Tag: Sorcerss Of Citrindally

  • Chapter 8 – Tragedy Often Leaves A Trail

    As a wain, my magical abilities did not fully emerge until I was somewhere between nine and ten. I vividly remember sitting in our private dining chamber wanting a chocolate soufflé for dessert rather than the flan everyone else was having. My mother declined to call the servants on my behalf, saying I needed to grow out of my shyness and learn to ask for things myself. Before speaking I rehearsed it quietly, imagining the kitchen maid standing right beside me. “I would like a chocolate soufflé, please.” “I need one, please.” “Could I have some, please?” I settled on the last as the most polite. The moment I opened my mouth, the kitchen maid appeared with vacant eyes at an unnatural speed, placed three plates of chocolate soufflé before me and said “Do you require anything else, my mistress?” That is how we discovered my primary magical ability was placing anyone in a thrall through words and visualisation alone.

    — Princess Uliya Van Larsson of House Valhades, Personal Accounts of the Valhades Heirs, The Great Hall Of Learning

    ~ Uliya ~

    An intense black light bleeds in from behind the curtains of my pastel pink room, painting all four walls with it. “Oh crap,” I mutter as I wake, covering my eyes with my arm. “Yer, what is all this?” No lightning quick response comes. I drag myself out of bed, making out objects by touch, calling her name again and again until I feel the light seeping through my closed eyelids. I try to reach for my power and find nothing there. So I open my eyes slowly, met first with pitch black, then with a deep and revolting red that stretches as far as I can see.

    Then I hear breathing.

    Followed by the voice I thought I had buried long ago. “Uliya my love, why don’t you come play with me?” My body locks up, a strange sensation crawling all over it at once. No. No. It cannot be. Apateus. His voice seems distant at first, then — “I can always be closer than you think” it is no longer a whisper and it is coming from directly behind me. I feel warm tears streaking down my face. “Let go of me!” I demand, met only with vicious laughter that pierces my eardrums and makes my heart collapse entirely. And then like a phantom wind he is right in front of me, wide eyes meeting the curve of his mocking smile perfectly. “I said let go of me, or I will rip your eye socket out. You filthy piece of scum.” I say it through clenched teeth. The colour drains from his face. The smile falters and he steps back. It takes me a moment to realise he is not looking at me at all, but at something behind me. I turn halfway and am met with an intense yellow light and Apateus’ deafening cry of fear reverberating all around me.

    Before I can process it, I wake up in my own bed. Sweating through my clothes, panting. Yer hovers over me immediately, a wet cloth napkin held in her beak, cooing “You are fine, Ul. You are fine.”

    I cannot stop panting but sit up and grab the water tumbler to my left, pouring it straight into my mouth without bothering with a glass. Once hydrated and fully aware of my surroundings — my bright, cosy bedchamber with the pink accents, I finally let the panic go.

    “Did you have a nightmare?” she asks, settling casually on top of the left footpost.

    “Yes,” I practically whisper.

    “That is peculiar. You have not had one in six years. Your first night back and this happens.” She cocks her head to the side.

    I sigh and get off the bed, ringing the bell for Agatha, the new lady in waiting assigned to me. I was sad to learn yesterday that old Esmeralda had died of a plague that took many poor Fyrges last year. “Maybe it is my body adjusting back to Citrindally’s air.”

    “Fair enough. What was it about? I could only catch flashes of bright golden light in my mind.”

    I stop walking and turn to face her directly. “Nothing. Can we speak about this later? I do not want to start my first morning home on a dull note, Yer.”

    “Of course! Do you want me to fetch your correspondence? Agnes told us a great many citizens have written to welcome you back.” She squeals and I laugh, giving her a small nod before she disappears through the window.

    I stretch to shake off the last of the anxiety, interrupted by two quick knocks at the door.

    “Come in,” I answer. The door creaks open and a meek looking female steps inside. Her hair is a beautiful flame-kissed shade, gathered into a large fishnet bun behind her head. She is petite, dressed in a drab white collared silk dress paired with a sea green lace apron — the usual attire of the ladies in waiting at the royal palace, unless they wish otherwise, as Fyrges hold a superstition about certain colours being unlucky for their health.

    She greets me with a prolonged bow, the kind reserved for a first meeting between a lady in waiting and her princess, then says, “Your Royal Highness, if I may introduce myself?”

    “Please do. And try calling me Uliya when we are behind closed doors. Being addressed as Your Royal Highness at all times might make me an even worse royal than I already am.”

    A small smile escapes her before she schools it. “My name is Agatha. Starting today I will be at your service for all matters, official and unofficial, that a lady in waiting should attend to. I also excel at sewing, altering and customising garments.”

    “Perfect, you can assist with the seamstress work as well then, Agatha. I would like breakfast in my antechamber this morning — please let my mother know. And bring a couple of gowns for me to choose from for lunch.”

    “Of course. Is there anything else?”

    I start to shake my head and stop. “Actually yes, one urgent matter. Could you stop by and give Prince Zir a message on your way? His companion is not around today.”

    She nods and moves to the desk, lifting a piece of paper and the ink-dipped feather.

    “I am certain his Royal Highness would be pleased to hear from you. What is the message?”

    “Tell him that the first thing I thought of this morning was that specific time eight years ago when he picked up Mama’s sword for the first time, could not handle it, fell straight into the fountain, and I could not stop laughing. Also tell him he is a prick.” I say it with complete seriousness.

    She raises an eyebrow slightly, then immediately bows when she realises I mean every word.

    “It is fine, he will know it is from me.”

    I smile and dismiss her with a casual wave and she is gone.

    Later that afternoon,

    I am the last to arrive at our private dining hall. My mother and father are already seated at their respective ends of the rectangular table, making conversation with Zir and Kushiana, who sit opposite each other and are very clearly attempting civility.

    The moment I take my first step inside, all eyes turn to me — scanning for whichever emotion they have learned to expect from me. Anger. Sadness. Nastiness. Indifference.

    “It is essential for a princess to respect the timing of supper, Uliya,” my mother says, firmly but politely, by way of greeting.

    I hastily pull out the chair beside Zir, next to her. “Sorry. I could not sleep at all last night.”

    “It is alright, child. I am simply glad we are all eating together.” Father smiles and rings the bell with a flick of magic, sending the servants into motion around the room.

    We eat in the silence considered appropriate for royals. Demiurge help me, I am going to miss chatting with Yer over meals. The food here may be better but it is doing nothing for me when she is not at the table. My family is perfectly tolerable but nothing compares to her.

    I unenthusiastically carve up the baked seasoned potatoes on my plate when I feel Kushiana’s gaze settle on me. “What?” I mouth. Her eyes move deliberately to the untouched pile of vegetables beside them, then back to mine. A silent question.

    I sigh. Then spend the next few minutes slowly burying the ash-like food in the depths of my mouth.

    “If you do not mind,” Zir says suddenly, setting down his fork, “I have an urgent matter to attend to. May I take leave?” As usual, Mister Busy has somewhere to be. This is the same man who faked employment for years in the human lands. Nothing surprises me anymore.

    “I certainly mind. What is this urgent matter pertaining to, Ziruth?” Father’s voice carries the weight of a king this time.

    “It is Zir, so probably something to do with abandoning his family and kingdom.” Kushiana adds in that feather-light voice of hers, the one that appears reliably after two glasses of blackberry wine. I sometimes wonder if she would need that many drinks if she stopped shouldering responsibility for everyone around her.

    Zir tilts his head slowly, smiling like a feral cat. They are absolutely going to start.

    “Is that what you are wishing on? So you can keep fishing for another opportunity to self-sacrifice?”

    Her answering snarl splits something in my chest. A small crackle of lightning flickers from her fingers. Father exhales deeply.

    “Enough.” Mama’s voice is sharper now, carrying real weight. “Need I remind you both who you are seated before?”

    Both of them straighten immediately, eyes dropping. So completely at odds with the argument they were building toward seconds ago.

    “Good. Zir, you may go. But let us avoid abrupt departures during the limited meals we have together as a family. We must learn to stay together.”

    He nods. “Yes ma’am. I will see you both in court this evening.” He rises and leaves.

    Mama extends a finger toward Kushiana. An invisible thread attaches to her half-full glass and lifts it smoothly across the table into Mama’s waiting hand.

    “I was still drinking that—”

    “Yes, and look at the state of you already. It should have stopped after the first glass. Drunk is not a flattering look on a queen.”

    Kushiana bursts out laughing, clearly out of spite. “And dead is?”

    Father coughs. Mother’s eyes register as much shock as they allow themselves.

    I stand and take my older sister firmly by the arm. “Up. We are getting some fresh air.”

    “I do not want—”

    “Now, Kushiana.” I say it in the rare assertive way I rarely do.

    She yields.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Zir ~

    I had written back to Syveline the same night, while still in the human lands, asking her to describe Nivun’s ailment in detail. She responded the next morning and I immediately sent Cecil in search of Noorani, our family healer who gave up her practice to focus on teaching children. She could not be found. Cecil has gone to Tyutir again today, to her kin’s place, still looking.

    Until then.

    I have just escaped a painfully prolonged supper with my family. They take unusually long to eat and it is unbearable. How hard is it to finish soup? No chewing required.

    I head directly for the eastern wing’s second floor and knock on the large heavy oakwood door. The smell immediately stirs up childhood memories.

    “Hello, who can I expect?” Lume’s deep voice answers from inside.

    “It is me, Zir. Open up.”

    The door swings open by magic and I step into the antechamber. The eastern wing bedrooms are considerably more airy than the rest of the palace. Luminara’s in particular is the finest, her antechamber leading into a large bedchamber connected to a generous hanging garden balcony for her herbs.

    The scent of rosemary and dill drifts around me as I take in how the antechamber has been remade to reflect her grown interests. Several neatly organised shelves hold glass beakers, vials and containers of herbs in careful rows.

    Her adjoining bedchamber and private dining hall have minimal furniture — a large blackwood canopy bed with lavender vines falling from it and wrapping around white curtains beautifully. Her study desk sits in front of it, covered in correspondence written in cerulean blue ink. A large triple armoire of whitewood faces the bed and contrasts beautifully against it. A single green velvet sofa with a round coffee table, books stacked in piles underneath. Tiny lamps are mounted across the ceiling. No chandelier like the rest of us. I feel uneasy for a moment registering that, then swallow it down and push open the double doors to the garden.

    The semi-circular ground is covered in trimmed grass. Large and small plants crowd every surface, flowers and herbs blooming to the point of overlapping in places, making the stone boundary of the balcony nearly impossible to locate.

    It takes a moment to find Lume somewhere in the middle, her head popping up from where she has been kneeling, working a new plant into a round mirror-glazed ceramic pot.

    She has her hair in two long braids falling over her shoulders and has chosen black overalls over a green tunic, white rubber gloves and thick boots.

    “Hey, I was not expecting you until this evening. Is something wrong?” She asks, nonchalant, attempting to push stray strands of hair back from her sweat-beaded forehead with her elbow. Her gloves are covered in dry soil.

    I move toward her and push them back behind her ear.

    She lets out a quiet sigh of relief, shoulders dropping. “Thank you. It was driving me mad.”

    I smile. “I need your help, Lume. Could you come back to this later?”

    “Of course. Give me a minute.”

    I nod and settle onto the sofa, pouring her a glass of water while she cleans the soil from her hands and tosses the gloves into a corner.

    “Tell me,” she says, sitting on the settee across from me and drinking.

    I lean forward. “Alright, so—” and stop, realising the balcony and antechamber doors are still open. As if every soul here doesn’t have better things to do than suspect their prince of casual treason.

    She catches where my eyes go and snaps both doors shut with a flick of her fingers.

    “I have already sealed all my chambers with sonancy magic. You can say whatever you need to.” She adds the reassurance because she knows my wariness extends to even locked doors. 

    I wink. “I knew having a smart friend would pay off eventually.”

    She rolls her eyes. “Yes, you were that calculative even in your first decade. Now go on, princeling. I have healing herbs waiting to be bound.”

    “Alright. I cannot get hold of our old healer Noorani, and I need medicine made without my parents learning of it.”

    She leans back and crosses her legs. “What kind of herbs?”

    I bring out the paper describing the ailment and the medicine name and hold it out to her. Or so I think.

    She raises an eyebrow and holds up what is actually in her hand, an amused smile playing on her lips.

    “I do agree with Uliya that you are a prick, and I cannot wait to hear more about this sword incident, but—”

    I realise I have handed her the message Uliya sent to torment me through her maid earlier. I snatch it back, shove it into my pocket and produce the correct paper.

    She keeps laughing but skims through it quickly and nods. “I can make this. But it will need sun-dried salted aloe vera which takes two days to prepare. Three days in total.”

    I do not argue about the timeline. I already trust she has found the fastest way.

    “That works. Thank you, Lume.”

    “A thanks will not cover it. I need five tiny rubies in exchange.”

    I scoff. “Do not be absurd. That would barely make a bracelet. I will get you twenty.”

    We look at each other seriously for a moment before she laughs. “You need to learn to negotiate, princeling. Anyone could take advantage of you. I was joking anyway.”

    I stand. “Negotiation is for dealings with others. Not the friend who never asks why I need something. I suggest you start asking for more.”

    She pauses before she rises. And when she looks up I notice her eyes are a little glassy.

    “I missed you, you know.”

    I feel my own emotions rise. “I did too, moonbug.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Kushiana ~

    I regain consciousness at the cost of a throbbing headache that ascends to the crown of my head and then descends again in nauseating waves. I manage to open my glassy eyes. I am in my bedchamber but not alone.

    “She does not even listen to me without snapping. What am I supposed to do?” Zir mutters to Uliya from the leather armchair in front of my bed, gazing thoughtfully out the window.

    “Well she needs to listen. And you are older so you have to say it.” Uliya says, arms crossed in the adjacent armchair.

    “Ah, no? Where did that rule come from suddenly. Especially from someone who breathes to talk.”

    She tosses her hair back, the portrait of manufactured innocence. “I am the youngest. I involuntarily have the least authority.”

    “You had our mother build a staircase from my balcony to yours by lying that you were scared. She did not even ask me before imposing.” Zir seethes.

    Uliya laughs. “That was purely to annoy you actually. I am proud of that one.”

    “If I could strangle you and get away with it, I would. You live to create trouble for me.” He delivers it in the sweetest voice, as though reciting poetry.

    “Cry to Demiurge about it later. Now listen — when she wakes up.” Uliya points in my direction and I close my eyes immediately, feigning sleep. “Tell her she does not have to do this. Our parents cannot force her to sit on that throne and would ultimately be more worried about her wellbeing than anything else. That is all.”

    These two worry about me so much. Now I feel guilty.

    “Fine. But she is not going to listen easily in a thousand years. So if she does not, you better produce those deceptive tears and cry like your life depends on it. And if you do not, I will make you.”

    “That is so mean, Zir. I am barely seventeen. How could you say that about me?” She suddenly bursts into tears and I am about to sit up and end this circus when—

    He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Yes. Exactly like that. Well done.”

    Uliya drops her hands from her face. Dry-eyed.

    These two happen to be exceptionally gifted at scheming and theatrics. I need to put a stop to their antics today. Caelen would withdraw his help the moment he sensed political danger, so I can afford to be honest while withholding certain details. That way I will not feel guilty either.

    I sit up slowly and they both immediately rise and come to settle at opposite ends of my bed.

    “What are you two doing in my room?” I ask, frowning naturally while rubbing an eye.

    “When I brought you back here after supper to talk, you passed out the moment you lay down,” Uliya says carefully.

    “And?” I gesture to Zir for water. Uliya says nothing until he fetches it. They are really committing to their respective roles.

    “And we thought — instead of fighting, the three of us should do something fun together.” Zir adds pleasantly, handing me the glass.

    I drain it before looking at them both.

    “Fine. But let me say something first.”

    “Oh,” they say in unison, visibly thrown. Probably expecting a threat.

    I sigh and snap all doors and windows shut with my fingers. “I am not going to sit on the throne. I know how to get all of us away from it. But that is all I can offer you right now. The curse is very real, I believe in it, and I will ask for help only if I need it before the crowning. I have it handled. Please do not push me for more.”

    I look up. They are both staring at me.

    Silence for a moment before they erupt simultaneously.

    “You had a plan the entire time and said nothing while we worried ourselves sick?” Uliya shrieks.

    “What do you mean we cannot push for more information. This affects the whole family, not just you.” Zir says in that quietly disappointed tone he reserves for occasions like this.

    I roll my eyes. “Do not make it my funeral now. Can the two of you not simply trust me? Have I not handled things before when I said I would? Is that what you think of your eldest sister?”

    I resort to my own theatrics, layering in a few well-placed sentences. I even briefly consider attempting Uliya’s fake cry, but it is too risky. I do not have the practice or her emotionally expressive face. They would see through it instantly.

    It works beautifully regardless. They both pause, let the words settle, and when they speak again the temperature has changed.

    “Fine. But do not do anything that puts you in danger. I refuse to watch you die for something stupid.” Uliya says, clicking her tongue, arms crossed again.

    “I will not interfere. But find a solution quickly because I am not letting you sit on that throne under any circumstance. That is not negotiable.” Zir says flatly, rising from the bed.

    “Thank you for trusting me. And I should not have to say this, but this stays between us.” I add with a small smile they reluctantly return.

    “Of course.”

    “Yes.”

    “Good. Do we still have anything fun planned for the three of us?” I emphasise the last three words, poking gently at their terrible intervention opener.

    “Do not act smart,” Uliya mutters and walks out.

    “I will still be watching out for danger,” Zir says. I nod. That seems fair.

    “Also, unrelated but can I borrow some of your lightning beads in a couple of weeks? It is for—”

    “Of course. I do not need the full explanation. I trust you.” I cut him off before he can finish.

    He nods and disappears with a steady hand of magic.

    Crisis averted, for now.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 7 – Heirs, apparently


    The average Fyrge can live up to the age of thousand, as they age very slowly. Not all of us though, Demiurge is said to have marked certain bloodlines including ours with immortality and eternal youth, thus we are called godlings. These bloodlines weren’t picked on the basis of one’s status but rather the karma of their ancestors. Ours is said to have come from Rainesta Van Valhades, a princess that never married and devoted her life to serving her subjects with generosity.  

    I was born on a night where the constellations swirled and danced across the sky. They appeared to have wrapped themselves around the twin crescent moons, gold and silver aligning at the specific moment I was born. I was given the title — Prince of Stars and said to have been marked by Demiurge.

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

    ~ Uliya ~

    “I let my devotion for you swallow me whole and you threw me up in bits and pieces like I was nothing more than flesh waiting to be devoured. You shattered me, Sylve, and yet when you step into the room all I want to do is beg you to glance my way. To look at me with hope for something deeper. I am held transfixed by your ever-shining light while you shoot arrows into my heart without a flinch—”

    I am unable to finish the rest of the sentence as Zir rudely snatches his diary from my hands.

    “How many times must I tell you not to touch my personal belongings, Uliya. This is an encroachment on my private world and I do not appreciate it.” He says through clenched teeth before making it disappear with a flick of his magic. It is probably lying invisible on some shelf in his bedchamber back home now.

    Cecil and Yer cease their laughter at once. I had been entertaining them with a theatrical narration of the embarrassing unsent letters he wrote to Syveline after she broke his heart. I had found the last remaining box of Zir’s things yet to be sent home through thunder and figured I might find something useful to weaponise against him later.

    “I was looking for a snack and got distracted, starshine.” I offer with a flutter of my eyelids, feigning innocence. He would not fall for it, of course, because I picked “starshine” from another old letter where Syveline had used the word to manipulate him into giving her the rare emerald pendant he had originally gotten for Luminara’s birthday, exchanging it for a garnet one instead. I have never liked Syveline or the rest of her traitor family, but I will credit her for being impressively manipulative at fourteen. Nara ended up with the garnet one. Not that it made much difference — she has an ethereal aura that makes her infinitely more striking than anyone else in Fyrgen. Any jewel is fortunate to be worn by her, not the other way around.

    He glares at me in a way that communicates I cannot afford to irritate him again for at least a few hours. Sad, but manageable.

    “If you are done wasting time, it is time for us to leave for home.”

    “Ugh, fine.” I get up with an exaggerated sigh and gesture for Yer to perch on my shoulder.

    And all four of us are swallowed by lightning, journeying back to our roots.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Zir ~

    In a matter of seconds we are home. The sun sits low on the horizon as if welcoming us back from exile. The air is thick with the scent of jasmine and tuberose immediately, and the nostalgia of it nearly floors me. The incessant chanting of our names among the crowds makes me wonder how and why I ever left. Why was it never this enchanting during the last Council meeting I was forced to attend three years ago?

    “Why in the fallen angel’s pit did you bring us out through the back courtyard? Mama specifically asked you to stop us by the old coffee shop in the town square, where the dragon carriages are waiting to lead us through the crowds to the castle gates.” Uliya asks, eyes already narrowed.

    Cecil and Yer perch on the water fountain in front of us and tilt their heads with the same silent question.

    I click my tongue and get it out as quickly as possible. “Ah yes, about that. I feel slightly uncomfortable with the idea of parading through such close quarters with the entire population of Citrindally. So why don’t you all go? I will be in my bedchamber. See you at supper.”

    Just as I raise my hand to disappear, Cecil flies over and wraps his claws firmly around my fingers, restricting all movement. Then stares directly into my eyes with the bone-chilling bloodshot gaze I have only seen from him once before, and one that was fortunately not directed at me on that occasion.

    “Ziruth Van Larsson Valhades. I have tolerated many of your coldblood tantrums for the past six years. But I swear to Demiurge, if you try to rob me of the honour of accompanying you to this grand welcome ceremony by keeping up your reclusive ways, I will scratch your eyeballs out myself.”

    I swallow the whimper that naturally built in my throat and clear it with a cough, redirecting my gaze to the other two.

    “Always open to a change of plans,” I offer with a grimace. Uliya mutters “Loser” under her breath.

    Moments later,

    I hate it. I hate it. I hate it. It is taking every ounce of my being to keep smiling and waving to the crowds as we slip past them in the carriage. I was a fool to feel nostalgic prematurely. Uliya is in her element beside me though — she seemed nervous before but is clearly thriving on the attention now. This is the first public procession she is attending as a teenager. Mama forbade all of us from attending them before we turned thirteen, stating it would be too overwhelming for a child. Which in hindsight was a wonderful idea. I simply wish she had extended the rule until we were forty. Maybe I would be ready at forty.

    Cecil and Yer are rejoicing in the rumble seat, delighted for reasons beyond my comprehension. The good thing is I have effectively avoided being murdered by Cecil. The bond between an assigned companion and a royal runs deep enough for us to sense each other’s emotions and the tone of each other’s thoughts. So he cooled off instantly the moment he sensed I had genuinely been frightened by his threat. And I am fairly certain I even caught a flicker of guilt from him afterwards, while I used my magic to don the white three piece suit Mother had sent the moment she knew we were coming home. A ceremonial mantle is draped across my shoulders, its silver embroidery glinting in the sunlight. A pointed crown of dark sapphire sits low above my head.

    “Why are you not smiling?” Uliya says through her easy grin. Unlike my severe crown, hers is a delicate tiara of diamonds and pale gemstones resting lightly against her golden curls. She looks regal in flowing ivory layered with soft silver detailing that shimmers whenever she moves, the gown falling around her like moonlight. I notice she looks healthier than before. She is glowing like a true princess. I am glad we had that conversation.

    “How are you still smiling?” I respond sweetly, masking the agitation beneath it lest some passerby hear. Demiurge help me, why is everyone so close? It is suffocating.

    They are making our family dragon, Eltasessa — a colossal pale drake draped in gold ceremonial harnesses — crawl like a snail through the crowds. The earlier prospect of Cecil gauging my eyes out does not seem quite so terrible now. At least my eyes would not be subjected to the sight of this frenzied throng pressing in from all sides.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Uliya ~

    By the time we reach the palace gates and leave the crowds behind, my nervousness about coming home has completely dissipated. I was scared I would feel strange and anxious. But between the crowds cheering for our long lives so loudly the ground beneath us trembled, and the crimson and gold banners swaying between buildings bearing the words “Blood of Valhades, Strength of Our Realm,” I lost all the heavy feelings.

    The carriage rolls to a halt before the great twin-arched entryway, where the last gold light of evening stretches across the pale stone in long glowing bands. Beyond the gates, the great towers of Ivorvale climb into a deepening blue sky, their winter-white spires already beginning to catch the first hints of dusk.

    The other guards remain stationed in the causeway while our general, Master Hinjk, and Royal Commander Ilias step toward us from the entryway the moment we stop. The former moves to open Zir’s door while the latter opens mine with precision, both in near perfect unison. Then they step back and greet us with bows. I offer them both a smile.

    “Hello, Master Hinjk,” Zir says, then turns to the commander. “Ilias, I hope you have both been well.”

    “Better than ever. Our job is easier now that all the heirs we have sworn to protect are in one place,” Hinjk adds with a smile of his own and Zir laughs. They lead us through the entryway toward the throne room where our parents await. Cecil and Yer slip away for their own communion with Agnes.

    As we proceed I notice how different yet unchanged the palace looks from the inside. I can barely bring myself to remember some of the rooms, which is strange. Is ten really that young an age?

    “The western wing was rebuilt after you left, your highness,” Ilias answers from behind me, sensing my confusion.

    “Oh.”

    “As per the letter, is this not the solarium where you and—?” I whisper to Zir, pointing left, and am immediately rewarded with a deathly glare.

    “Keep your brazen mouth shut and stay out of my private affairs. Also, you cannot remember anything else but you recall this specific detail?” He delivers the threat in a matched whisper, keeping his expression perfectly neutral. Ilias coughs behind us while Master Hinjk pretends to be absorbed in the hallway artwork.

    A small laugh escapes me despite my best efforts to stay civil. Several maids and guards bow as we pass. He glares at me some more. It is so satisfying to get under his skin.

    Soon we are in the central throne room. The council members are seated on either side. Our parents sit at the far end, currently speaking with a female and her child who have come to request compensation for grain lost to a storm the week before.

    Mama looks radiant as ever, the silver and gold crown gleaming above her head. Her long golden hair has been neatly gathered into a bun that catches the light like the sun itself. She has worn a beautiful lilac brocade gown today with heavy drapes and elongated sleeves. To others she may be blessed with the sun god’s energy, but to me she has always been the sun embodied.

    Father sits beside her with his usual unreadable expression. He looks the same whether happy, sad, angry, calm or excited, so it is always difficult to tell. He has adorned a black sovereign robe of weighted silk with the thin but pointed iron and gold crown he reserves for throne room appearances. Soft brown boots beneath his crisp black trousers.

    Mama nods to the treasurer standing beside her and he presents the female with a translucent bag of copper coins.

    “Here is a little something for your troubles. I pray to Demiurge that your harvest comes out bountiful next time.”

    “Thank you, your majesty, for having such a generous heart.” They both bow and leave through the side gate reserved for the public.

    “Let us go,” Zir taps my palm from beside me and I realise we have been standing at the door by ourselves. Hinjk and Ilias must have slipped away.

    The public has cleared with the coming evening. Only the guards and maids remain stationed on either side. The moment we begin walking toward our parents, the pianist in the corner starts playing and the guards and maids begin throwing silver petals at us — an old Fyrgen welcoming tradition. This must absolutely have been my mother’s idea. I smother a laugh building in my throat thinking of how much Zir must be suffering and keep my face perfectly straight.

    We lower our gazes and bow in unison when we are right before them.

    “Your Majesties,” we say together. Performing for the room. If it were not for everyone watching I would run to my mother and never let go again.

    “Mhm. What brings you younglings here today?” Father says with that same unreadable expression, though I know he is teasing us. Mother smiles lightly, playing along, her eyes full of quiet affection.

    Before I can say anything Zir is already speaking.

    “Forgive my incompetence in handling such a petty matter myself, your Majesty. But I came here to beg for justice.”

    “In regard to what?”

    “This female standing beside me killed my sheep in broad daylight.”

    Mama adds a dramatic gasp. “Such a heinous crime. What do you have to say for yourself, lass?”

    I shake my head solemnly. “It was a grave mistake, your Majesty. I went to kill this simpleton and got his poor sheep by accident.”

    For a silent moment nobody says anything. Then all four of us laugh together. It feels as though there is nobody else in the room and I realise how deeply I have missed them.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Zir ~

    After meeting our parents and a brief introduction to the seated council members, we dispersed to our individual bedchambers for rest and a change of clothes before the welcome dinner in the private dining hall.

    Our bedchambers were also moved as part of the western wing renovation. Mine is a new one on the third floor now, Uliya’s a level below, though not too far — because my mother had another brilliant idea. Brilliant in her terms. Overbearing in mine. She had a spiral staircase connected from my balcony to Uliya’s, so we can easily access each other in case of an emergency. Us. The pair that lived in separate houses for years in the human world and have companions primarily for this exact purpose.

    “Mama always takes it one notch beyond my patience,” I say, collapsing onto the long sofa in the antechamber and kicking my shoes off the moment the door closes behind me.

    “What did she do?” Cecil pauses mid-sip from his pitcher on the mantelpiece. He was not back yet when Mama delivered this horrible news and I asked her why she remains so committed to ruining my life.

    “Go and look at the balcony. There is a staircase connecting our room to Uliya’s below. It is despicable. Prisoner-like treatment handed to her own son—”

    I stop rubbing my forehead when I realise Cecil has simply flown out. I was not finished speaking.

    I am about to call after him when he flies back in, cawing with visible excitement.

    “What are you so happy about?” I ask, irritated. Did he hear a single word I said?

    “Such proximity to Yer. If she ever needs me I can reach her within seconds. This is the best day of my life.” He literally wraps his wings around himself, savouring the thought.

    “Are you out of your mind? I was telling you how agonising this is for me and you are celebrating my misery. What grave crime must I have committed in a past life to be given such a shameless, self-serving raven as my companion?”

    “Must I indulge your cynicism at all times? I have a life separate from yours.” He dismisses me by turning his head away in that infuriating manner he has perfected, knowing full well it gets under my skin.

    “What life? You are a bird sworn to look after me.” I half-shout and seriously consider throwing the crystal figurine from the coffee table at him, when there is a knock at the door.

    “Who is it?” I ask, composing myself.

    “Luminara.”

    Of course. I had sent for her earlier and then forgotten entirely. I get up, put my shoes back on, and open the door.

    “Thank Demiurge for sending you, Lume, I—” The words dry up in my mouth. I take in her whole appearance. She has always been beautiful but now her face has matured so much in the past three years. She looks absolutely devastating. When did her raven hair grow long enough to reach below her waist? Her light brown, silver-rimmed eyes catch the lamplight as she looks up at me. Her skin has caught up with her name, illuminated as though the moon painted her face with its own light. It takes genuine effort to look up.

    “Yes, Zir, I have fuller breasts now, can you stop staring?” She leans in and says it with narrowed eyes and I immediately step back, gesturing her inside.

    I scoff and close the door behind us.

    “I was simply taking notice of my friend’s matured face. Leave it to you to make me sound like a pervert instead of saying hello after three whole years.”

    She laughs in that easy, loud, unhurried way of hers and settles into the spot I had just vacated. Comforting to know my friend has not entirely changed.

    “It is so easy to ruffle your feathers, godling. You should work on that,” she says casually, drawing her legs together at the sofa’s edge.

    I notice only now how stunning her long-sleeved mauve gown is, in its simplicity. A black opal necklace and matching earrings.

    “Cecil does not like that phrase so please use it more often,” I say, settling at the opposite end.

    She glances around. “I would oblige, your highness, but he does not appear to be here.”

    “He is just there on the mantel—” I look over my shoulder to point him out but of course Cecil has gone.

    “Never mind, leave him. He is currently honouring his freedom and individuality.”

    She leans back, confusion on her face. “Assigned companions have that?”

    I nod with feeling. “Everyone but me lately, Lume. You would not believe what new torture my mother has subjected me to.”

    She clicks her tongue. “Well, knowing the queen, it has to be something interesting.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Uliya ~

    After meeting our parents I came straight to my bedchamber, not even bothering to look at the beautiful high teak shelves stacked on all three walls with my books in the antechamber. I just had Yer pull my back zipper down with her beak and collapsed onto the bed.

    “I just want to rest and skip dinner entirely. Does that make me a bad daughter?” I say, face half buried in the pillow.

    “No, it makes you a reasonable person. You have been up and about since morning, Ul. Rest a little before we leave.” Yer says from the desk in the corner where she has settled herself.

    I rest my eyes for a few minutes before there is a knock at the door.

    “Hello, may I ask who this is?” Yer calls out politely. I wish I had her patience.

    “Kushiana. I am coming in.”

    I hear her approaching footsteps and look over my shoulder.

    She is already dressed. Her dark brown medium length hair has been styled into a thick braid with dandelions lined through the plaits. She has adorned a sleeveless black shimmery gown with a sweetheart neckline resting just below her long collarbone, a double layered georgette skirt falling beneath it. Her eyes are lined with kohl, accentuating her pretty green almond shaped eyes. No jewellery except the magnificent blue sapphire ring she often wears. My sister is so unbothered about her clothes yet always stands out.

    I turn over and gasp. “You are drenched in beauty from top to bottom. How will the bachelors at our table eat without choking?”

    She sidelines the compliment with a slight wave of her hand. Right — on top of everything else, she is also incredibly modest.

    She comes and sits beside me at the edge of the bed. “I came to see if you needed anything. Did the maids bring your dress?”

    “Not yet. The new seamstress cast a single look at me from the far end of the lobby and disappeared, leaving Yer with a message that she needs to fix my corset.”

    Kushiana caresses the top of my head, smiling. “Well that is a good thing. You are going to fill in better now.”

    I cringe. “Was it that obvious?”

    She nods. “I wanted to say something that day but I lost my temper and left before I could. I am sorry about the outburst. You did not deserve it. Zir perhaps deserved a little of it. He is an unyielding prick.”

    I laugh. “Yes he is. And it is fine, we have forgotten about it.”

    She starts to say something and stops. I take her hands in mine.

    “Whatever you choose, we support you. Do not worry about anything. We will be here now.”

    “I will not worry, if you two promise not to get in my way,” she says flatly.

    I pout. “I cannot promise that. Do not be an unreasonable elder sister.”

    She smiles and pinches the tip of my nose. “Then neither can I. Let us talk about something else, Ul.”

    “Alright. Are you still training with Hinjk?”

    She nods and leans back on her elbows. “Yes, we trained on the enormous staircase in the Citadel today. Completely destroyed my calves.”

    “Sounds horrendous. I ask because now that I am back I need to start training again as well. I find him slightly intimidating so I am trying to figure out who to approach.”

    Also because I remain wary of everyone in the palace after the Apateus incident. I say nothing of this since Kushiana does not know either.

    She looks up in thought. “It cannot be me, I am always occupied with training or some royal duty. We could ask one of the guards, but I do not think they could help beyond physical training — your thralling power is a little complex for anyone outside the family to understand. Actually, why not go to Luminara? Who better?”

    Luminara had trained alongside Kushiana under Hinjk until two years ago, after which she began self-training to focus more on her magic and herb alchemy. And I have always trusted her completely, which makes the idea of training together feel easy rather than daunting.

    I squeal. “Of course, why did I not think of her? She is perfect and she would never say no!” I pull Kushiana into a hug. “Thank you, I love you.”

    She pats my back like I am a lost dog who has wandered in from the rain, forcing a “love you too” out in her crispest voice. Both my siblings are completely incapable of receiving affection for some reason. Arguments they cherish. Absolute idiots.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

                                                          ~ Kushiana ~

    For dinner we all gathered in the dining hall of the western wing, built entirely of rose quartz, its walls catching the warmth of the candlelight and throwing it back in soft blush tones. A large chandelier of white crystals resembling lilies hangs high above the table, casting everything below in a pale silver glow.

    It was initially my suggestion that we keep it a private family dinner, but our parents decided a small feast was more fitting. The council members, Master Hinjk and Royal Commander Ilias had all expressed their wish to be part of the celebration and raise a glass to Zir and Uliya’s return after so long. I understood the reasoning, even if I would have preferred otherwise.

    In truth I am not entirely opposed to the company. A fuller table gives Zir fewer opportunities to say something provoking and cause a scene. Here he is required to be on his best behaviour, and Luminara sitting to his right has his attention well occupied regardless. She is visibly happy to have her closest friend back after three years. He is happier than I have seen him in a long time, which is unsurprising given she is the only true friend he has here, courtesy of his reclusive nature.

    Father sits at the head of the long rectangular table. Mother has chosen the seat to his left this evening rather than her usual place at the foot. I am seated beside her, with Uliya to my right. Zir sits to Uliya’s right and Luminara to his. Across from Uliya and me sit Hinjk and Ilias, and beyond them the High Councillor, with the remaining six noble house and council members spread across both sides of the table to the foot.

    Our companions have chosen to remain in our private chambers as they do for most meals, to keep our thoughts from drifting back to work and correspondence so we can eat in peace. They tend to use these breaks to convene amongst themselves.

    For a moment I let the warmth of the conversation wash over me, watching everyone at the table. The meal begins with a toast from Father. “Here is to my beloved wains returning home. I pray to Demiurge that we share many more dinners like this one. To Zir and Uliya.”

    I notice both my siblings are genuinely glad to be back. Uliya grabs my idle hand in hers with barely contained excitement, and Zir offers me a small smile that reaches his eyes as we raise our glasses.

    I am glad to have them here too. But the fear of the hex still looms. I hope I do not carry it toward them. They are mine to protect. I cannot remember a time when they were not.

    “Kush, want to split a wishbone?” Uliya beams at me, lifting it from her plate. The turkey was delectable this evening.

    “Sure.” We both pull and she ends up with the larger half.

    She shrieks with delight, completely unaware that my wish was for all of hers to come true.

    I simply smile.

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • 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.”

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 4 – The Coldblood Paradox

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

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

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

    ~ Zir ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Clearly not you, then. Excuse me.”

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

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

    “Stop that right now.”

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

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

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

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

    “Not without you. We need to talk.”

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

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

    “Uliya.”

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

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

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

    She turns and looks around in shock.

    “What did you do?”

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

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

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 3 – Fata Viam Invenient

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

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

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

    ~Kushiana~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~Zir~

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

    “Hullo, Zir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Thank god I didn’t lose my patie—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

    ~ Kushiana ~

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

    MAKE IT STOP.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦ ✾ ✦

  • Chapter 2 – Hope Does Not Feed The Famished

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

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

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

    ~Zir~

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

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

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


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


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


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

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

    I turn back around with a scoff of disdain.

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

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

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

    “Well hello, forgotten royalty.”

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

    “Hello, Uliya.”

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

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

    “Anytime now.”

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

    “Uliya, have you been alright?”

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

    “Yeah, why?”

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

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

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

    I let out a sigh of disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    She shrugs. “Do I?”

    I contemplate for a moment.

    “Well, that’s…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Uh, no?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • Chapter 1 – Blood Is Thicker Than Doom

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

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

    ~Zir~

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

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

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

    “Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Yeah? What did he say?”

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

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

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

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

    “Are you still there?”

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

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

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

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

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

    Her dramatic sigh is audible through the phone.

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

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

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

    ~ Kushiana ~

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

    “Come forth.”

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

    She bows in greeting.

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

    “What news, Katherine?”

    “Your Royal Highness.”

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

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

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

    “Very well. Any message from Father?”

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

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

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

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

    “Send them up immediately.”

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

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

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

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

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

    “Speak freely.”

    He nods once.

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

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

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

    “Duly noted.”

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

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

  • Prologue

    The Throne Remembers

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

    It is the tale of ruin.

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

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

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

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

    So Lars chose one himself.

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

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

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

    But the heart seldom yields to reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    She was dead. But the throne came alive.

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

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

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