Sovereign Sacrifice

by Kova, Elise

  “Our commander would never bend her knee before a Southerner,” one of the men seethed.

  “The war is over,” Vi said. “You see the banner.” They all ignored her.

  “Kill them,” the Emperor ordered.

  “No.” Fiera was on her feet in a moment, blocking the Imperial knights. Swords were drawn from all angles, each pointing at someone different. “They are my responsibility.” Fiera leveled her gaze at Tiberus. For his part, he had very little reaction.

  Vi watched closely, seeing her father in both of them—seeing herself. She had given little thought to the blood that was spilled before her birth to build the Empire she would rule. She’d learned of it, but she hadn’t comprehended the sacrifices or all the tough choices her family had made along the way to build what was known in her age as the greatest Empire the Dark Isle had ever seen.

  “Go on, then,” Tiberus said. It sounded like a challenge.

  Fiera put her back to the Emperor and his soldiers in an incredible display of faith. “Kneel before our new Emperor.”

  “How dare you—”

  “I said kneel!” Fiera shouted. “Mhashan has lost enough in the last ten years. We shall lose no more to foolish pride.”

  “I will die for my pride.”

  “Die, then.” Fiera swung her sword in a wide arc. She didn’t so much as flinch. In one movement, the princess struck down her once-loyal guards by slicing them both at the neck with deadly precision.

  Vi watched as the corpses fell. With one swing of her sword, Fiera struck a bloody line in the ground that marked where Mhashan ended, and the rule of Solaris began.

  Chapter Four

  Vi stared at the wide eyes of the men who had refused to kneel. Now, they were nothing more than two more bodies on the cobblestone streets of Norin.

  “You, princess—”

  “Fiera,” the woman finished for the Emperor. There was an almost defiant air about her. “Princess Fiera.”

  “Fiera.” The Emperor paused. Vi wondered if she was the only one who caught the brief expression of thoughtful surprise. “You were just a slip of a girl when last I saw you.”

  “It has been ten long years.”

  “Thank your father for that.” Tiberus sheathed his sword, no more pleased than she was. “Speaking of, let us head to the castle. Perhaps now he will be more inclined to discuss the annexation of the West.”

  “My father is dead.”

  Vi tried to catch the eyes of the other three soldiers to see if they should stand as well, but an unspoken conversation was unfolding among them. Vi remained where she was.

  “How do you—”

  “Know?” Fiera wiped the blood from the crystal blade nonchalantly, incredibly calm given all that had transpired. “I know because I know my father, and he would’ve never surrendered this city to you. He would be a king of rubble before a servant to a foreign crown.” She sheathed the weapon and Vi shifted her weight over her knee. She couldn’t attempt to take the blade at this moment. Her best chance was to continue letting things play out and look for an opportunity. “I know because I have seen this future in the flames.”

  “Unfortunate you couldn’t have seen a path to victory earlier,” Tiberus said arrogantly.

  Fiera didn’t rise to the bait. “Your victory was the goddess’s will.”

  Tiberus, for his part, didn’t seem the slightest bit unnerved by the proclamation. He didn’t so much as nod to address that he’d heard the incredible statement. But Vi could see in his eyes that he was filing away that particular tidbit for later.

  She’d read that her grandfather had claimed it had been his divine right to unite the continent. Now Vi wondered if that idea had originated from him, or Fiera.

  “Come, all of you. We start for the castle,” the Emperor declared.

  Soldiers fell into step around them and more were gained along the way as they trudged through the empty city roads. It seemed Imperial soldiers were patrolling around every corner of Norin, putting down the last fighters still loyal to the West. Tiberus’s ploy to invade by sea had paid off.

  Vi allowed herself to be shepherded along. Taavin had said to get close to the sword and Fiera. This likely wasn’t what he’d had in mind, but the result was the same, which surely counted for something.

  They walked in silence all the way to the large city square opposite the castle. Here, crowds of Western soldiers had been gathered. They were penned in by rings of Imperial troops that brandished weapons at them as though they were livestock.

  “You three, with the rest of them,” Tiberus commanded. Then, to Fiera, “You’re with me.”

  “But—” Vi’s objection was cut off by another.

  “Princess, don’t go with him,” the long-haired woman in the group objected. “He will slaughter you with the rest of the blood of Jadar. Run now with the blade and—”

  “Get in line with the rest of your lot,” one of the Imperial soldiers growled, pointing his sword at them and motioning to the masses of surrendered Western soldiers.

  “Princess!”

  “Come on.” Vi grabbed the woman’s elbow as Fiera and Tiberus started along the castle’s lowered drawbridge. “We have to trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

  “And who are you to say that?” The woman jerked away. “You’re not one of us,” she said to the Imperial guards. “She’s not one of us!”

  “She looks like one of you. Now get in line.”

  “This is the will of the head of the Knights of Jadar,” the short-haired woman to Vi’s right said, giving the other woman a firm shove toward the opening in the line of Imperial soldiers. “Obey your commander.”

  “She’s not our commander, not anymore,” the man grumbled under his breath. “She murders the Knights she’s sworn to lead. She kneels before foreign kings. She shames the Knights of—”

  “Stay your blasphemous tongue.” The short-haired woman just kept pushing.

  The opening in the line of Imperial soldiers closed behind them and Vi found herself among a mass of Westerners, packed shoulder to shoulder with barely enough room to move around. This city square was large, but it was quickly filling to capacity. Half the people were coated in soot and blood. Vi took a deep breath, scanning the eyes of the Imperial soldiers brandishing swords in their direction.

  Those swords were once intended to protect her. Her stomach knotted as her brain tried to readjust her instinct. Nothing was right. Not even her skin seemed to fit in the same way it once did.

  “Are you all right?”

  “What?” Vi brought her attention to the short-haired woman at her left. The other woman from Fiera’s guard, who had threatened Vi at dagger point, was still whispering in hushed tones with the man.

  “You’re not one of us.” She gave Vi a once-over. “You’re certainly not a Knight of Jadar… and you don’t look like a soldier.”

  “I’m neither,” Vi affirmed.

  “Fiera didn’t know you. Though she clearly trusted you.” The woman’s eyes were drawn back to the princess, now nothing more than a distant speck at the end of the drawbridge. “If you’re a civilian, you should try to get out now while you still have the chance. There’s no comfort to be had in Norin, but civilians will fare better than soldiers in the days to come.”

  “Do you think they’ll believe I’m not a soldier?”

  “Fiera could speak for you.”

  “She has more important things to worry about.” Staying close to the remaining Knights of Jadar might be her best chance of getting back to the princess—and the sword.

  “You’re a true Westerner, sacrificing your wellbeing for her. Trying to help lead us to victory.”

  Vi snorted. “I’m not a Westerner.”

  “But your features are Western—so Western, you could’ve convinced me you’re a lost sister to the princess.” Vi stopped a snort of laughter at that. “And you speak our tongue so well.”

  “I don’t know my parentage,” Vi lied, staring at
Fiera and the Emperor until they disappeared from sight into the castle. “And the language I picked up in my travels. I don’t really have a home.”

  Especially not anymore. She was alone. The only person she had in this world was the man who had stolen her heart and betrayed her—right before she murdered him.

  Yargen had an interesting sense of humor.

  “Well, if you don’t have a home, do you have a name? I’m Zira.”

  “Yullia.”

  “While it was under unpleasant circumstances, it is an honor to meet you, Yullia. I believe the goddess sent you for our princess tonight, to fight for her and this land. Fiera is keen to the will of the Mother; that must’ve led her to trust you.”

  “You have no idea…” Vi murmured.

  “Listen up!” An Imperial major stood at the foot of the drawbridge, right where Vi had witnessed Fiera give her last speech hours ago, and boomed over the masses. His pronunciation of Western words was poor and Vi suspected it made his decree even more grating to the ears of those assembled. “You are to be split at random and will be taken to manor houses that have been converted to shelters where you will be held until further notice. Do not resist and the Emperor will see fit to let you live.”

  “I wonder how long that kindness will last,” the long-haired Knight mused.

  “I’d rather be dead than take kindness from that man,” the other Knight grumbled.

  “Quiet, Luke. If you were determined to die, you should’ve stood at the docks,” Zira said.

  Luke continued muttering to the long-haired woman, though it was too quiet for Vi to hear.

  Not that she was paying much attention anyway. Her thoughts were back in time. According to the history she knew, the Emperor spared the majority of Mhashan’s forces…

  But only after he’d made a display of killing off the generals, and quelled the resultant outrage.

  The war had ended. But the fighting wouldn’t stop for weeks.

  * * *

  Martial law was enacted in the city—at least, that’s what they were told by whispering servants who were allowed in and out of the manor house once each day to feed the soldiers held inside.

  “Here.” Zira startled Vi from her thoughts by thrusting a hunk of bread about the size of Vi’s palm in her face. “Eat it before someone kills you for it.”

  “Is this… fresh?” Vi grabbed for the food eagerly, taking a bite so large she was forced to chew with her mouth open. The bread was soft, crust hard, free of mold or weevils, and still had that distinct aroma of fresh-baked deliciousness—a scent she hadn’t smelled in the two weeks since she was imprisoned with the rest of the soldiers. “How did you—”

  “The girls say that provisions have arrived from the East. It seems the Emperor has starved us enough and now wishes to win us over by filling our bellies.”

  Luke started a familiar litany of muttering. “If he thinks the West will bend before him for a few loaves of bread—”

  “He’s absolutely right,” Vi interrupted, swallowing hard to get the rest of the too-large bite down. She needed water, but there was none to spare in the manor. Everything was rationed tightly; they were given just enough to be kept alive. So Vi bit the tip of her tongue until saliva coated her mouth—a trick Zira taught her. “The people have been defeated, shown the Emperor’s power, made to feel desperate, and now, when he shows them kindness, they will be all too eager to accept it. It’s hard to think straight when hunger is gnawing at you.”

  She had been learning as much the hard way these past two weeks. In the process, Vi was finding a new, dark appreciation for Taavin’s time spent under Ulvarth. How readily she’d judged him for his actions back in the Twilight Forest. Part of her still did. Even during the longest nights of hunger pangs, Vi still didn’t think she’d condemn a group of people to slaughter.

  But she was only two weeks in. And he’d spent years in such a state. She twisted the watch at her neck, longing to summon the man once more but not having a scrap of privacy to do it with.

  “The Emperor. You still speak like one of them.”

  “Well I’m in here with you, Luke.” Vi took another bite of bread. “So either I’m not one of them, or I’m really stupid for not getting myself out before now.”

  “None of us are getting out of here alive,” Kahrin sighed, her long black hair hiding her face. She was a far cry from the woman who threatened Vi when they first met. “They’ve taken all the generals, and half of the Knights of Jadar… We’re next.”

  “We’re not dead yet, so eat.” Zira sat on the other side of the wide windowsill where Vi was perched. The other two remained in their spots on the floor. It was a corner of the room they shared with ten other random soldiers—men and women whose names Vi hadn’t bothered to learn. “The princess will need us.”

  “The princess is dead.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Zira growled.

  “Do you really think the Emperor will be satisfied with just King Rocham’s head? No, he’ll want more royal blood to spill in a glorious display of power. And who better than the youngest child, the woman who led our army against him?”

  “Fiera isn’t dead,” Zira insisted in the face of Kahrin’s determination.

  “If she was alive, she would’ve come for you of all people by now. You were always her pet.”

  “She’s not dead.” Vi tore off another chunk of bread, chewing it over and staring out the window.

  “What do you know, traveler?” Kahrin spat. Her tone made plain that she had yet to relinquish her theory that Vi was a spy.

  “More than you ever will.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Enough,” Zira snapped. “You three are exhausting me.”

  They all ate their remaining scraps of bread in relative silence. Luke mumbled something about the food sitting heavy in his stomach and making him sleepy, “likely drugged by Imperialist swine.” Kahrin must’ve decided she was bored of being ignored, because when Vi looked over her shoulder next, she was gone.

  “Do you know she’s alive?” Zira asked softly, her voice hushed.

  Vi gave a small nod that felt like a lie. What did she know? Precious little. The ability to gaze along the Mother’s lines of fate was one thing, but she hadn’t had a vision since entering the remade world. It was like she was trying to navigate a new city using ancient maps. She’d been biding her time, waiting, seeing how things played out. Tiberus and Fiera nearly exchanging blows on the docks had ignited a fear Vi hadn’t expected. What if she messed something up? What if, in trying to improve the future they were now heading toward, she somehow made it worse?

  She needed to speak with Taavin again.

  “You have the sight too, don’t you? Like she does?”

  “I do.”

  “I heard what you said to her, at the docks…” Zira looked back to the window. “She told me of her vision before the battle. She knew we would lose. She knew her father would die.”

  “And yet she fought for Mhashan anyway.” The meager piece of bread was gone all too swiftly, and Vi’s stomach was grumbling even louder than before. But ignoring angry stomachs had become something they were all quite good at.

  “Yes, she fought for Mhashan… but not to win. She wanted to save the people—to prevent as many as possible from dying. I don’t understand the dance of royals, but I must believe that these deaths we hear of, however gruesome they might be, are still part of her plan. Fiera was always good at minimizing losses.”

  “The hard part of having royal blood is deciding how you spread the suffering. Who will bear the burden—many, or a few? Who? And how do you choose? Do you spread it as thin as possible, or is it better to absolve some and force others to pick up the weight entirely?”

  “Are you certain you’re not a bastard of King Rocham?” Zira chuckled at Vi’s expression. “You speak like a royal.”

  “I’ve spent my share of time around them, I guess you could say.”

  “In your travels
?”

  “In my travels.”

  Booted feet came to a stop at the entrance of the room. There were no more doors in the manor; they had all been ripped off when the Imperial soldiers evicted the house’s noble residents and declared it the new containment shelter for the former army of Mhashan.

  “She’s there. Zira Westwind is there.” Kahrin pointed at them and spoke to the Imperial soldiers on either side of her. “The one with the shorter hair.”

  “Westwind…” Vi repeated softly. The name was familiar to her in a way she hadn’t been expecting. “Your name is Westwind?”

  Zira didn’t have a chance to answer as soldiers approached. “Come,” a broad-shouldered man barked in Mhashanese. Zira stood without protest.

  “Where are you taking her?” Vi asked, jumping from the windowsill. The man ignored her and she repeated herself, forcing her tongue to make the sounds of the common language she’d spoken all her life, “Where are you taking her?”

  The two soldiers stopped, gaping at her in surprise. They weren’t the only ones; the soldiers of Mhashan wore expressions of curiosity at her deft outburst.

  “That is none of your concern,” one of the men finally said, before they dragged Zira out of sight.

  * * *

  There was no word of Zira, and none from Kahrin or Luke either. After Vi’s outburst in common, they began to shy away from her—prior suspicions of her being some kind of Southern spy reignited. Without Zira, Vi didn’t have the energy or inclination to refute them.

  Three days passed, and Vi became bolder about wandering the manor. She was growing tired of being cooped up, tired of waiting. Perhaps it would be better if she could remember more of the immediate details following the fall of Mhashan, but her studies—or her memories of them—were lacking. She needed the counsel of the man who was tasked with looking back for her. But every room she entered was filled with people.

  “How is it outside?” she asked one of the girls passing out hunks of bread. It had tasted so good three days ago, but had since grown stale. “Any progress?”