writing her own stories, the first of which was called The Last Unicorn (not to be confused with the fabulous classic novel of the same name). As you might have guessed, it didn’t have a happy ending, and she’s been trying to make people cry ever since.
The Dry Season Page 2