Sovereign Sacrifice

by Kova, Elise

  Fiera went to a door in the back, lifted a key with a chain around her neck and, with one more glance back at Vi, opened the door.

  Beyond the threshold, a narrow hallway glowed orange thanks to a curtain of swirling flame burning at its end. The fire was nearly white-hot and would no doubt be difficult for even the most powerful of Firebearers to pass through.

  Fiera waved dismissively and the flames vanished. Vi was left blinking into the sudden darkness in the moments before the princess summoned a mote of flame for them to see by.

  “How difficult is it to maintain that flame all the time?” Vi asked.

  “I’ve grown accustomed to it,” Fiera answered. “At first, it seemed like a great deal of power constantly draining from me, making me weak. But our magic is like our muscles—the more we stretch and flex our powers, the stronger they become. I hardly notice it now.”

  Vi believed her. Fiera’s powers were as breathtaking as all the stories she’d been told growing up made them seem.

  They continued forward, past the stones that still glowed faintly from the residual heat of the flames and into a tiny room. It was unadorned, save for the sword hung on the wall before Vi, and a narrow table beneath it. Fiera reached for the blade without hesitation, unsheathing it.

  “The Sword of Jadar,” she said with quiet reverence. “Bestowed by King Jadar onto his youngest son—the one who did not inherit his flames—so he could use its powers to defend Mhashan and the throne.” She held out the blade, pointing it directly at Vi. “You have seen it. And now I will have the proof you promised.”

  She should feel threatened. But Vi’s heart raced purely because of how close the crystal was. She could feel the waves of power rippling from it. Every swirl of the magic within it delighted her, enthralled her.

  Vi’s plan to prove her good intentions had been formed out of a series of guesses. But in that moment, she no longer needed a clear way forward. She didn’t need to overthink.

  She acted on instinct.

  Lifting her hands, Vi’s fingertips lightly landed on the edges of the blade on either side. It was sharp enough that it could bite into her flesh but it didn’t. It wouldn’t. This was the will of the goddess; Vi and the sword were of the same make, now, and it would not harm her.

  Power lifted off the blade. The faint glow that perpetually surrounded the sword curled like tendrils of smoke, reaching for Vi with a nearly sentient quality. Like the scythe, the power crashed on her, and the sensation of being two places at once overtook her.

  They stood in the center of the Dark Isle.

  Two women and two men were semi-circled around one older man who had the same pointed ears as Taavin. He still appeared youthful, yet his eyes were ancient and ringed with dark circles. Clutched in his left hand was a tall staff of glittering crystal as bright blue as a clear morning sky.

  Vi knew the man was the former Champion. Looking at him was like looking in a mirror that twisted her outside reflection while exposing what was within. He spoke to what she assumed were his children, but his eyes remained on her—as if he could see the one who would come after him, even then. As if somehow, across all time and space, he was aware of the future Champion in his midst.

  Lifting the staff, magic burst from his hands, merging with the glow of the crystal as he broke off the first quarter of the staff.

  The fragment glowed so brightly that Vi was left blinking, struggling to make out what was happening; the four kneeling before the Champion covered their eyes. But the light and magic faded, revealing a scythe he bestowed on his youngest daughter.

  The Champion repeated the process, giving an axe to the next daughter, and a sword to his youngest son. On his eldest’s brow, the Champion settled a crown of crystal.

  As soon as the man’s hands left the crown, his body aged. Vi watched as the magic left him like fireflies returning to the sun high above. He swayed from side to side as muscles vanished and his clothes became limp sacks. His skin and hair grayed and his lips curled in.

  But his eyes—those eyes that had witnessed the passage of time from beyond its reach, thanks to the hand of Yargen—stayed the same. They were not surprised. They were not in pain.

  Vi only saw acceptance and relief in the man’s final moments.

  All at once, her awareness returned to her physical body.

  As it had with the scythe in the Twilight Kingdom, a soft glow coated her skin, extending from the sword. The magic disappeared like smoke as the vision left her. Fiera and Zira looked at her with startled and slightly worried expressions.

  Vi lowered her hands from the blade, taking a step away. She moved slowly so they wouldn’t spook and attack her, and because her head was still spinning, settling back into this time and place.

  That vision had been far more vivid than the last. With the scythe, she’d experienced shifting images, feelings, sensations that connected into a story Vi could piece together. This had been a complete scene from start to finish.

  “They glow blue, not red…” Zira whispered. “Like the sword.”

  Vi lifted her hand to her temple and wished there was a mirror in the room so she could confirm Zira’s murmurings were about her eyes.

  “What are you?” Fiera asked as she lowered the sword.

  “I am chosen by the Mother to defend this world,” Vi repeated softly, hoping this act of exposing a part of her true nature didn’t adversely affect the future she was working toward. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, Vi trusted Fiera and Zira more deeply than she likely should. “You will not understand who—what—I am. But you must keep what you have seen a secret. The fate of your world depends on it.”

  Zira took another step back. But Fiera was less shaken. She delicately rested the tip of the sword on the stone floor and sank to one knee. She bowed her head.

  “Chosen of the Mother, you have my allegiance.”

  “Fiera—”

  “Zira,” Fiera interrupted sharply. “You saw her. You witnessed her magic. Her blue eyes. Her communing with the sword itself. You must have felt it too—the sensation of fate.”

  Zira looked between Fiera and Vi. She swayed slightly, but dropped to her knee after only a moment’s hesitation. “My fate is linked with yours, Fiera. It was declared by the Mother. If you are loyal to her, so am I.”

  Vi took a slow breath. Yargen’s power still surged through her. The blade beckoned her with whispering invitations only her ears could hear.

  “I require the blade.”

  “Require it?” Fiera lifted her head first, then the rest of her. Zira followed the princess back to her feet as well. “This blade has been in my family for—”

  “Hundreds of years,” Vi finished. “Yet you do not know where it came from… not really. Nor what it can be used for.” She motioned to the sword. “In that blade is a great and terrible power. The longer you wield it, the more you risk it twisting your body and mind, as well as the bodies and minds of those around you. It calls out to the false Knights of Jadar who rely on lore they don’t understand in an attempt to return themselves to prominence.”

  “I cannot give it to you.”

  “You must,” Vi insisted.

  “The princess said she cannot, so she cannot.” Zira stood, her hand back on the sword at her hip.

  “The sword will be used in my wedding to the Emperor as a ceremonial piece,” Fiera began. For the first time, Vi saw doubt on the ever-self-assured woman’s face. “But… after… I had intended to seal it away. Even had you not said so, Yullia, I’m aware that this weapon holds a great power that mortal men aren’t meant to hold. Perhaps, I might entrust it to you at that time.” The princess shook her head, as though she was dismissing the notion as soon as it came to her. “No… I must think on it.”

  Vi wanted to insist on Fiera’s compliance, but she’d already made progress. The longer the princess simmered on what had transpired here, the closer she’d be to realizing the truth of Vi’s words.

  For now, an op
enness to giving up the sword would have to be good enough for Vi. Pressing the matter, looking desperate, wouldn’t suit her.

  Fiera returned the sword to its scabbard, the scabbard to the wall. No sooner was it back on its pegs than footsteps sounded in the hall. All three women turned, startled.

  Two figures approached from the darkness of the hall: Tiberus and Denja.

  “There you are, my bride.” Tiberus, once more, went immediately for Fiera. For him, nothing else seemed to exist in a room when she was there. “I have been worried to the sun and back for you.”

  “I’m fine.” Fiera squeezed his forearms lightly and took a step away. Even though she wore a smile on her lips, Vi could see the discomfort behind her eyes. She didn’t appreciate the suddenly crowded room any more than Vi did.

  “Denja told me what happened on the streets, and that you refused your guard detail.”

  “I had a guard detail.” Fiera motioned to Vi and Zira. “Why don’t we all head to a sitting room to discuss these matters? It’ll be far more comfortable.”

  “What is this place anyway? You’ve not taken me here before…” The statement trailed off as the Emperor looked around. His attention was quickly consumed by the sword. “This was what you held that night… This must be the Sword of Jadar.”

  These weapons attract power-hungry men. Vi keenly heard the words of her father once more. If Tiberus’s expression was any indication, the Knights of Jadar were no longer the only ones who were out for the sword.

  “Yes,” Fiera said begrudgingly as she stepped in front of her betrothed. She rested her hands lightly on his upper arms in an attempt to guide him away. “We shall use it at our wedding to bless our union and then it will be sealed away forever.”

  “Here? Will it be here?” Tiberus asked, a little too eagerly.

  “No, I will find a new spot for it.” Fiera swept her gaze across the room, landing on Denja. Vi didn’t miss the subtle confusion that furrowed Fiera’s brow. “Too many people appear to know of this location.” Then, like magic, her whole expression softened. Fiera gave Tiberus the sweetest, most endearing smile one could imagine. “Now, my love, come with me to procure some refreshments? I’m both parched and starved from all the excitement this morning.”

  “Yes, the excitement…” Tiberus looked back to Fiera and his focus returned. “You must tell me what happened.”

  “Of course.” Fiera linked their arms, leading Tiberus out of the room. Denja fell into step behind, Vi and Zira pulling up the rear. Fiera locked the door and Vi could feel the pop of magic as she lifted the curtain of flame in the hallway once more.

  “Zira,” Vi said lightly, loud enough for Denja to hear but not so loud that it distracted Fiera and Tiberus. “Do you have time now to show me that sword technique you were telling me about earlier?”

  “Yes, I think now would be a wonderful time,” Zira said easily, without even missing a beat.

  “Excellent.”

  They paused at a landing, Zira taking the lead. “If you three will excuse Yullia and me, there’s something I promised to show her in the training ring.”

  “Good of you to do so.” Fiera picked up on the ruse. “I appreciate you taking such an active interest in Yullia’s training.”

  “I have other matters to attend to as well,” Denja said stiffly, adjusting the scarf around her head. “If you’ll all excuse me.”

  “Thank you again for informing me of the incident today,” Tiberus said to the blue-eyed woman. “I appreciate that someone made it a point to notify me of actions taken against my betrothed.”

  “Certainly, your grace.” Denja bowed. “I am here to serve.” After taking two steps backward, Denja turned, disappearing down the hall.

  Vi bowed as well, Zira mirroring the motion before leading them in the opposite direction as Denja. They rounded down two staircases, to a storeroom attached to an empty training pit. Zira closed the door behind her and settled on one of the room’s many unmarked crates before asking, “You wanted me alone and now you have me. What is it?”

  “Denja. How did she know of that room?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think Fiera told her.”

  “I don’t think so either.” Vi paced, running her hands along the dusty boxes of training equipment. “Which means she figured it out, interrogated someone else who knows, or followed us.”

  “Before today, only Fiera and I knew of it.”

  “Not even her siblings? Ophain?”

  “If they know, I’m unaware. But I doubt they would’ve spilled the secret just because some random councilor asked.”

  Vi stopped pacing. With stilled feet, her mind felt like it could move faster. “How long has Denja been in the employ of the royal family?”

  “Right around the time the war began, I believe. I’ve only served our princess for three years, so I can’t say for certain.” Zira pushed herself off the crate. “Long enough that if there was something to worry about when it comes to Denja, they would’ve already found out.”

  “Not always,” Vi said softly. “Some betrayals take decades to mature.” Like Jayme. “In the coming months, we must protect the sword at all costs.”

  “So you’ve said. What happens if it falls into the wrong hands, as you say?”

  “Would you believe me if I said the end of the world?” Vi gave a bitter grin. Zira let out a laugh that told Vi just how seriously she took the warning.

  “You really are an odd one.” Shaking her head as the laughter faded, Zira started for the door. But her hand stalled on the handle. She looked back to Vi and—for one brief second—Vi could see the woman taking the words seriously. “We’ll keep it safe.”

  “I hope so.”

  Zira gave her a nod and left. Vi crossed over to the window that overlooked the empty training field. They would keep it safe this time. She wouldn’t allow the world to repeat itself once more. There wouldn’t be another Vi pulled from her home to be Yargen’s Champion. There wouldn’t be another Taavin to suffer at the hands of fate.

  The cycle would end. Now that the sword was within her grasp, the real work could begin.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the dead of night, the halls were empty, and the castle was quiet.

  Vi made her way with ease, glyphs wrapped around her wrists. One masked her sounds. But should someone see her, the other gave her the face of a random Imperial guard.

  Once in the armory, Vi closed the door behind her, grabbed one of the swords off the racks, and propped it lightly against the handle. There would be no surprise guests this time. She wanted to know the moment someone came in.

  Though, hopefully, her paranoia would prove unfounded.

  The lock on the door to the sword’s chamber was easy to melt away with her magic. She repeated the same process she had in the Archives to get to Taavin after Ulvarth had locked his door. Vi melted and bent and separated the ring holding the lock in place, rather than destroying the lock itself, and set it aside. That way, she could return it to its previous position.

  As a Firebearer, Fiera no doubt knew of this flaw in the protection of the blade. That was why she kept the curtain of flame burning at all times within the hall. But the princess had also said she barely noticed the magic leeching away from her anymore. Vi surmised that if Fiera were asleep, she wouldn’t notice any slight fluctuations in that magic at all.

  Lifting her hand, Vi moved forward deliberately. Her fingertips dipped into the flames first. It was warm—Fiera’s power undeniable. But it didn’t burn her.

  She didn’t want to assume full control of the flames, merely adjust them. Pushing her magic out from her extended hand, a hole barely larger than her wrist appeared in the wall of fire. She extended her magic further, stretching the opening little by little until it was wide enough for her to step through, flames raging right at the edge of her power.

  On the other side of the fire, Vi released her hold, allowing the flames to ease back into place.

  “Na
rro hath hoolo,” Vi uttered, her eyes locked with the sword on the wall. She didn’t so much as look at Taavin when he appeared.

  “This is record time for you getting here.” He took a step forward, looking up at the sword. “What did you do?”

  “What you told me to: I befriended Fiera and found the sword. Then I came to it.” Vi crossed in front of him, lifting the weapon off its pegs.

  “You need to be more specific. It’s my duty to record all you do, and because I keep that memory, you do better every time… until, eventually, we succeed.”

  “We’ll succeed this time,” Vi insisted, focusing on the scabbard.

  “While I admire your confidence, we won’t know for sure until your sight shows us a future where Raspian is safely sealed away.”

  “Have a bit of faith.” She finally allowed her attention to stray to him. His eyes were twice as brilliant and three times as hard as an emerald. “Believe in me.”

  “I do.”

  “You don’t.” Vi set down the blade on the table, taking a step away from it. Every time she was near the weapon it consumed her attention—but she wanted to give Taavin her undivided focus. “You don’t think we’ll succeed this time, otherwise you wouldn’t be so cautious.”

  “I’m cautious because the world needs me to be.”

  “Because you think I’ll fail.”

  “It’s not what I think that matters. It’s what’s happened ninety-two times…” he murmured, glancing askance. Vi refused to allow it, stepping into his field of vision.

  “When you look at me, you see me combined with ninety-two other versions of myself. You see actions I have not taken, but still could. Moments when I succeeded and, more often than not, failed. You see me in a way that I can’t even imagine myself.” She looked at him from head to toe. “But when I look at you… I only see one Taavin. The Taavin who taught me my magic and guided me across Meru, who betrayed me and my father. The Taavin I still loved even when I thought one more betrayal would break my heart. The Taavin I watched burn—” Her voice broke and she allowed herself to fall silent.