Tag: royalty

  • Chapter 13 – Early Birds Get Caught In A Storm

    The bloodline I originate from was blessed neither with wealth nor extraordinary magical abilities, only the gifts common to the average Fyrge. We were a comfortable family at best. I joined the army upon turning eighteen and spent the next decade earning the rank of general, moving mountains to survive amongst men while dismantling every prejudice our world so readily cast upon a woman’s strength. During the previous war, I shielded the king in the fleeting moment his guard had faltered. A poisoned arrow pierced straight through my heart. I remained unconscious for three days before awakening to find the Sun God in all his glory, his hand upon my forehead. He took mine, restored my life in a single heartbeat, and vanished.

    By then, I had already been declared dead, my funeral underway. They later realized that an Ascendant God had resurrected me and bestowed upon me abilities beyond those I had been born with. The war had already been won by the time I returned. What awaited me was neither a relic, a higher title, nor a chest of treasure. It was the king, on one knee, a ring extended in his hand.

    Signed by Helena Marie Rigmundt-Valhades, Queen of Citrindally

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

    The Neverandall Keep occupied much of the palace’s eastern wing, divided into three sections — the rectangular training hall, the ample verandah outside, and the vast vertical climbing chamber that stretched four storeys high. The walls of the climbing chamber were covered with protruding obsidian stones, allowing the royals to hone their climbing, levitation and, in rarer cases, hiking abilities.

    The floor was not the smooth marble found throughout the rest of the palace but rather a layered variety of blackwood stone. On it currently stood the youngest Valhades in her newly acquired grey satin cropped tunic and trousers, rubbing at her own forehead.

    “You said we would start tomorrow, Nara. Why are you subjecting me to cruelty today?” She complained with a pout.

    In front of her, Luminara hung by her feet from suspensions emerging from the ceiling, clad in a fitted white shirt and black leggings, practicing her slow descent after levitating all the way to the top. Her neatly tied long braid floated some seven feet above the ground.

    “Because you have not practiced in a long while and today is simply for fixing your sleeping schedule and warming up.” She answered casually, her arms emitting light in slow flowing waves of gold as she made her way down.

    “My head is splitting. I had red liqueur last night. It is six in the morning. Even Yer is still asleep.” Uliya said with a sigh, proceeding to pour water directly into her mouth from the large pitcher. Luminara had taken one look at her entering the threshold and immediately called for it.

    “What a beautifully sombre poem. Unfortunately I do not care for it. We are here to get you fit again.” Luminara said, flipping and stepping down neatly before her braid could touch the floor. Before Uliya could complain further she put a finger to her mouth and snatched the pitcher from her, downing the rest of the water. The princess rose up slowly. “Fine, but don’t wear me out.”

    Luminara grinned fiendishly “First time demanding that from a female, isn’t it?” Only a respectful finger was raised up in response, garnering a bright laugh from the moonborn. 

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    It was a little late in the morning, when Zir came back to his chamber from his training session and began tightening his leathers again. Cecil was perched atop the table sorting through his correspondence per usual. 

    The raven glanced back. “You’re not going to change into something proper? You’re seeing the female that broke your heart after almost a decade.” 

    He turned down the idea with a slight wave of his hand, while gulping down his morning coffee and stuffing his face with the breakfast platter he’d already had sent to his chamber. 

    “Why not?” Cecil turned around fully. 

    “It does not matter, Cecil. We’re no longer the same people. I’m just making sure we’re in and out of there fast enough without anybody noticing.” He replied hurriedly, his mouth full of bread. 

    “Are you sure there’s no lingering feelings? I’m only asking because you still are helping her despite knowing what’s at stake. You do not owe her anything.”

    He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “I think I know how I feel without you instructing me about it.”

    Cecil sighed, turning back to the letters. “Someone’s in a mood, did Ilias make you taste dirt today.”

    “No, but he defeated me in battle-brief combat again. I haven’t won once. I don’t know how he’s doing it. It’s driving me nuts.” Battle brief combat is the segment of sparring that completely forbids all magic usage. It is considered essential for all Royals and soldiers to master it in case their magic happens to be compromised, so that they aren’t left vulnerable. 

    “Was he winning from the starting, or all of a sudden towards the end?” Cecil asked, his focus remaining on stamping Zir’s own correspondence. 

    “All of a sudden towards the end. And he moves extraordinarily fast too, I don’t know what final moves he makes before pinning me down. I suspected he grabbed me by the waist the first day, the second day I thought it was the foreleg, today I assumed the shoulder. But it’s extremely hard to track his ghost of a touch.” The prince said the last part of the sentence with complete irritation. 

    “He’s targeting your frail points most likely.” The blue raven replied with nonchalance and Zir swallowed the last bite of loose egg fast before bursting out “What frail points? I have frail points!?” 

    “Every Fyrge does, the bodies are not so different from humans in the making after all. Frail points are unique to every Fyrge, and it’s not easy to identify them. But you can learn to scan other’s movements with your eyes and learn about them. It’s visible in the way a person does normal activities like how they move their hand while eating, their gait, or the way they sleep or how their posture is in general. It takes time to learn them. Ilias certainly mastered them and is using them on you. That’s why you are able to be a worthy opponent to Hinjk even but not the commander.

    Zir took a moment to think then almost as if speaking to himself, he said softly “Yeah that does make sense, he’s generally great with observations anyway. Regardless, I should learn it too. It might come handy someday.”

    “It would.” Was all the blue raven offered in response. 

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    “Oh sweet dame, it warms my heart how little you trust me.” Caelen offered the words with a dramatic tsk tsk, feigning sadness. It had been less than ten seconds since he had stepped out of the thriving blue portal, clad in a loose lavender shirt, black trousers and a long grey coat. His hair caught the silver of the morning sun.

    Kushiana stood directly before him, covered in a flowing ebony dress with long lace sleeves, delicate silver jewellery at her neck and ears, her brown hair arranged in its usual braided crown. She knew he was referring to the trunk she had packed regardless of his reassurances in the letter. She remained entirely unbothered, simply gesturing for Agnes to perch on her shoulder. The phoenix had gone for an early morning hunt, citing the Dewy Tors as having the finest prey at this hour. She had found some right behind them by the nearest tree — though the same could not be said for the unfortunate frog she had gripped in her talons minutes ago.

    Caelen shrugged, accustomed to being dismissed by now. But he used his own palm magic to lift the trunk from the rock before Kushiana could reach it. The Northern High Prince rarely wavered when it came to hospitality. It was a shame he did not get many opportunities to exercise it.

    “Come.” He said, wrapping his free hand around Kushiana’s and pulling them both into the portal.

    To her surprise, they stepped out somewhere that resembled a home far more than his rustic escapist cabin. A villa — she could tell that much from where they stood in the middle of a spacious living room. She could hear the chatter of people on the street outside. She moved toward the large glass window and looked out.

    The villa sat atop a mountain, a straight snow-covered road ahead leading down into the city. More houses lined the opposite side, and from here she could see almost all of Xerat — or what she presumed was most of it. It was extraordinarily thrilling to lay eyes on a land otherwise forbidden to the rest of Fyrgen. The buildings were far more colourful and quaint than anything in Citrindally — purple, emerald, saffron, cobalt blue, rust — the colours varied so widely she could not have counted them if she tried. Lush pine, rhododendron, cherry, apple, cedar and juniper trees thrived in the mild winter sun. Snow glistened everywhere.

    Curiosity got the better of Kushiana and she was about to turn to ask Caelen when Agnes beat her to it. “How is it that there is snow everywhere but none on the rooftops or terraces?”

    Caelen crossed the room and pointed toward a towering black spire rising from the heart of the city. Orange-red vapour billowed from the colossal chimney at its peak, a visible glow emanating from within even at this distance.

    “We call that the Pyreheart,” he said. “All Xerakeets are born with warmth flowing through their veins, but most carry only enough to keep themselves — and perhaps one other — comfortable. So each citizen offers a sliver of their gift to the gleaming stone housed within the tower. The stone amplifies what it receives and sends the warmth coursing through channels beneath the streets, walls, rooftops and terraces of every home in Xerat. That is why snow never lingers where people live.”

    Agnes blinked. “So the entire city shares its warmth?”

    “Exactly.” Caelen replied. “One hearth for all.”

    Kushiana let the rest of their conversation fade and simply continued to stare, feeling as though she could stand there forever. Xerat was the most visually beautiful sight she had ever laid eyes on.

    It was only when the frost prince tapped gently at the side of her head that she surfaced. “What?” She turned to him.

    “I asked if you would like to start with an early lunch at the Central before we proceed.” He repeated with a smile that betrayed his own pleasure at seeing her respond to his home this way.

    She nodded. “Yes. But let me change into something warmer first.”

    Caelen turned on his heel. “Follow me, I had a room prepared for you.” He began walking down the long well-lit hallway without further comment. As they walked Kushiana noticed how well built his back looked through the thin fabric of the shirt. She did not let her eyes linger. Agnes was perched directly on her shoulder. She could not afford to be teased again.

    The carpet beneath their feet was deep red cashmere of high quality. As they moved through the hallway they passed a beautiful spiral staircase of oakwood with intricate carvings running all the way up its banister. No family portraits hung anywhere except for a single large one on the mantelpiece. Kushiana stopped.

    It was Caelen as a child, seated, with an attractive male standing behind him — just as tall as the frost prince, dressed in a well-fitted white and blue military suit with black gloves. His eyes were the most striking shade of lavender she had ever seen, almost hypnotic. She could not look away.

    Caelen had walked considerably ahead before he noticed no one was following and turned back. He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. “As much as I enjoy watching you ogle my late father, we do have a schedule.”

    The words broke the spell immediately. A traitorous warmth bloomed across Kushiana’s face. She lowered her gaze and began walking again.

    “Commander Thrymcrag was a titanically handsome male.” Agnes added with full enthusiasm from her shoulder.

    Kushiana facepalmed.

    Caelen erupted in laughter ahead of them.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    Uliya lay flat on the grass, making no movement whatsoever.

    “You barely did stretching, breathing exercises and a short sprint, yet you are behaving as though I have killed you.” Luminara said, pouting from beside her, munching on a bright red apple.

    “Are you certain it is not my ghost speaking to you right now?” The golden-head murmured, face buried in the grass.

    “Fairly certain. It has only been two hours.” Yer added from atop the gargoyle fountain in the corner of the verandah. She had joined them an hour ago, having woken on Uliya’s usual schedule now that they were back in Citrindally.

    “Yer, I have always wondered how Zir could throw things at Cecil so freely. If you keep speaking, the two of us might find out together.” Uliya said, shooting the dove a murderous look over her shoulder.

    “I will remain demure.” Yer pleaded immediately.

    Luminara burst out laughing at the memory of Zir quietly building Cecil a swing of his own accord. “He and Cecil seemed to be getting along perfectly well last night actually.”

    Uliya’s head whipped around. “Did Zir stay the night with you? Demiurge help me, what did the two of you do?” She did not wait for an answer and jumped up. “Nara! Why did you not tell me before? Do you not consider me your little sister anymore? You have changed.” The death stare was alarming, mostly because it was so rare on her face.

    “Relax, Ul. We were simply discussing the Noctilune Ball.” Luminara replied, nearly choking on her bite.

    “In your sheets!?”

    “Demiurge, no. On the sofa. What is the great issue?”

    Uliya scoffed and sat down, right at her eye level. “The great issue? I have been waiting years for the two of you to fall in love and be together. It is absolutely crucial for my sanity.”

    The moonborn rolled her eyes. “Then I suppose you can bid it farewell. That is not  happening. We are best friends.”

    “A quiet tragedy.” Yer added with a tsk tsk.

    “Right?” Uliya asked.

    Luminara pushed her away with a light tap of her palm to her forehead. “If you are done being insufferable, we have a whole day ahead. What do you want to do?”

    Uliya picked herself up. “Mama wants us to dine with her for lunch. After that I think we should go shopping — I have missed the boutiques in Terracinder terribly. And we could go to your favourite coffee place after. What was it called again? Argh, I cannot remember.”

    “Miltine. And yes to all of it. We will have a wonderful time.” Luminara answered with a grin. She did not say it out loud, but she was quietly touched that Uliya had remembered. When she first came to the palace she had not found it easy to let anyone in beyond Zir and Lena. But Uliya had won her heart quickly. She had been the most endearing five year old, and Luminara — who had never had any siblings even before the tragedy — had gravitated toward her naturally, doting on her beyond reason. She had been genuinely heartbroken when she learned Uliya was leaving with Zir. The two weeks after their departure had been colourless. She had never mentioned it in her letters though. They would only have fussed.

    As if reading her mind, Uliya pulled her into a tight hug. “Yes, of course we will. I love you.”

    “I love you too, Ul.” Luminara said, lightly caressing the back of her head.

    Their quiet moment was interrupted by one of the household maids, who sauntered over and bowed deeply before the two.

    “I come bearing a message for my lady, from his royal highness. Along with this.”

    She leaned in and handed Luminara a folded piece of paper and a small but heavy drawstring pouch. Luminara thanked her and she left. She unfolded the paper and read without bothering about Uliya and Yer having immediately directed their full attention to its contents.

    “Got the herb pack, moonbug — thank you. As promised, here are your rubies, and a little something I thought you might like. See you this evening.”

    She smiled and opened the pouch. On top of the rubies — which were, by the way, clearly more than twenty — sat a ring of platinum, a large glossy pink opal stone set at its centre.

    Luminara could not take her eyes off it as she turned it between her fingers. It was positively sublime.

    “Majestic!” Yer cooed.

    “They are just friends, Yer. Mine hardly buy me potato chips, but I suppose we all define friendship differently. Do we not, Nara darling?” Uliya said, tilting her head with full taunt.

    Luminara kept smiling at the ring and replied without looking up. “You want to die young?”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    Zir emerged through the living maze of vines and roots, making his way toward the agreed meeting spot. Wards had been built around the Havburth cabin in the Lejonet Woods through resistance magic by the Council members. The Havburths had pleaded to at least be permitted to roam the entirety of Lejonet freely, and a compromise had been reached — they could move through the whole forest but could not leave its boundaries. No other Fyrge could walk more than a hundred steps in the direction of the cabin.

    Cecil, perched on his shoulder, silently pulled twigs and leaves from Zir’s hair with his beak.

    “Why am I suddenly craving an apple?” Zir muttered, continuing toward the paint-marked Banyan tree. Iveleh had told him she would use violet paint on the leaves so he could identify it from above. He could not use palm magic to travel inside Lejonet and had been forced to stop at the entrance.

    “You can always have one when we are back. That is, if we are not killed here by your past lover’s traitorous, power-hungry family.” Cecil said matter-of-factly.

    Zir scoffed. “You are clearly determined not to trust me, Cecil. But factually speaking, their magic does not function here. Mine does.” They were now walking through a more open area with fewer trees. For a moment Zir wondered if the Havburths had cleared some — it seemed suspiciously sparse.

    “When will you understand, Zir — it is not you I do not trust.” The blue raven offered with a sigh, and Zir halted.

    “I am being as cautious as I can. Please do not say anything unkind to her.”

    “What if I said hello sweetly and then pecked her eyes out?”

    “Cecil.”

    “Fine. I will not mince my words. But I will gladly stay silent if that is what you prefer.” Cecil replied, turning his head the other direction.

    He had been unhappy from the very beginning when it came to Zir and Sylveline. Had said he would end up hurt. Zir had followed his heart regardless and ended up precisely in the rut Cecil predicted. Even this morning the prince had told him he did not have to come if he did not want to. “Of course I do not want to. But your safety is my primary concern. It is a companion’s duty to accompany their royal in such circumstances,” was all Cecil had said before perching on Zir’s shoulder.

    They walked the remaining path in silence, and Zir found himself glad of the company. Even if he would not show it. Even he had doubts about Sylveline’s intentions, though he kept that to himself.

    He found her sitting atop a stone bench, facing a small field of blooming sunflowers. A simple pink cotton tunic and brown trousers. Her long silver hair fell in straight tresses down her back. Her familiar rosy scent reached him through the cool wind and nostalgia rose up before he could stop it. Cecil slipped silently onto the branch of the willow above them.

    “Were you waiting long?” The prince said softly, one hand resting against the bark of the tree beside him. Sylveline turned slowly. Her pale green, round eyes widened with surprise, a wide smile crossing her heart-shaped face.

    “Ziruth!” She exclaimed, and came to him immediately, pulling him into a tight hug.

    He noticed she had grown taller and leaner — not unhealthily so. But it broke something quiet in him to see her in such plain garb. The Havburths had built an empire of their own. Sylveline had always worn jewellery and lush gowns.

    When she let go he looked at her face. Still beautiful, but without the rouge and dusted eyelids he had always known her in. He felt it settle somewhere in his chest. But he kept his expression neutral. Sylveline would not take well to being pitied. She had always had too much pride for that.

    “Zir, you have grown into such a fine gentleman. And wait — are those muscles?” She added with a dramatic gasp and he laughed despite himself.

    “Yes. A decade turned out to be sufficient.”

    She nodded sincerely, redirecting her gaze from his leather-clad upper body to his face. “Impressive. Shall we sit?”

    “Yes. Let us.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    Once Caelen had shown Kushiana to her en suite — complete with a lit marble fireplace and a full armoire of winter clothes — she had selected a pale yellow turtleneck sweater and long walnut suede trousers with a slight flare, paired with a loose black overcoat that hung softly from her broad shoulders and matching black boots.

    “Is that armoire filled with entirely new clothes?” Kushiana asked once she stepped out and found him waiting at the stained glass entryway. The implication was clear — had the Northern High Prince actually gone out and bought Kushiana new clothes for a two day visit? He himself had thrown on a heavy gray overcoat that was purely aesthetic. He had no need for extra warmth.

    He smirked. “Obviously. Why else would I have clothes in your exact size hanging in a spare room?”

    The Valhades heir narrowed her eyes immediately. “I do not think Kushiana trusts you.” Agnes offered plainly from her shoulder, wearing a tiny embroidered woollen scarf around her neck.

    He shrugged. “Understandable, sweet phoenix. But I simply enjoy shopping. Would it really harm her highness to say thank you and accept graciously?”

    Agnes nudged her beak gently against the side of Kushiana’s head in response. Kushiana sighed and produced a reluctant smile. “Fine. Thank you, Caelen. Can we go now?”

    He grinned. It was the first time she had said his name out loud.

    “Now we can.”

    He knew her well enough to know she would prefer walking downhill to the market over travelling through the portal. He slowed to match her pace.

    Kushiana continued to take in the thriving highland settlement below as they descended. She seemed to welcome the slight chill in the air. For a brief moment Caelen could have sworn he caught the hint of a genuine smile cross her face as she looked upon the frozen Fountain of Tyrellah — the goddess worshipped only in Xerat — standing at the heart of the Central.

    Sculpted entirely from white onyx, the statue depicted the goddess with her long tresses trailing into the waters below. A kettle rested in her hand, symbolising the creation of her own life pool. Before the fountain stood a matching podium carved from the same stone, a plate of gold bearing the words Ire Milyn Siv engraved upon it.

    Kushiana and Agnes turned toward Caelen instinctively.

    “It is written in Xerlin,” he said. “It translates roughly to: You are a finite being with infinite potential to create. The goddess depicted is Tyrellah. We worship her alongside Demiurge here.” 

    Her eyes gleamed. “Beautiful,” she said softly, before turning back to the path ahead.

    They continued in comfortable silence. Soup and snack carts, flower stalls and fruit sellers lined either side of the cobblestoned path. A light fog drifted through, making everything lovelier. They walked until the cobblestones gave way to the main arena, where the restaurants, coffee shops, boutiques and tome stores were gathered.

    It was only when Caelen said “We are here” that she stopped. They stood before a set of massive mahogany double doors with white trim, two guards stationed on either side.

    “What is this?” Kushiana asked.

    “My preferred dining experience in Xerat.” He answered with a grin. The guards bowed politely and pulled the sliding doors open.

    Kushiana’s breath caught. The restaurant was unlike anything she had seen in Citrindally — not because of the luxurious furnishings, she was accustomed to those. It was the glass. Floor to ceiling panels spanning the entire wall opposite, offering an unobstructed view of the snow-covered mountains beyond. Her eyes widened and she stopped moving entirely.

    Caelen nudged her forward with a subtle tap at her back.

    “Pretty females first.”

    Once they had entered, a tall lean waitress clad in black overalls and grey turtleneck along with a white lace apron greeted them. Her skin was glowing with a naturally pink undertone and her long golden hair fell into a braid. Kushiana found herself fascinated by the unique beauty of the Xerakeets.

    “Would you prefer to be seated at your usual spot, Caelen?” She asked the prince with an easy smile. Kushiana found the absence of honorifics interesting.

    “Yes, thank you Darcina.” He responded pleasantly and the female led them towards the end of the hallway and through a large door at the end.

    Soon they found themselves seated in a sister dining room to the one they had been in before. But this one was a sunroom. The sunlight was peeking in through the large glass ceiling. They sat at the singular large round blackwood table in the center, on it rested exquisitely handcrafted heavy china and cutlery, along with a tall bottle of wine that Kushiana could not place. Caelen saw her eyes linger momentarily and answered of his own accord.

    “It’s called roseweed wine, made using a rare variety of rosehip, plums and fireweed.”

    She nodded with understanding.

    “What would you like to have?” The charismatic waitress asked, pen and notebook ready in her hand.

    “If you could give us a moment? I’d like to convene with my guest first.”

    “Sure. Give me a ring.” She bowed respectfully and left.

    They both picked up their menu cards at the same time, famished from their long walk. Agnes flew towards the large peeking maple tree branch that emerged from an open tile in the corner.

    “So my sweet dame, what are you craving? Sweet or savoury.”

    “Stop calling me that and savoury it is. What’s glistening oatmeal curry?”

    He pulled his card below eye level and shot her a narrowed gaze. “Seriously? You skipped over all the sweet breakfast options and went straight to the boring ones.”

    She mirrored the gesture. “It’s almost brunch time. And do you pick everything for your guests from clothes to breakfast?”

    “I wouldn’t have picked something that comfortable for you.” He replied with a lopsided smirk.

    She scoffed with disdain. “You’re disgusting. Answer my primary question.”

    He laughed but regained his composure quickly. “It’s oatmeal blended with a herb we have called Sanderthill. It has a rice-like sheen and is hand beaten into a paste. Then put in with a stew-like curry with caramelised mushrooms, garlic, asparagus, roasted chicken and leek. It’s creamy with a mild spice level.”

    She nodded. “Sounds delicious. I’ll have this with a green salad.”

    “Alright. I’ll tell you my usual — a greasy stack of thick cocoa butter pancakes, chicken sausages, cloudy eggs with a side of sautéed vegetables and avocado cream cheese rice balls.”

    Kushiana was tempted for a moment but gulped it down. “Okay great.”

    He leaned back, gasping. “For my sake Kushiana, try one thing that isn’t borderline healthy. You are my guest. I feel horrid. This could easily be a vacation from your duties if you let it be.”

    She crossed her arms and whispered, a tinge of worry visible on her forehead. “Normally people don’t intend to take vacations with an underlying intent of stealing valuable gems, Caelen.”

    “It’s not stealing. I am lending it to you after I steal it.” He whispered back, then cleared his throat. “And there is no need to whisper. This is my private space.”

    “Fine. I’ll keep my order but I’ll try some from your massive unhealthy one.” She replied softly with a tinge of reluctance.

    He winked. “Perfect, along with two glasses of wine. Now tell me what will your phoenix eat?”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 9 – The Grim Making Of A Moonborn, Part One

    In Fyrgen there had been a prophecy long-standing since the birth of the first Fyrges. “When the continent unites for good, there shall be the birth of a divine babe, blessed by the luminosity of the moon goddess herself. Despite being born to a family with limited means and resources, her birth will bring them joy and abundance. The first decade of her lifetime will be spent rejoicing in an environment filled with familial love and care. Until her eleventh birth anniversary, when the tide is bound to turn in a direction even the moon-blessed child would not be able to track. On this day a cataclysmic event will shake up her life, one that is vital for the child to take a different course in her adult years. The fate of the entire continent depends on the shift brought forth by this day. For this child holds the power to dip the twin moons when the world needs it the most.”

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

    Content Warning This chapter contains depictions of child endangerment and attempted sexual violence. Reader discretion is advised.

    Eleven years ago

    The Palace of Citrindally has seen brighter mornings, but the way the sun shines today seems to hint at a good omen arriving. At least that is what Lena is thinking, sprawled across the hammock in her private courtyard, in the company of her two ladies in waiting, Iris and Bridget, who are busy fanning the relaxed queen. Her youngest, Princess Uliya, is busy playing with the queen’s royal companion Nysleon in the corner of the same courtyard.

    “Any word about the king and prince’s arrival, Nyse?” Lena asks in her usual calm but firm tone. The winter lion comes running up to her, followed by Uliya on her tiny agile legs — she was clearly not finished putting flowers in his beautiful silver hair.

    “Stravosa has not contacted me since their quick stop in Tyutir, your Majesty.” He offers with a polite bow.

    “The sun god appears to be signalling me toward something. A positive development today.” Lena adds after a quiet sigh.

    “What sort of development, if you do not mind my asking, your Majesty?” Iris asks, curiosity stirred at the confession of the sun-chosen queen.

    “Time will tell, child. The sun god speaks in the sort of riddles I can only decode to a certain extent.” She answers. They all nod in unison, except the five year old princess who takes this as an opportunity to drop down beside her in the hammock.

    “What is a riddle, Mama?” she asks, and the queen answers gently, meeting her gaze. “It is when we speak in a way that does not directly explain something. Only pointing in the direction of ideas and imagination.”

    “Father speaks in that way!” She exclaims and everyone laughs at her excited squeal.

    “Yes, my precious child.” The queen draws her close, making her sit beside her in the hammock, running her hands through her loose, sun-warmed golden curls.

    “Uliya, would you like me to braid your hair?”

    “Yes, Mama.” The queen nods and gestures to Iris, who quickly produces an amber silk ribbon from her pocket.

    “You are my most adorable and well-behaved child,” Lena adds, slowly working through the labyrinth of curls and tresses that reach her tiny waist.

    “Thank you, Mama. But what about Zir and Kush?” she asks teasingly, drawing a slight snort from Lena.

    “Oh, they are just fine. Do not worry about them, dear. I love all of you.”

    “But you love me the best.” Uliya appends her own ending to the sentence and is met with silence. Lena has the wisdom to know that even if you have a favoured child, it is never to be revealed. And Uliya is certainly that child for her.

    Soon a royal guard approaches the main door with a knock. Nysleon rushes over to receive the message.

    “What news?” the queen asks once he returns to the courtyard.

    “His Majesty and his Royal Highness have arrived with the guards and emissaries. No one was hurt. However—”

    The queen looks up immediately at that last word.

    “They have brought someone else. His Majesty has requested your presence in the great hall immediately.”

    And there is the direction the sun god was pointing in today.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    The queen, flanked by her ladies in waiting and Nysleon at her side, arrives at the great hall shortly after. The others halt when they find two guards stationed outside the private chamber.

    “I shall go and find Stravosa, if you permit, your Majesty.” Lena nods and enters the private chamber through the large oakwood double doors.

    She finds the king resting alone on the low chaise. No sign of Ziruth.

    “Kiev, my love. How was your journey?” she asks gently, settling beside him.

    “A whirlwind, darling. Exhausting but the worthy kind.” He places her smooth, dainty fingers inside his own large callused ones.

    “You look happier for it. And I heard we lost no one from our troops, which is wonderful news.”

    He laughs. “Yes. Their resistance was not as strong as we had hoped. They gave up without much of a fight. Not that there was much choice in the matter.”

    “I understand.” She nods solemnly and they share a quiet, intimate moment as he embraces her after more than three weeks away.

    “I also have someone I would like you to meet.” He adds, pulling back to meet her eyes.

    “I heard. Who is it?”

    “You know that the Draumfells had recently seized control of the Great Monville estate by unlawful means. They slaughtered the minister in charge.”

    “Yes, Stravosa kept us informed on all developments until yesterday.”

    “I had not known, as it turns out. Our spies were tracked and killed by the Draumfell clan. Our allies were bought off with promises of gold so that no news would reach me during the excursion.”

    Lena listens and nods, her expression shifting into hostile territory, all warmth for the king retreating from her face. A queen later, general first — Kiev had promised her that before their wedding.

    “For the most important part of how we found out, I must ask you something first. Were you aware of Zir showing any magical abilities beyond what we discussed with the healer?”

    She leans in, visibly confused. “No, only the freezing and the usual palm magic. Why?”

    He sighs deeply. “He has countless others, it seems, that we may not know of until they emerge. But somehow, while we were resting at a stop nearby, our son insisted that we needed to go to Monville. Immediately. I brushed it off at first, told him it was not in our itinerary. But he was absolutely adamant, Lena. I eventually assumed he simply wanted to visit the carnival again — he had enjoyed it so much the last time. So we agreed to go the following morning.”

    Lena caresses his hand gently, urging him to continue.

    “The next sunrise, Zir woke right on time and shook me awake, urging us to leave two hours early. He seemed very anxious, which is so unlike him. But I had an empty feeling in my stomach that told me there was more to it. So we left earlier than planned. And Lena, I am so glad we did.” The pain on Kiev’s face is unmistakable.

    He reaches for a small hunting knife on the stone table across from them — one studded with pink pearls and tiny ribbons, which she had not noticed before.

    “As soon as we entered Monville I knew something was wrong. The town seemed to hush the moment we passed through the boundary gates. The guards had gone pale. The general public offered no welcome. Shops closed and people rushed home. And Zir said — ‘Father, we need to go to the Monville Estate.’ It was like an alarm went off inside me too, because I am certain he had no idea the estate existed. I ordered Evan to take us there immediately.”

    “What happened then?” Lena asks, her own anxiety rising at the foreboding weight of Kiev’s voice.

    The king swallows. The light dims slightly in his eyes. His hesitating is never a good sign. It is well known throughout the kingdom that Kiev the Second never wavers.

    “We reached the castle gates. Evan immediately prevented the guards from announcing our arrival. And before we could even assess the situation, Zir rushed out of the carriage and ran straight for the gates. The guards went after him, Lena. But he moved with a speed that was not natural. I had to intervene and catch his arm just before he reached the double doors. And when I held our child, tears were already running down his face. He screamed at me — ‘They will hurt her. We have to go now, Father.’”

    “I had the guards open the doors. There was no one in the hallway, so I took Zir’s hand and let him lead me. He brought me to the crown room. And Lena, what I saw there shattered me. We entered unannounced to find around a hundred men gathered at the centre of the room. Aggressive, frenzied. And then I looked up — and there was this child clad in black at the centre of it all. A youngling I vaguely recognised from somewhere I could not place. The next thing I knew—”

    He pauses and clicks his tongue, a flash of rage crossing his face. “I cannot recount the rest of it. We have daughters of our own. Search the memory in my mind. I will not say it out loud.”

    She nods, reaching for the power of her third eye. She visualises a thread connecting her mind to Kiev’s and draws his recent memories toward her. Once they become accessible, she moves back from the present moment and stops at the beginning — when he first sees the child.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    The child has her hands clasped around the downrod of the chandelier. Panic-stricken, screaming for her life. The men below jump and lunge for her repeatedly, failing each time as she moves fast and pulls herself out of reach. At the far end of the room, the youngest Draumfell heir watches from the throne flanked by four guards, entirely unbothered. The men laugh collectively, vicious and feral. “It’s going to be so much fun when we grab her.” “I get the first turn.” “Even if she dies, pass her along.”

    Kiev’s shock is palpable. He is barely done comprehending the sight when Zir steps forward from the corner of his eye. All the anxiety and dread that had been written across his son’s face is gone. Replaced now by fury so absolute it has no age. The eleven year old child is gone. What stands in his place is something ancient and divine, oozing a glittering blue-white light from his skin, eyes turned to a striking silver that swallows the pupil entirely.

    “Halt and step back.”

    The words leave his mouth and echo through the entire hall without him raising his voice. Perhaps because the voice does not belong to him alone but to something far higher. Every man in the room stops. Horror crosses their faces collectively. Zir is surrounded by a crackling, electrifying energy visible to everyone present.

    Kiev, Evan and the guards drop to their knees and bow. What stands before them is no longer the Prince of Stars but something beyond it — a supernova. The child on the chandelier watches with a gaping mouth, all terror momentarily replaced by awe.

    Zir moves to the centre of the room, directly below her. He raises one arm slowly and cuts his palm through the air. Every man in the room freezes instantly, encased in solid chunks of ice — all but Kiev and his entourage. Skarde Draumfell remains frozen on his throne, his guards with him.

    Zir looks up. His eyes find the girl’s glassy ones and the crackling energy around him dims slowly, the swirling settling into stillness. He raises a hand toward her. She hesitates, doubt still visible on her face, then quietly raises hers. A thread emerges from both their palms and ties itself between them — his silver, hers gold.

    “You can step down. My magic will keep you from falling.” His voice is gentle.

    She looks down, afraid, then nods once with quiet trust. She releases the downrod slowly. “Visualise a staircase in your mind and it will take shape before your eyes.” She does, and descends with surprising ease.

    Kiev and the others watch in silence as she steps off the final invisible stair and stops directly in front of Zir.

    “Are you alright?” he asks.

    “Yes,” she replies, body still trembling.

    Before she can even look up to meet his eyes, Zir turns to his father. “This is Luminara, my friend. She is coming with us.” The vague recognition that had been circling Kiev’s mind finally settles into certainty. This is the friend he made during the Monville Carnival last year. That is where he knows her from.

    Kiev nods, composure returning. “Zir, come here.”

    Zir crosses back to him quickly.

    “What of her family? We should find them,” Kiev says quietly.

    “They died last night.” Zir offers nothing further, then gestures for her to follow. The child falls into step beside him immediately.

    They are nearly out of the door when Kiev says, “Ziruth, wait. Defreeze the Draumfell.”

    Zir turns sharply, the fury back at once. “What are you talking about? He sat on his throne and ordered his underlings to do unspeakable things to her.” The child moves behind him instinctively and he reaches for her hand.

    “We will try him. Prison, as an example to the resistance.”

    “No. He needs to die. Let me finish it now.” He raises his hand.

    “Ziruth.” Kiev’s voice is lethal and cold. “I am your king as well as your father. You will follow my orders. This is larger than one incident.”

    The defiance and disgust on Zir’s face do not leave, but his hand lowers. He turns to the frozen throne and cuts the air to release him.

    Skarde Draumfell falls back against his seat with a thud, dazed and wide-eyed. Before the guards can reach him, Zir is already there, stopping directly in front of the eighteen year old.

    “You, Skarde Draumfell, are my enemy for as long as I breathe. I will come for you one day and watch as you bleed and beg, your bones crushed by the friend you dared to disrespect. You will be nothing but dust beneath her feet. I make this blood oath before Demiurge’s watchful eye. Pray you die before that dreadful night arrives. You will be eviscerated into nothingness.” He marks the blood oath with a slow circular motion of his hand.

    And just like that, the Prince of Stars drains every last trace of colour from the predatory heir’s face. He turns on his heel in sacred fury, takes his friend’s hand, and leaves the hall with his white brocade cloak flying behind him, sealing Skarde’s fate.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    It took Lena a long time to surface from the memory. Her eyes were glassy with a burning rage held carefully behind them. Kiev sensed it without her saying a word. It was only when he leaned in and lifted her chin gently that life returned to her expression.

    “My love,” he whispered.

    “How could he think of doing such a thing to a child. She is our son’s age. It disgusts me, Kiev. Why did you not let Zir kill him? Why did you choose that moment to act as monarch? You should have let him die.”

    A tear slips out, born of the particular frustration of being a female who understands exactly what was at stake in that room. Lena does not soften her words in times of great unrest. It does not matter that the person beside her is the king. She is speaking as a mother of three children, and her outrage is not limited to her own.

    “He is the leverage we need against the resistance. It was not an easy decision, especially after what I saw — you felt my discomfort in the memory, I am sure — but—” Kiev attempts to continue and she raises a hand, stopping him. She may understand it as queen. She does not accept it as herself.

    Thick tension settles between them. They are on opposing sides of the same love and neither can fully cross to the other. Moments pass in silence before Stravosa, the king’s companion white tiger — appears at the door with a knock and bows.

    “What is it?” Kiev snaps, letting more show than he usually would.

    Stravosa does not waver. “The lady in waiting informed me that your bath is ready, your Majesty.”

    Kiev rises immediately, because he would be anywhere but here right now. “We will speak later,” he says to Lena. She answers with a solemn nod.

    Alone in the silence that follows, she feels the infuriating knowledge of Skarde Draumfell still breathing settle over her like a weight. It spreads the way a righteous disease spreads — one she finds it honourable to carry, because it reminds her that she does not need to have experienced something herself in order to feel it fully. A just queen through and through.

    She prays quietly to the sun god for his doom.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • 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.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • 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.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦