Tag: cursed throne

  • Chapter 6 – A Timeless Tale of Fox and Deer

    Over the centuries, the folklore, fate, and folly of the Fyrges have been altered significantly through events caused either by their own actions or by the hands of Demiurge.

    An ancient saying, coined sometime after the death of Lars, sought to encapsulate the ever-changing nature of life on the continent:

    “A fawn so absorbed in the twig between its teeth that it ignores the rustling leaves behind it invites death. But so does the fox that lunges at a fawn too cavalier to run.”

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

    ~ Kushiana ~

    A chill crawls down my spine as I stand before the large black wall that spreads miles, dividing Fyrgen and Xerat. The reason is not the atmosphere but the conversation with my father earlier. I had asked him if it would be possible to shift my crowning by a couple of weeks. He neither denied nor approved it outright, but said he would convene a meeting with the members of the Council. They decided against any further delay today. The night the twin moons turn blue comes once in three millennia and is considered an extraordinarily propitious occasion for a new heir to be crowned. Unfortunately, that is only six months away.

    “Nothing will hurt you. You are going to be fine,” Agnes says lightly, keeping her reassurance casual. She knows I hardly listen when my thoughts start spiralling, but it does not help that I have ruminated in silence since leaving my father’s chamber.

    “Maybe. But I have to be prepared.” By suffering through it in my own mind before it actually happens, it might hurt less.

    Before Agnes can counter or add to the dead conversation, fast frigid winds begin blowing all around us until a portal of blue light opens slowly before us, and the icemale steps out as effortlessly as ever.

    “Halló, sweet dame.” Caelen’s warm, heavy voice is always such a contrast to the graveyard of ice and stone he was raised in. A male of enduring charisma, standing a couple of inches over six feet. The crimson lips beaming against his pale skin always have me transfixed, and his piercing silver-lavender gaze slices through me like I am a mere block of nothingness in his cold world.

    His eyes never leave mine, but I can tell he scans me from foot to crown as he says, “Highly appreciate the precision with which you are undressing me mentally, but I prefer greetings to be exchanged first. Perhaps a little dialogue before we proceed to…”

    I fix him with a challenging glare, daring him to finish that sentence. He responds with that shameless, maddening grin instead.

    “You have got to stop feeding the straying delusions of your mind.”

    “Endearingly sentimental, as always.” He flashes his crooked grin before wrapping his hand around mine and pulling both Agnes and me into the portal.

    Hardly a moment passes before we land in his safe house. A truly cosy, firelamp-lit retreat for us to scheme in. It is so remote that only Xerata and Caelen know its location, though it was merely a gift to him since she has not bothered to appear here in over a decade. I imagine her choice of comfort no longer extends beyond the diamond throne.

    “Any specific agenda for your visit today, princess?” he says, pouring cranberry wine into one of the two glasses already levitating in the air between us.

    Agnes lets out a disapproving coo, which prompts him to arrange a bowl of sweet nectar for her. She disappears into the corner.

    It is hard to believe we have only met twice before. The first time I ran into him was by accident, at the autumn ball, while I was trying to avoid the court ladies who kept pressing me to seek a lover. It did not help that I was already miserable because of Zir and Uliya’s absence, announced at the last minute through correspondence. My corset felt tight, like it was designed to choke me. I rushed toward the back alley of the Odolith and collided with him. The close contact with a stranger startled me, but his scent was so fresh, cedar-filled and misty, that I could not help but look up. Despite the mask, it was obvious this male did not belong to Citrindally. He sensed my distress quickly. All it took was him asking, “Are you alright there?” for me to burst into tears. I simply could not bury my emotions any longer, and as embarrassing as the outburst was, he got me out of there fast, to my preferred stargazing spot on the hill behind the palace. We sat in silence. Neither of us said anything. I felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders, like I could breathe easily for the first time in a long while.

    “Who are you? I can tell you are not from here,” I asked him eventually.

    “Someone who should not be here at all. Yet I have no choice,” he replied calmly.

    I did not press further. Eventually I rose, realising the guards would be looking for me. He offered to walk me back to the palace gates. We made our way down the hilly path until I heard my guard Slovak’s voice calling for me, growing closer. By the time I turned to thank the stranger, he was gone. I found myself wondering if he had ever been there at all.

    The second time…

    “Ally with me against the cursed tradition my family has held for centuries,” I say outright, before Caelen has even had the chance to hang our coats on the stand.

    He raises an eyebrow but arrives at a tone of agreement with surprising speed.

    “And what is in it for me?”

    “I will find your sister.”

    He cocks his head, then laughs. “You realise if it were that simple, she would be sitting beside me right now? There are countless Fyrges out there. How would you even identify her from the brief description I managed to get out of Xayla?”

    Xayla’s his grandmother, one of the most powerful witches in our world. She’s also the only one who bothered telling him he has a sister somewhere in Fyrgen—on the condition Xerata not learn of it until after he’s found her.

    I grin, pure sarcasm probably evident on my face. “You should be more worried about whether she would stay once she learns how obnoxiously arrogant you are, snowflake.”

    He considers this for a moment, well aware that I may be the only one with the resources to find her. His eyes soon darken and his expression turns grave. “Your plans are perilous enough to set the entirety of Fyrgen aflame, Kushiana.” It is the first time I have heard him say my name, and I find it vaguely unsettling.

    “Is the frost giant afraid of a little adventure?” I offer the words with a bite, the kind that gets under his skin immediately.

    He swallows whatever retort he had and collapses onto the couch with a whoosh of wind, patting the spot beside him. “Run me through your ideas. Best we eliminate all the ridiculous ones straight away.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Zir ~

    I walk into the parlour the next morning to behold an interesting sight. Uliya is reading aloud from my hideously worn scroll of Fyrgen’s oldest folklore while Yer and Cecil listen eagerly from the top of the mantelpiece.

    “And then the male cursed the entire royal bloodline with—”

    “It appears to be a good morning indeed. We are already discussing cursed bloodlines.”

    She scoffs with disdain and folds the scroll lightly, declaring, “We will continue the session once he is gone.”

    “From here, or for good?” Cecil adds begrudgingly. The great thing about close relations is that you often find them cross with you for no good reason. But life goes on. Especially for our kind.

    I smile and pour myself some water with a snap of my fingers. “So what are your plans for your last day here, sister?”

    She rises, dismissing the question with a slight wave of her hand. “None that concern you. I am free to bask in my last shred of human-disguised liberty tonight.”

    “Fair. Just be here by morning.” I respond with indifference while hydrating. Uliya may be up to no good as per habit, but I have a full day ahead to keep myself occupied.

    She lands one of her sweetest defiant smiles on me and a chill travels down my back like a rush of water from a mountain. Demiurge protect her. I cannot deal with her absurdities today, so I simply smile in return.

    “I will leave now,” I bid her goodbye.

    Cecil perches on my shoulder and I circle a steady hand around us, making us emerge directly outside the ministerial estate.

    “Go keep yourself busy. Only answer if I call.” I murmur to him and he disappears into the nearby forest. I quickly straighten the lapels of my blue blazer and walk inside toward my office, where I find Estella, a warm-faced woman in her mid-forties with ink-stained fingers and a holy locket she touches more often than she breathes, attempting to sort through a tumbling mess of land treatises. Two slip from her hand, only to be caught in my grip as she stumbles backward.

    “Oh, sire, apologies. We were not expecting you this early.” She bows, sporting her half-embarrassed smile.

    “Thought I would do you all a favour by making an early appearance on my last day.”

    “Not your last! Your last day here. God bless you with a long life ahead, sire. Perhaps rephrase that for the rest of the day?”

    She touches her holy locket to her forehead and says a quiet prayer. How comical, to have her praying unknowingly to one god to save another. She never changes.

    I laugh and head into my office to collect the last of the papers I am to review and stamp. Or pretend to review and stamp until she disappears for some errand. My powers allow me to do it with the flick of a finger. I usually only keep up the theatrics until my office is clear of all human life. When I first joined here as an apprentice to another retired minister, they were in considerable awe of my pace in sorting everything out. With magic, navigating the job ladder proved easy enough. Initially, I felt like an imposter hiding my abilities, but eventually there was simply nothing else to do. So, for the past five years, I have been playing the role of a diligent worker.

    A few minutes into the act, Estella appears after a knock, holding an envelope with my name on top.

    “We received a letter for you this morning. No address or stamp on the outside. Only your first name.”

    I nod. She hands it over and leaves quietly, closing the door behind her.

    The name is handwritten not just in red ink but in one smeared with intoxicating nostalgia and the scent of wild poppies, the kind that captures my soul and almost stops my breath. A tear slips out and falls over the name, but the “Zir” stays intact. Havburthian blend.

    I steady my sinking heart and open it with unsteady fingers. My blurring vision threatens to make it impossible to continue, but I bring myself to read on.

    Dear Z,

    I hope all is going well for you. You must think me shameless to write after all these years, and I reckon I am. But you are the only person I could bring myself to think of at this moment.

    I cannot bear to explain everything, but my precious father has caught an illness deemed untreatable by the forest healer Hjalati. It has been catching on to him slowly for the past three months. Initially he showed some recovery through the lejonese herbs, but his condition has only worsened this past week. Hjalati believes he is on the brink of death. It may come to claim him as soon as the next full moon.

    As you already know, we are not permitted to step outside Lejonet because of our strained relations with the Council. My family thinks it vain for me to write to you or any member of the royal household at all. They have slowly accepted his death even before it has come.

    The ink appears smeared over the next lines, likely by a tear.

    But I beg of you, Zir. Please do something. My father is the most pristine soul alive. He should not be punished for the sins of my ancestors. It is unjust and deeply cruel. If you can find it in you, please forgive me. And speak to her royal highness. Please.

    I will wait for your reply. Hopefully it will not take as long as the years I took to write back to you. But it is perfectly alright if this is beyond your reach. I would still love you the same.

    Sylve

    I realise the letter has crumpled slightly in my hand from how tightly I held it. I cannot turn my back on her. Nivun deserves to live. I will find a way, even if my parents do not approve. I am gifted with a paper cut while hurriedly folding it back and shoving it inside the envelope.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Uliya ~

    I find myself standing on the dewy cobblestones. Mrs Fairweather must have watered her garden sometime before dawn. It is harder to say my goodbyes than I expected. All the friends I have made in the human world are a door away, waiting for me to come to my own farewell party. I did not use magic to get here today. I took the local carriage, one last time.

    I left Yer behind as well. Even though I have told everyone here that she is my pet dove — they doubted whether doves made appropriate pets, then assumed it was possible among the affluent. She would have soothed my nerves. I have been standing here for the past fifteen minutes, and with every minute that passes it becomes harder to take the steps. Neza, Ariel and Liliana have each come and peered out of the window one by one, awaiting my arrival. And here I am in my mist form, hiding behind the tree in their garden, too much of a coward to become corporeal.

    I consider running back to Zir’s mansion to hide. They cannot come looking for me there since they do not know I have a brother. I still have my apartment, but that is a risk.

    Then suddenly I feel her warmth all around me and straighten my posture. “Mama, are you here?” I ask inside my mind and my mother’s image appears. She is in her private dining chamber taking her supper, Nysleon resting by the window beside her. “My darling child,” she responds in her ever-sweet voice. “Why are you not going inside? Your friends are so eagerly waiting for you.” I must have been extraordinarily anxious for her to sense it and reach out. The sun god gave her the gift of reaching into the minds of those she loves, but she seldom uses it. She deems the idea deeply invasive. Everyone believes the Queen of Citrindally values jewels and status above all else, but the family knows my mother values nothing more than individual freedom and the people she loves.

    A tear slips out. “It is so hard to say goodbye, Mama. They are bidding farewell to a crook. I was never honest with them about where I come from. My immortal Fyrgen life that ages a hundred times slower than theirs, my companion, my royal family. I feel so ashamed. They are my friends and I have been utterly dishonest with them at every turn.”

    “Never. I raised a brave, sweet child who makes everyone’s day a little brighter. As Fyrges we have been taught since birth never to reveal our origins to humans. A human who learns of our world trades their life for it. You have done the right thing, do not blame yourself. And I did not invade your thoughts, but it seems you share a great many colourful memories with those girls. Hold tightly to them and walk through that door.”

    I frown. “You are right. I was overcomplicating it. I do not know why I do that.”

    She sighs. “A trait inherited from your father. It was a moment of weakness and it has passed. Go and rejoice with your friends. Your heart is not pumping quite so fast anymore.”

    “Thank you. I miss you, Mama. Save me the warmest hug for tomorrow.”

    She smiles. “The warmest one is always yours. Your brother has real ice running through his veins, so do I even need to say it?”

    I shake my head. “No. I already know you love me more than the other two.”

    “Absolutely,” she offers as goodbye and vanishes from my mind.

    I grin to myself, step into my corporeal form and run toward the doorway to see my girls.

    We end up celebrating well into the night, all of them wildly optimistic about my future as a jewellery heiress in the citadel. Because yes, I had to kill off the affluent fake aunt I invented, as an excuse for my sudden departure from the village. Ironically this is the lie I feel the least guilty about. Perhaps because we Valhades are so accustomed to the concept of untimely death, particularly ones we orchestrated ourselves.

    My friends baked me a strawberry and raspberry cream cake as a goodbye gift. We danced all evening at the local tavern and spent the rest of the night laughing and revisiting memories from the past few years. In the morning they bid me farewell, and I returned to the mansion.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 5 – The Wolf Parades In Sheep’s Clothing

    Before you read: This chapter contains depictions of child abuse, including physical violence and emotional manipulation. Please take care of yourself and read at your own pace. If you’re not in a good headspace right now, you might choose to read this later.

    The Supreme Assembly, held after the gates were secured, set the fate of the continent for the coming centuries. The majority of leaders voted in favour of the policies we currently uphold across every state of Fyrgen. But exceptions always exist, and Xerata has always been one. Her husband, Commander Lloyd Thrymcrag, one of the great leaders who played a prominent role in bringing newfound freedom to our continent, passed away from an ailing heart days after the war was won. Xerata did not waste time grieving as the day of the Supreme Assembly’s meeting drew near.

    She created a meticulous scroll outlining the joint vision she and Lloyd had held for the world. It was in direct contrast to what the other leaders had in mind and was thus declined. However, the fallen commander’s contributions to the continent’s fate could not be diminished, and so they granted Xerata the freedom to rule the vast north-western piece of the continent, the land where she was born, as a gift to her and Lloyd for their benevolence. She was free to run it however she wished. No policies or rules stretching across the rest of the continent would apply there.

    Thus the Xerat Mountains were blessed with the eternal gift of autonomy and self-governance. But there was a condition, one promptly accepted by Xerata. Current or future rulers of Xerat would never be granted the right to participate in decisions made by the Council.

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

    ~ Kushiana ~

    “The temperatures are soaring higher than usual today. Don’t you think?”

    I ask Agnes, who sits perched atop the marble water fountain in front of me. After an intense training session with Hinjk, cleaning up, and visiting around seven households in the Quaser to discuss improving their living conditions, all I can bring myself to do is collapse onto the garden bench.

    “The temperature is fairly regular. You must be heating up at the idea of seeing your frost nemesis later,” she says with just the right amount of teasing in her voice.

    I hate that her words get me flustered instantly. An image of the towering, winter-pale prince and that infuriatingly easy smile flashes through my mind. There is nothing particularly remarkable about Caelen’s features on their own, yet somehow his face still manages to linger.

    “I sincerely hope you choke on fresh worms today,” I reply as nonchalantly as possible. If she finds out it is affecting me, it will only get worse from here.

    “I would say the same, but you take forever to chew through a piece of dry lamb.”

    “Save some of that kindness for later, Aggy. We might need it when we cross the mountain warriors.”

    “Gladly, my princess.”

    I continue lying in silence for the next few minutes, the sounds of the forest, the water fountain and the buzzing of bees working as excellent inducements of an ill-timed slumber.

    Katherine’s voice reaches my ears and breaks my focus. I open my eyes to find her standing right beside me. Funny, I can barely hear her footsteps sometimes. She is wearing a subtle but beautiful blue silk gown today, her hair woven into a crown as per tradition. She extends a graceful bow in greeting.

    “Your Highness, I have a message from the king. He is in the privy chamber and has requested your presence. Nothing largely crucial, only that his schedule has cleared and he wishes to speak.”

    I give her a quick nod and rise.

    “Surely. Your agility in conveying messages is always appreciated, Katherine. You may rest. I am leaving to visit a friend after seeing Father.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~Zir~  

    As soon as we are back in the manor, Uliya gives me the generous sisterly gift of forced silence, slipping into the leather sofa with a glass of wine and completely ignoring my presence. Since I have already had dinner and am the most stubborn of the three of us, I play along and get back to the codex I had to abandon earlier because of her antics. Yer and Cecil tired of us and left after ten minutes.

    Around an hour later, she speaks.

    “Seriously? You dragged me out of there like the fallen angel had rained the worst upon your drab manor, and now you are the one refusing to speak to me?”

    She says it through clenched teeth and I finally look up from my book to offer her a look of genuine confusion.

    “I am the one refusing to speak? You have made it abundantly clear through your face and posture how open you are to dialogue since we returned. What were you expecting me to do? I was waiting until you were ready.”

    “Ready?” She scoffs with pure disdain. “No, Zir. I have not been ready since we came here. And you have done nothing to help me out of it. In fact you never even acknowledge it.”

    I set the book down on the side table and cross my legs.

    “Every time I try to bring it up you snap at me, Uliya. So tell me, how exactly am I supposed to help you through it?”

    She leans back further and crosses her arms, fixing me with a look of visible frustration. The conversation is about to get significantly more complicated.

    “Spoken like a good brother, Zir. You are the one, entrusted with the responsibility of looking after me for the past six years, yet you act as though I am the one supposed to initiate every difficult conversation.”

    “I accept that I am not good at initiating conversations, let alone difficult ones within the family. But that does not mean I ever closed myself off to you. I wanted you to stay here with me more than anything. But the moment you turned thirteen you decided to get your own place and came up with that story about being an affluent orphan with an aunt who sees to your comfort. Do you think that did not hurt? Yet I tried to support you. I simply did not want you to feel caged here. And Uliya, do not get me started on the debau—”

    I do not finish the sentence, realising too late I should have phrased it differently. She agrees, because she does not hesitate to send the glass vase beside her in the direction of my head. I deflect it with mine and it shatters on the carpet.

    “How dare you. You have no idea what I have endured that shaped me this way. Just because you are still pathetically holding onto one female from your past and refusing to let anyone else in does not mean the rest of us have to live the same way.”

    She is yelling now, complete resentment and rage swirling in her pale copper eyes, and I will admit it unsettles me. So I exhale and reply, “You are right. I apologise for that. It was not my place. Please sit. I am truly sorry.”

    It calms her faster than I expected. She sinks back into the recliner, the last of the shadows leaving her eyes.

    I give her a moment and a glass of cold water before continuing.

    “We have clearly had very different experiences, and I have failed to keep up with yours the way you have kept track of mine. I admit I could have handled things better. It was wrong of me to assume you needed space when what you needed was for me to understand and speak to you. But we cannot keep fighting and shutting each other out forever. So please, talk to me.”

    She clicks her tongue, unable to hold my gaze. For someone who spends most of her day communicating, Uliya goes remarkably silent when uncomfortable topics arise between us.

    “I just felt like you were pushing me away. I understand that you have never liked spending time on others. Books and community work have always been your true escape, not because you despise others but because that is what you love. But what you failed to see was that…”

    She looks up, a tear slipping down her cheek.

    “I was not made like that. You left home at sixteen, but I was only ten, Zir. I did not know better than to cling to you. You were never cruel or absent, but you felt distant. Being your ten year old sister, my whole world was you. But as I grew older I started feeling disconnected, and came to the conclusion that you wanted to keep your life separate from mine. So I forced myself to create one of my own. And you never made much effort to reach out after I left either. I wanted to talk to our parents about it but I knew they would say it was all happening because of our decision to leave home, that we were the ones responsible for tearing the family apart. I tried to talk to Kush about it but she was already drowning in her own responsibilities. It broke me even further. I have never hated you, but I had to make you feel like I did. So the rare contact between us would not break me instead.”

    Her words are so rare and so honest that I cannot help but sink to my knees in front of her. I did fail her through my ignorance. I do not interrupt her, because I know she has more to say.

    “And about the women. It is deeper and darker than you think. Nobody creates an addiction overnight. Something happened that broke me. Something I could not talk about. I do not know if I still can.”

    I lift her chin gently. “Of course you can. Maybe not right now if you are not ready. But I am listening, Uliya.”

    She shakes her head and the crying deepens. “It is abysmal, Zir. You are never going to look at me the same way again.” I have seen her cry before, but never like this, and it unsettles me in a way she never has. Uliya always seemed the most composed of the three of us, even more so than Kushiana and I.

    “I just—”

    Her voice breaks on two words and I move to the edge of the recliner, pulling her into a hug. She will speak when she is ready. The best I can do is be here until then.

    We sit in silence as she sobs. As heavy as this moment is, I am grateful she is finally letting herself feel what she has held hostage for so many years. My parents always considered me the closed off one, given how little I say. But it is actually Uliya, the chattiest of us, who buries her unspoken pain the deepest.

    “Do you remember Apateus?”

    She asks it after a long silence. I search my memory.

    “Yes, I believe he was the young assistant in the treasury Father briefly appointed when we were still home. From Zephridge, if I recall. He left for Xerat later on.”

    She nods, still flushed from crying.

    “What about him?”

    “How do you remember him, Zir?”

    “He seemed a decent enough fellow. Capable, always helped around the palace beyond just the treasury. I remember Mama being appreciative of him. Kushiana and he were even pals at some point, I think. He lived in the palace for most of his tenure.”

    “Since you asked. He was not polite when he told me, ‘Your father is ashamed to have you as a child. He said you are of no use to him. That you have no magical abilities or royal companion at age nine, when your siblings had theirs at five.’”

    It takes a moment to comprehend the words, and then, like waves breaking against a shore, rage sweeps through me all at once.

    “What?”

    She nods quietly. “There were other things too. He demanded I visit him alone in the old audience chamber behind the garden through the secret passageway, many nights. He would sit on Father’s throne and decide my punishment for whatever small mistake he deemed I had made that day. Once he struck me three times across the back with a cane for spilling a spoonful of oatmeal on my dress at breakfast. Another time he made me hold my palms out flat and burnt my fingertips with candlewax for not smiling at him when he passed me in the hallway. The marks never lasted. He always made sure of that, healing every wound with magic before morning so nobody would ever have cause to ask. When Mama fell ill for a few days, he told me she was dying because I had made her run after me when I chased rabbits in the courtyard, that she had stepped on a poisonous stone that would kill her. I recall it word for word, Zir. He said, ‘If the queen dies because of you, every Fyrge in the continent will come after you with that same stone.’”

    She manages to continue through the sobs, and I feel everything inside me collapse with grief for the small, sweet girl she was. The one I swore to protect the day our mother first placed her in my arms. I should have seen it. I was right there and I saw nothing. He healed every mark before I could sense a thing. I looked after her through the day and thought that was enough. It was nowhere near enough.

    I do not weep. I find I cannot. What rises in me instead is a numbness, beneath which something ancient and furious is stirring.

    “How dare he. That sick scoundrel. He played the part of a humble servant while doing these unspeakable things to you. I will rip the skin off of his bone—”

    She scoffs and breaks into laughter, more out of bitterness than anything else.

    “Can you, though? He is in Xerat now, remember? Isolated and completely protected from Fyrgen Crown Law. The violator chose a wonderful place for refuge. He left before anyone could catch him in the act. And when I finally found the courage to speak about it, I went to Father. The man I loved and trusted most. Do you know what he did, Zir?”

    The answer is already written on her face but I wait for her to say it.

    “He did not even register a moment of shock or anger. He said, ‘Uliya, you are so young. You must have misunderstood the playful antics of someone who sees you as a younger sister. The boy is long gone regardless. As long as he did not force himself onto you, let it go. Focus on channeling your magic so you can get your royal companion like your siblings. However late it comes. Do not seek trouble, you already have much to learn.’”

    The words connect with other memories, one by one. My mother telling me Uliya was not coming out of her room and had stopped seeing her friends. My father brushing it off, saying younglings could be moody and she would come around. The day I asked her to come with Lume and me to Tyutir and she barely shook her head and stayed in bed. Kushiana telling me Uliya had asked Esmeralda, her lady in waiting, to sleep in her room every night because of the nightmares. And then…

    I stand up.

    “Is this why you clung to me that afternoon? Why you refused to let me leave Fyrgen without you, why you came with me immediately instead of waiting until you were older? Not because of the curse, but because of this?”

    She looks up at me with glassy eyes and nods.

    “Because you were the only one I trusted to keep me safe, even without fully understanding why.”

    A whirlwind of grief, guilt and regret settles over me completely. I have been this wrong before, but never about something that mattered this much.

    “And I failed you too,” is all I can find to say. It comes out less like a confession and more like something I am only now truly understanding.

    “Not entirely. You did keep me safe. You inspired me to become my own person, supported me through more than you realise, even when you did not fully understand what I was carrying. It is not your fault you could not read my mind. I should have come to you sooner. I simply assumed everyone already knew what was happening. When he was gone and Yer was assigned to me, she was the one who told me to speak up, that what had happened was not normal. I confided in the wrong person first and refused to revisit it with Yer again after that. And because of the confidentiality bond between us, she could not pass it to your companions either.”

    “At nine, Uliya. You were nine.” The words come out barely above a murmur. “I should be asking your forgiveness for the rest of my life.”

    She shrugs and uses her power to float a cold glass of water across the room toward me.

    “Hydrate. You look hideous when you are sad and confused.”

    I take it, saying nothing for a moment as I think through what comes next when we return home. Xerata’s laws forbid us from setting foot in those peaks without her consent. Even as royalty in the rest of Fyrgen, in her lands we are bugs waiting to be crushed.

    “Zir?”

    “Yes?”

    “I have never truly blamed you for any of it. Most of what I said came out of anger. Honestly I did not even understand the full weight of what those years had done to me until I met Liliana here. She told me about something similar her sister had faced, and that was the first time I understood that what happened to me was not something to simply carry and move past. I did not have the words for it until I was fourteen.”

    I rest my hand gently on her head.

    “My fault or not, I will correct it. I will find a way. His reckoning will come, I give you my word.”

    She is quiet for a moment. Then she stands, meeting my eyes.

    “I will be the one to deliver it. With my own sword.”

    We both extend our hands and form an X with the magic rising from our fingers, binding and sealing the spell between us.

    “Demiurge aid us in our quest.”

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  • 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.

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