Author: Devangi Vyasa

  • Chapter 4 – The Coldblood Paradox

    The only thing Fyrges value more than their myths are the prophecies written by Dacre Van Valhades II, a prince who gave up his title long ago to live as a saint in the mountains, training his exceptional seer abilities to perfection.

    The primary prophecy, written centuries ago, long before the death of Citrindalia and the events that followed, states: “On a fateful night, an unsuspecting family would find themselves on the brink of death, caused by the last person they could expect to be the perpetrator. They would die without knowing what caused Demiurge to turn their back on them. The last thought to flash across all of their minds would be the same — where is the fourth member of the group? Are they alive? The question will be answered in time, the day the land splits and the ravens cry out, for Demiurge has not two eyes but four. Two to watch, and two to see.”

    — The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall Of Learning

    ~ Zir ~

    The clock strikes eight and immediately draws my attention. The Citrindally Codex has occupied me longer than intended. Where is everybody?

    “Cecil!” I summon him and he flies out from under the fireplace.

    “What foreign business were you carrying out in the chimney?” I ask as he shakes ash all over the carpet.

    “Saw a juicy frog, couldn’t help but follow.”

    I rest my tilted head over my palm out of pure boredom. “You never caught it, did you?”

    “You try catching food that moves that fast someday, then we’ll talk!”

    “Whatever. Can you check in with Yer? Uliya should have shown up an hour ago.”

    “AN HOUR AGO? And you’re telling me this right now! What if Yer is in danger! Damn you, Zir, I—”

    All it takes is throwing the rest of my water at him to pause his meltdown. He shakes it off and gifts me his death stare. I return a smug smirk in his direction.

    “Exactly the vigilance I wanted from you. Now go be of use.” He disappears through the window in a matter of microseconds. I should use Yer being in danger as an excuse to get him moving more often. It is evil, but Cecil can pester me mercilessly at the oddest intervals.

    Another hour passes. Until I find out about Uliya’s whereabouts, then time seems to slow down immensely.

    Beyond disgusting. Is this how humans usually smell when they are packed together for their evening affairs? I might throw up.

    I walk a few steps inside from the back door of the tavern and find myself among an intensely buzzing, inhumanely loud crowd. Fyrges have ten times the smelling ability of humans, and there is nothing in the world I despise more than that fact right now. Demiurge help me. Cecil and Yer are so lucky to be up on the roof. I keep my hands inside the pockets of my black three piece to avoid the horrifying likelihood of further physical contact with anyone. Most men and women are dancing freely with their arms wrapped around each other. Others drink and flirt at the bar counter. My eyes get busy scanning the large room for any sign of her, only to be forcefully halted by a woman who is half buried in my chest by the time I notice.

    “Hello. A handsome young man like you must fancy someone special tonight?”

    She appears close to my age and meets every standard of conventional beauty, from the captivating blue eyes to the luscious brown curls swaying past her corseted waist. She seems to be a lesserborn from the material of her tightly fitted blue gown and the fake gems encrusted on her hairpins. Not that it would have mattered if she were wealthy. I do not sexually engage with humans, never have and never will. It is a principle.

    “Clearly not you, then. Excuse me.”

    Her smile falls immediately. I brush past her and move further into the crowd.

    Four more women try and fail to start a conversation with me before I finally find her at the far end of the room. Uliya is sitting remarkably calm for this hellhole of a place, the source of her relaxation being the two women seated on either side of her, whose lips she is switching between every few seconds. I cut to the chase immediately, because I would rather perish than be subjected to the sight of any family member’s intimate acts — and she has clearly progressed well beyond kissing, judging by the way her hands are tracing their half-exposed figures in those uncomfortably tight reedlinen gowns.

    “Stop that right now.”

    I stand directly in front of her and, for once, register genuine surprise on her face as she breaks the kiss and moves her hands back into her lap.

    “Zir? What are you doing here?” She stands quickly as the full realisation hits her.

    “You were supposed to be at my place an hour ago. At least inform me if you do not intend to come.”

    She raises an eyebrow in challenge. “Can’t you see I am occupied? Go back.”

    “Not without you. We need to talk.”

    I make sure to bring out my most no-nonsense voice to make the point clear. She rolls her eyes at me, utterly unfazed.

    “Right, like I answer to your wishes now.”

    “Uliya.”

    “Stay if you can bear to watch your little sister explore every corner of their bodies, because I sincerely plan to do exactly that tonight. I am not leaving until I do.”

    Filled with rage to the brim, I am forced to use the alternative. Only my sister can push me to this point.

    I focus on the ice rising in my veins and aim it across the room with my third eye, sweeping from left to right just as she turns her back to sit. Every sign of human life in the room freezes, thick blocks of ice encasing them where they stand.

    She turns and looks around in shock.

    “What did you do?”

    I respond with a cocky smirk. “Say another word, and every human here melts into nothingness with the snap of my finger. Including those women you clearly enjoy so much. It is already warm in here, so I suggest you make a quick choice, my darling sister.”

    She knows better than to argue. She lands a glare my way before giving a forced half nod.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 3 – Fata Viam Invenient

    There is a myth that says all of Fyrgen’s treasures were sourced from the Xerat Range in the north-west of the continent, and another that claims Demiurge to be the source of every single one of those jewels. I never believed in anything that wasn’t pure science, so the ideas seemed absurd enough to not even be considered as mythology to me.

    As a child, I thought this overall theme of resolute pragmatism was what made my peers distance themselves from me. But years later, my mother finally told me the real reason. I am not only a royal heir of the Valhades Dynasty, but the eldest of them — destined to sit upon Citrindally’s throne. A seat that has driven every soul who has occupied it to ruin, by disease or madness or both. Which I personally thought was much worse than simply being wealthy and different.

    — Princess Kushiana van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall of Learning

    ~Kushiana~

    It has been close to sixteen hours since I left Zir and Uliya alone in that room, and the regret is only getting worse. I must have been out of my senses to react like a juvenile.

    A slash on my shoulder from Master Hinjk’s sword brings me back to reality. “Five more misses and you’ll perch straight on Demiurge’s lap,” he declares coldly in his usual no-nonsense low pitch as I run a steady hand of power over my split shoulder, stitching it back seamlessly.

    “Cut me some slack today. I disappointed Uliya and Zir. It’s messing with my mind.”

    He draws his sword away and sits on the bench behind him, hurriedly gulping water from his half-empty pitcher. “I doubt the enemy would let you ponder over your homely matters on the battle front,” he says once he is done.

    I scoff. “You say it like it’s inevitable.”

    “It is. And when the time comes, you must be prepared if you wish for your reign to continue.” He makes it sound like a casual remark one might toss out during breakfast. That is why he is our general. Master Hinjk may look intimidating with his six-foot-four height, bulky frame, lush beard and two matching tiny arrows tattooed right above his eyebrows, but in reality he is even tougher than that. The male is said to have killed nearly five hundred men single-handedly during the last war. When they captured him afterwards and threatened monstrosities for the rest of his immortal life, he barely smiled, cocked his head back laughing and said, “If the fallen angel expects me to experience his world alive, he shall have it. It will be good practice for the aftermath.”

    I shake my head. “Let’s pull through this session for now.”

    “Sure, Neeyn.” (Fyrgen term. Translation: a noble student)

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~Zir~

    It has been a long day keeping up my pretend duties at the Ministry, and I have finally retired to bed. Per my nightly tradition, I am busy reciting the ten Fyrgen rhymes into the slowly settling quiet of my mind. The routine never fails to help me release whatever lingering feelings make it hard to fall asleep. I am halfway through when I drift into a sweet, dense sleep, only to be woken minutes later by an earth-shaking roar. I wake with a terrible shudder to find that ethereal white lion on the wooden flooring, right in front of my bed. Again. This is the last thing I needed.

    “Hullo, Zir.”

    I rub my eyes hard to clear the glaze of sleep, and find Cecil fully wrapped inside his own wings on the hanging lamp below the ceiling.

    “Demiurge help you build some courage, Cecil. You cannot possibly still be scared of Nysleon.” I call out to him but he barely moves an inch. So I cross my arms and stare at the predator that has him so shaken instead. Nysleon has already laid himself down on the carpet and gotten busy licking his paws.

    “What business do you have in my bedchamber at midnight? There is no way Mother would send you at this hour for some petty matter.”

    “Well, she did ask me to get here this morning with the message, but I got engrossed in other official matters.” His voice is as nonchalant, baritone and shamelessly cocky as ever. I would bet my life he has done nothing of purpose since morning.

    “Just tell me what it is,” I say through clenched teeth, patience right on edge. Every interaction I have with Nysleon makes me want to murder him. He is the worst sort of companion. Spends the majority of his day frolicking in the woods. Far too proud of his own beauty. I have hardly ever seen him aiding my mother without having been asked first. She has spoiled him far more than she ever did with us. No wonder he is such an entitled, prickly lion.

    He ignores me for a moment before finally doing me the honour of getting back on all fours. “Most deeply beloved Zir, I have discussed the matter of your and Uliya’s arrival with your father, and it would suffice to say it added several more years to his already long and healthy life. I am writing to let you know that you do not have to wait for the specified date. The entirety of Citrindally and Fyrgen would be delighted to receive the two of you on any given day. Do not hold off any longer if you do not wish to stay there. May Demiurge entrust you with eternal glee, my son. Fend well.”

    He stops speaking and I feel a wave of absolute comfort sweep over me. We left Fyrgen under difficult circumstances, the sort that made me wonder if our parents would ever truly forgive us. The moment we stepped past the gates that day, I was overcome with the fear that in saving ourselves by challenging a preordained fate, we may have gambled our parents’ love away. Of course it was just noise in the back of my mind. They were angry for a week, but soon started writing to us, and within months they were sending their companions, Stavrosa and Nysleon, for immediate communication. Their love had always been unconditional. It was the looming fear of the curse that had blinded me and Uliya to it.

    A tear slips from my right eye when I finally realise it.

    “Shall I simply tell her your reply was visible on your face?” Nysleon purrs near my ear and I quickly pull myself together.

    “Don’t be bothersome. Tell her I’ll speak to Uliya and let her know a day before we are set to arrive. As of now, our plans remain the same. I have ministerial matters to attend to before I leave.”

    “All right. Work on the depth of your sleep. Mere roaring should not startle you the way it did.”

    “I prefer you keep your preposterous comments to yourself the next time you visit. Now if you could pain yourself enough to make a quick exit, I would be rather grateful.”

    He manoeuvres to the centre of the room. “I hear coloured ravens are more savoury than black ones,” he says in his purely predatory voice, and disappears within a flash as a crack of lightning breaks through the air and pulls him back in.

    Thank god I didn’t lose my patie—

    Incessant panicked cawing from the top corner of the room immediately reaches my ears.

    “Cecil! Stop it. He is not even here.”

    But he does not stop, so I get up and move a steady hand in his direction. He finally quiets as his nerves relax.

    “Demiurge saved me. I thought he was going to tear through my flesh any moment.”

    I roll my eyes so hard they might as well fall off my face.

    “Do you have to be that dense? It is common knowledge that his species can only survive on sheep or deer.”

    “That would not stop him from slaying me for amusement if he wanted to!”

    I scoff, more out of disinterest than anything else, as I settle back into bed. “You know he cannot kill you. You are a signed companion to me, just as he is to Mother. Stop being so wimpy. It makes me seem like a coward too.”

    “Not fair to pin it on me! You have always seemed like one.”

    It finally hits a nerve. I turn the lights off, muttering “stupid bird” under my breath. “Callous godling” is the last thing I hear before I drift back into that sweet sleep.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Kushiana ~

    “All hail the queen. Long live the dreams we have woven for you. Lifetimes of fortune gathered at your feet, may you drench in glory and prosperity for what is left of your empty, pitiless life, that will soon collapse with malady and madness.” The throne is engulfed in flames, flames that keep spreading until they embrace me fully and burn me to ashes.

    MAKE IT STOP.

    I wake with a sudden jolt, drenched in sweat across my upper body. It has happened again.

    “Twice this week already,” Agnes says from the chest where I usually find her perched.

    I pull my hair back and get up, pouring myself some water from the pitcher.

    “Zir is right. I can feel it growing on me already. But for my plan to work, I need to keep them far away from the chaos,” I say once I am done.

    “And how do you expect that to work? Did they not send word to your mother stating they are coming back to Fyrgen for good, after you left so abruptly yesterday?”

    “That is a decision I must make with Caelen tonight,” I half whisper, paranoid that someone might hear us.

    “Are we taking orders from him now?” she inquires bluntly, and I whip my head toward her. “No. Why would you even suggest that, Agnes?”

    “It is just unlike you to trust outsiders more than your own family. I thought it might have something to do with him holding something over you from a long time ago.”

    “I can barely recall a time that long ago. You have been my companion since I was five.”

    She cocks her head to the side and the stare burns through me, so I reply, “Nothing happened between us while you were not around. And he would never dare hold anything over me even if it had. It is simply safer for Zir and Uliya to remain unaware. I do not want to drag them through my mess. So let us keep this from them and the other two chatty birds, please.”

    She lets out a sigh of palpable disappointment. “Fine. But do not play too many games at once, Kushiana. You might win them all and still end up losing yourself in the midst of it.”

    The phoenix’s words cut right through my soul. I give a half nod and go back to my water.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 2 – Hope Does Not Feed The Famished

    Certain aspects of Fyrgen history were destroyed from our Great Hall of Learning after the war. Leaders from older generations said it was a necessary step to lead our continent to a rebirth.

    But with all the time I have spent reading, I have had the privilege of accessing every single one of the chronicles detailing the events that led to the formation of Fyrgen as an independent state. And it has only ever made me believe the defunct treatises were the real deal. That all of what we know in the present is nothing but a well-fed lie by the great creator, Dyxs Havburth.

    — Prince Ziruth Van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall of Learning

    ~Zir~

    The parlour room is well lit by four yellow lamps of the finest craftsmanship from Tyutir. My mother had graciously sent them without a thought for how I am supposed to explain their origin to the people who often come to see me at my manor in the human lands.

    Fortunately, they agree with whatever story I give them, readily shoving all discrepancies surrounding my life here in the direction of the obnoxious wealth I seem to be hoarding. “Wealthy people like the minister are different from you and I, pal,” they say to each other, and instantly divert from the topic.

    Cecil sits in his usual spot on the mahogany mantelpiece behind me, busy fussing with his wings.


    “My dearest Cecil, could you kindly put a stop to that? It’s distracting me.”


    The blue raven lets out three disapproving caws. I look over my shoulder at him.


    “There’s no human here. Can’t you speak normally?”

    “I cannot put a stop to that, because Yer will be here soon. She was rather harsh about the twig stuck in my wings the last time we met.” Yer is Uliya’s assigned royal companion, a delightful dove who, unlike my own companion, never hovers.

    I turn back around with a scoff of disdain.

    “There should be a law keeping the companions of our kin from fraternising in the first place. It feels like incest and disgusts me.”

    “Thank the lords you’re not going to be crowned anytime soon. You have the potential to be remembered as a destroyer of romance for centuries to come.”

    I am about to land a delicious riposte about how romance will never be on the cards for him since Yer will never accept, but Uliya’s misty spirit emerges in the middle of the room, followed by her corporeal form in a fraction of a second, Yer resting on her shoulder.

    “Well hello, forgotten royalty.”

    She accompanies the snarky greeting with her brightest smile, as per tradition. Uliya is infamous among our kind for having the sweetest voice, but that is only because others never encounter the foul mouth she reserves exclusively for family.

    “Hello, Uliya.”

    My fingers pause from turning the next page of the tome set on my lap, more out of surprise than welcome, as I take in her appearance from top to bottom. She has her long golden curls loose today. Out of the three of us, Uliya is also said to possess the most striking beauty, even though we resemble each other so closely we could be mistaken for triplets were it not for the age gap. What catches my attention today is how dull and frail she looks. She has adorned a brand new pale pink silk gown with the thickest lace black corset over it, but I caught on to it immediately.

    “What’s new? When are we expecting her?”
    She lazily drops into the opposite velvet recliner, and Yer and Cecil slip out the window together immediately.

    “Anytime now.”

    I set the tome on the centre table and rest my head on my knuckle against the recliner’s edge, trying to appear as casual as possible.

    “Uliya, have you been alright?”

    She brushes her hair back, sitting even straighter than before.

    “Yeah, why?”

    “You seem lankier than the last time I saw you.”
    She raises an eyebrow in silent challenge.

    “Which was when, exactly? When you got your heart broken, or some other time during all the years you’ve spent recovering since?”

    She always carries the deadliest swords at the back of her mouth, ones that never falter when sensing intervention.

    I let out a sigh of disbelief.

    “Got the message. Do you want a drink?”

    Her glassy eyes clear and she responds with a relieved nod. “I did not expect her to accept the invitation so soon.”

    I pour some wine into a glass and hand it to her.

    “She probably thinks we’re in some sort of trouble.” She bites her lip, then continues before sipping. “Sometimes I wish we were, more often. So I’d get to see y…” She stops halfway. “Her. Once in a while, at least.”

    I cock my head to the side in genuine confusion, more at her admitting it than the situation itself she has decided to bring up. I am more than aware that I am not the best brother.

    “Do you feel like you can’t come to see me unless there’s a problem?”

    She shrugs. “Do I?”

    I contemplate for a moment.

    “Well, that’s…”

    The ambiguous question is left unanswered as thunder rumbles through the sky to announce her presence. We both rise, anticipating her to emerge from the lawn door to our side.

    But in true Kushiana fashion, she rings the doorbell instead. I snap my fingers to open the doors and close them once she’s inside.

    The sound of her footsteps bounces off the marble floors until she is standing at the parlour entrance, clad in a matching violet shirt and trousers with contrasting brown boots, her dark brown hair plaited back into a thick bun. Her piercing green eyes lock onto both of us the moment she finds us, scanning for any discomfort or strain in our expressions and posture. Once the assessment is through, her lips curl into her prettiest smile.

    “I miss seeing you two. Sorry Agnes didn’t drop in to say hello, she sensed her bird friends outside and flew straight to them.” Her voice is heavy but not restricted.

    Uliya drops the act entirely and rushes to her, pulling her into the tightest embrace possible.

    “I missed you too,” I chime in, as I go back to fetch Kushiana a glass.

    “Have you changed something about your appearance?” She asks me right after.

    “Uh, no?”

    “Strange, your hair seems blacker, like you absorbed some from the night sky or something.”

    Uliya giggles and I don’t respond to that, because truthfully I do not know how to.

    Once we are all settled in our usual spots, Kushiana raises the inevitable.
    “What made you ask me here, Zir?”

    It catches me off guard. I lean back awkwardly and glance around the room as though eagles have suddenly begun soaring overhead.

    “Oh lords, he wants to ask you about the crowning. We’re worried about your decision.” Uliya adds without hesitation.

    Kushiana’s expression barely registers any change. She has always been good at masking it. She simply nods and replies in an assertive, measured voice. “Fyrgen demands a monarch. Citrindally’s throne has sat idle for far too long, and I have decided to bear my weight upon it as the eldest.” Her words are careful, shaped to make it appear as though it is a choice she genuinely wants to make, but we are both aware it haunts her as deeply as it haunts us.

    I bite my lip and say, “With what happened to the last ruler who tried, I cannot fully support the decision. We cannot bear to lose you. We have already strayed far from the great doors of Fyrgen. You are all we have left.”

    She glares at me. “Do not speak as though our parents’ lives have ceased to exist for the two of you.”

    Uliya scoffs, crossing her arms. “Maybe not that, but everything else has, if you haven’t had the privilege to notice.”

    “I have had everything but privileges, Uliya, which you would know had you actually taken the time to understand the current state of our continent.” Her voice remains cold, though her temper flares slightly, and Uliya quickly falls silent.

    I take the opportunity to add, “All we are saying is, you don’t have to sacrifice yourself for our sake. We have enjoyed our time here far too long. I would step in for you, if it came to it.”

    Kushiana barely raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Zir. Enlighten me on how you plan to save your meek older sister from the burdens of responsibilities you never cared to even learn about.”

    “You do realise I have spent all my time here reading about the orange hex?”

    She flashes the most sarcastic grin possible and replies mockingly, “So you’re telling me you’ve spent years researching a mere myth, while I was dragging myself to training, council meetings, and classes every single day? Glad to know one of us actually had privileges.”

    “It is not a myth. Qaaj had to pay for the sins of our ancestors and went insane, and none of those things you mentioned will protect you when you catch the sempiternal illness.” I say it through clenched teeth, and Uliya cuts in immediately.

    “Will you two stop!” She turns sharply to Kushiana. “Can you not be so guarded? We barely called you here to have a discussion, not to impose anything on you. Zir is only trying to help.”

    But Kushiana simply stands, her phoenix companion Agnes flying in to perch on her right shoulder. “He is not helping. And neither are you. I have no choice in this matter, which should have been clear to both of you had you shown up to our quadruple discussions with the Council as promised. You both act as though Fyrgen abandoned you, when you were the ones who made that choice. A choice I pay for every day. So forgive me if I am being short, but I have no interest in feeding your delusions or pretending I am not deeply pained by your continued absence from our family. If you are tired of being godlings, give up your titles and let Demiurge handle the rest. Goodbye.”

    Before either of us can react, lightning crashes through the ceiling, enveloping her, and she is gone, as though she was never here at all.

    “Did she really just storm out on us like that?” Uliya’s voice catches on the third word. But she steadies herself when her eyes meet mine. A tear slips from her right eye as I reply.

    “We are already losing her. She could not be away from Citrindally for even a few hours without the hex taking hold. We must return to Fyrgen for good, or she might truly die, Uliya.”

  • Chapter 1 – Blood Is Thicker Than Doom

    Fyrgen legend says that the Oprendelse was destroyed by a great shaking of the land. An act of Demiurge to bring King Lars to justice for his abominable actions, which led to the death of the two lovers. Over the years that followed, the royal dynasty of Valhades slowly restored their power, and the beautiful all-white marble castle of Ivorvale was built. A picturesque fortress amongst the teeming city of Citrindally, born out of a political debacle that led to the formation of Fyrgen as an independent continent, ruled by the Valhades and the Council.

    — The Foundation of Fyrgen Archives, The Great Hall of Learning

    ~Zir~

    Growing up, I always hated the sound of my name rolling off tongues. Deemed it too commonplace in our lands and faith. Being somebody who always wanted to be extraordinary, I despised that my parents chose it out of the myriad of names that would have suited me far better. I often brought it up to them, reasoning that if they wanted to identify me in a bustling crowd by shouting it out loud, a minimum of fifteen males would answer — and none of them would be me, by the way. Because I hate crowds. Anyhow, their answers remained: “Hardly anybody would refer to you by your name, son,” and “I would love to lose you in a crowd if that means you’d stop asking me that question.” Regardless, I kept popping that question until I turned ten.

    Because that’s when I first heard my name from her mouth. The two syllables turned into an enchanting melody that held me in its wake — as though that were the most beautiful thing I had ever heard uttered. But then again, Slyveline Havburth has a knack for turning everything mundane into the most exquisite experience. Or she did. Who can tell? It’s been five years since our last exchanged letter, and ages since her kin made the dreadful choice that tore us apart.

    My thoughts are cut short by the ringing of the telephone on the side table. I set my tome down and lean off the edge of the sofa, pulling it by the string.

    “Hello?”

    “Please don’t tell me you’re up thinking of her at this hour again.”

    One sentence in and she’s already thrown a jab my way. Perfect start to yet another harmonious conversation with my sister.

    “I’m not — and you certainly need to find a better way to greet your older brother, Uliya.”

    “A stark white lie, uttered confidently in the darkness of the night. You do love finding contradictions everywhere, older brother.”

    She makes the last two words sound worse than any profanity in history.

    “Hold your delightful tongue for a moment and tell me why you called. I have no desire to be met with your absurd enquiries past midnight. Or ever, for that matter.”

    An image of her clicking her tongue flashes in my mind as she takes a slight pause, then continues.

    “Easily triggered, as usual. Regardless, we have bigger issues at hand. I received some correspondence from Father today.”

    “Yeah? What did he say?”

    “He wants us back home for the festival next month.”

    “Why is he making a request as though it’s something special this year?”

    “There was no request, and it is special. Kushiana is old enough to take over. We’ll have her crowning ceremony soon.”

    A complete daze clouds my senses at her words. How could I forget?

    “Are you still there?”

    “Yes, yes. Forgive me. I don’t know how it slipped my mind.”

    “Probably because you lather it so thoroughly with the past.”

    “Save the cruel jokes for another evening. This is a big thing. Have you heard from her?”

    “Not in the last two weeks. She mentioned finishing her final trial then.”

    “I should speak to her. She’s stepping into something she might end up resenting for life, if we still have her after it.”

    Her dramatic sigh is audible through the phone.

    “I doubt it will make a difference. She’s set her mind on it. Earlier I believed she was willing to sacrifice her own freedom in exchange for ours, but now I’m certain she’s doing it out of pure intention. She’s weirdly hopeful about the choice.”

    “Well, that’s her decision, however inane. But I should at least make the attempt — and if it falls against her unwavering commitment, so be it. She already carries the responsibility of being the eldest so gracefully. The least we can do is support her if she still chooses against our wishes.”

    The voice on the other end has worn out considerably under the weight of our conversation. “Hmph. Let me know how that goes.” Uliya adds quietly, and hangs up.

    ~ Kushiana ~

    Here I stand, staring out the window of my bedchamber, wondering where I might be headed today for my training, when a double knock at the door brings me back to reality.

    “Come forth.”

    As per tradition, Katherine appears from the other end. The years may have brought a speck of maturity to her facial features, but her childlike innocence still gleams the same within them. If it weren’t for her drab, straight silky gowns, she could easily be mistaken for one of our kin. With the thick crown of black hair woven tight enough to bring the right amount of exposure to her soft features, she’d fit right in. I noted that a long time ago. It might be helpful someday.

    She bows in greeting.

    I turn back to the window, too drawn to the peaceful sunny sky to look away.

    “What news, Katherine?”

    “Your Royal Highness.”

    Her voice is its usual melody, blending into the atmosphere as though she were a part of nature itself.

    “Master Hinjk has politely conveyed that today’s training session stands cancelled. He’s left for Tyutir to tend to his ailing mother.”

    I let out a quiet sigh of relief. I may have grown accustomed to training as a means to keep my mind alive over the years, but any break that comes my way, rare as it may be, is wholeheartedly welcomed. Of course, this shan’t be a problem once I’m crowned — I doubt I will live long enough to fight anyone afterwards.

    “Very well. Any message from Father?”

    “I’m afraid not. He’s still sitting with the council.”

    “Alright. I shall rest then. You may leave.”

    “Apologies, but there’s a messenger for you.”

    I turn around in surprise. Only because it has been so long.

    “Send them up immediately.”

    She nods and slips out with a subtle bow, quick enough on her feet to put lightning to shame.

    Seconds later, a serene ultramarine blue raven appears on the balcony banister. The sunlight bounces off the sapphire fixed at his neck as he bows in greeting.

    “Long time no see, Cecil. I hope my brother is keeping well?”

    “Certainly, Your Highness. I bear no bad news.”

    Raspy as his voice is, it is music to my ears. He is my brother’s truest companion, and it has been ages since I last heard from him. The longing is exceptionally cruel when you are separated from someone you were used to seeing every day.

    “Speak freely.”

    He nods once.

    “Prince Zir has requested your presence at your earliest convenience. He’d like to convene in private with you and Princess Uliya. He apologises for not coming in person. Prior commitments make it impossible for him to travel until the coming full moons.”

    I take a moment to consider it. What could the two of them possibly want to discuss so promptly?

    “I shall be available there this evening. Tell them to clear their schedules. I shan’t stay long. That’s all.”

    “Duly noted.”

    I offer him a brief smile of dismissal, and he flies out immediately.

    Royal companions cannot lie, so I know it is not bad news, but he could always come bearing a cry for help. Demiurge, protect the tiny ones from deals with the wicked.

  • Prologue

    The Throne Remembers

    The throne seated at the apex of the Ivorvale Palace stands at the heart of Citrindally, the capital of the Fyrgen Crown, and near the center of the continent itself. To the common folk, the monument represents royal glory and centuries of history. But among the oldest scholars and the wisest of seers, another tale survives. One whispered with caution, as though speaking too loudly of it might awaken something sleeping within the ancient stone.

    It is the tale of ruin.

    The tragedy unfolded nearly a century ago, when Fyrgen was still a single vast continent ruled under one crown. Its sovereign was King Lars, a hardened ruler who resided within the towering stone fortress of Oprendelse. Through decades of bloodshed, rebellions, and war, Lars had preserved his dominion with an unrelenting hand. To Lars, dignity and life weighed the same.

    By the time his only child, Princess Citrindalia, reached her eighteenth year, the king had begun preparing for the end of his reign.

    He adored his daughter beyond reason. Ever since her birth, with her long citrine curls and radiant spirit, she had become the very essence of his world, especially after the death of his wife, the former queen, who had fallen in battle five years before Citrindalia’s eighteenth birthday.

    Yet the laws of the age did not permit a woman to rule alone. Even the crown bowed to the ancient order of lineage. A queen required a consort beside her throne.

    So Lars chose one himself.

    Stein, a powerful minister from his royal court, was declared Citrindalia’s future husband. And to commemorate their union, the king commissioned a throne carved entirely from citrine. A masterpiece worthy of his beloved heir.

    But Citrindalia’s heart had long belonged elsewhere.
    At fourteen, during one of the palace’s grand masquerade balls, she had met a lesserborn among the sea of nobles and dignitaries. What began as fleeting fascination grew, through the passing years, into a clandestine love affair.

    When she learned of her father’s intentions, she tried desperately to abandon the young man and devote herself to duty. She attempted to bury her affections beneath obedience, crown, and kingdom.

    But the heart seldom yields to reason.

    Days before the royal wedding, unable to endure the torment any longer, Citrindalia confessed the truth to her father.

    King Lars listened quietly. He offered understanding, acceptance, perhaps a hint of support. Promising to meet the youngling the next morning and see the suitor for himself.

    And the very next morning, her beloved was found dead.
    The palace declared it a tragic accident. Citrindalia knew better.

    Grief consumed her insides. Any last shred of obedience within her died beside the man she loved.

    On the night before her wedding, she entered the throne chamber alone.

    There, beneath the trembling glow of fire lamps, she climbed upon the citrine throne meant to celebrate her future. The palace guards later claimed her cries echoed through the halls like the mourning of something not entirely human.

    Before dawn arrived, Citrindalia slit her wrists with a ceremonial dagger and bled to death upon the throne.
    The kingdom mourned the loss of its princess.

    She was dead. But the throne came alive.

    Though the bloodstains were scrubbed clean long ago, the story did not end with her death. For even now, it is said Citrindalia’s spirit remains bound to the citrine throne, waiting patiently for another heir strong enough to sit upon it.

    And according to the oldest Fyrgen myth of all, she does not wait for peace.

    She awaits an heir capable of inheriting her fury, strength, and spirit of vengeance. An heir powerful enough to wield the throne’s wrath and bring to justice all those who believe their unchecked power can defeat love.