by Kova, Elise
“You will live by the sword, and through it you will fulfill many duties. These duties will be heavy, but you will carry yourself gracefully till your final hours. And through it all, you will find your home.” Finishing with something ambiguous seemed far wiser than getting too specific. As much as Vi wanted to meddle with the outcomes of history to spare her family, Taavin’s cautions stuck.
“You honor us with your sight of the Mother’s plans.” Sophie dipped once more into a low bow. Zira stared in slack-jawed awe.
“Do you hear that, mommy?” Raylynn stole her mother’s attention. “I will carry a heavy sword, just like you!”
“That you will, my little dagger. But the sword I’m carrying today isn’t heavy. In fact, it’s very special. I only have it now for the princess’s wedding. Would you like to see it?” Raylynn nodded and Vi was forced to watch as the crystal sword was unsheathed once more, casually exposed to even more eyes. “This sword is—”
“The Sword of Jadar,” Sophie gasped.
“Is it so special?” Raylynn asked, running her little fingers along the flat of the blade. The girl was calm and at ease, even in the presence of a legendary weapon.
“Very special. Can’t you hear its song?” Zira tilted her head. “Remember, we must—”
“Listen to the blades, and dance and sing with them.” Raylynn finished. She tore her eyes away from the sword. “Did you give my mother this sword?”
“It belongs to my family,” Vi answered doggedly.
“Can you give me a sword when I am in service to the golden crown?”
“Perhaps.”
“I want a sword like mama’s.”
“A sword like this cannot be made. It came from the Mother herself, very long ago.” Zira sheathed the weapon.
“But her visions come from the Mother, and she’s so powerful!” Raylynn looked between them all, as if one of them could explain why this fact wasn’t obvious. “If you can’t make another sword, can you give my dagger power just like it?”
“Stop bothering the princess and mind your manners, Ray,” Sophie said sternly, cutting off the conversation. She stopped the girl from unsheathing the dagger.
“Now, the princess and I have to go get ready for her wedding. It’ll be very soon.” Zira gave Raylynn one final squeeze and stood. “I’ll meet you both tonight for dinner. Thank you again,” Zira murmured as her mother and daughter exited. “Do you think I’m a bad mother for this deceit?”
“No.” It was Vi’s turn to give Zira’s hand a squeeze. “I think you just did a very, very good thing.”
If Vi’s suspicions were right, she had just witnessed her first real opportunity to change fate.
Chapter Fifteen
Vi gazed up at the domed ceiling. A statue of the Mother held out a giant basin of fire that lit the entire cathedral—the second-most impressive structure in all of Norin. It was yet another piece of architecture that reminded her of the Archives in Risen.
Beneath the great statue were smaller ones of the Mother in various poses and expressions. Those statues melted into the relief sculptures of the Father that rounded the room. He looked up at the visages of the Mother above in yearning.
Vi inspected the tender face of the deity who would be Raspian. The sculptor knew nothing of the god’s actual likeness, just like the Dark Isle knew nothing of his real relationship with the Mother. All Vi saw in his longing eyes was a drive to once more subdue the goddess that ruled above him.
“So much history they don’t even know they’re a part of.” A familiar voice startled Vi from her thoughts. Deneya had seemingly materialized at her side. “Every time I come here it reminds me of home—in a strange, not-quite-right sort of way.”
“It’s a bit like a distorted mirror, isn’t it?” Vi murmured.
“That’s one way to put it.” Deneya glanced at her from the corners of her eyes. “Now, why did you summon me?”
“I need your help today.”
“Oh?”
Some Crones emerged from a nearby door, beginning to light sconces throughout the room. Vi walked in the opposite direction, keeping her voice so low it was barely audible over the echo of their footsteps in the cavernous space. “I need you to protect Zira.”
“Zira has always struck me as a woman capable of protecting herself.”
“The Knights are going to make a play for the sword. I had a vision.”
Deneya stopped walking. “When?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“You didn’t think to mention this when we spoke with Taavin last?” Deneya arched her eyebrows. The three of them had been meeting weekly.
“Slipped my mind.”
Deneya rolled her eyes. “Whatever you have to tell yourself. That’s between you and him.”
“Exactly,” Vi said firmly. Her stomach was still in knots because she had yet to tell Taavin of her vision, her slight maneuvering—encouragement—of Raylynn, or her bold plan. But this was her moment to spare Zira from an untimely death and prevent the sword from falling into the hands of the Knights of Jadar. Asking for forgiveness would be easy when she succeeded. She hoped. “At the point in the ceremony when Zira lifts the sword overhead, she’ll be struck from behind. I need you to move through the crowd and counter the attack.”
“So just focus on Zira. Not Fiera or the sword?”
“I’ll worry about the sword and Fiera. Just save Zira.”
“Simple enough.” A smirk curled Deneya’s lips. “I always wanted to run circles around the Dark Isle dwellers with Lightspinning. But it’s against my code while I’m here.”
“But you’ll help me do this?”
“Of course. You’re the Champion—exceptions can be made for you.” And Deneya looked all too eager to make those exceptions. “Things were boring before you came.”
“Hopefully, if I do my job right… they’ll be boring again.” Vi’s attention was drawn to the main doors of the cathedral—the only entrance and exit onto the streets. As if sensing their discussion, Zira appeared. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Deneya fell into step, whispering hastily, “I have something else I need to tell you, when it’s all over.”
“What?”
“No time now.” She lifted her eyes, looking to Zira. “Good day, captain.”
“Good day, councilor. Is everything all right?”
“Yes.” Deneya smiled. “Just checking in with Yullia here about the final count of the guards so I can ensure they are paid correctly. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change before the ceremony.” Deneya bowed and departed.
“Are you ready for today?” Zira asked.
“I think so. You?”
“No,” Zira answered bluntly. “I’ve fought countless men in dozens of battles. But this has my hands trembling.”
“You’ll be fine.” Vi patted the woman on her shoulder.
“Do you mind if I go over the ceremony once more with you? I don’t want to forget.” A nervous Zira was more endearing than Vi could’ve imagined.
“Not at all.”
“Thank you.” Zira promptly turned to a back door.
Vi’s eyes were drawn to the sword on her hip as Zira moved. Vi’s head bobbed along as Zira went through the ceremony a final time. But her attention was on the sword.
She would protect it, and the woman, at all costs.
She wouldn’t accept any other fate.
* * *
Two hours later, Fiera arrived by covered carriage. Soldiers stretched sheer panels between poles that obscured her as she entered the cathedral. The gathered crowds cheered and threw flowers, praising their soon-to-be Empress, as if their happiness for the union had been there all along.
Vi watched from an upper floor, scanning the guards that lined Fiera’s walk. How many of them were Knights of Jadar loyalists? How many were ready to stab the woman in the back if the opportunity presented itself?
When Fiera entered the cathedral, Vi spiraled down the narrow iron st
aircase that took her from the top of the spire she’d perched in down into a side wing, and out into the cathedral proper. The main chamber was beginning to fill with nobles and dignitaries and Vi stepped lightly, unnoticed by most.
She scanned the crowd carefully, trying to discern who might be surreptitiously positioning themselves, waiting for the time to strike. Vi made a note of every man and woman who chose to stand behind where Zira would be in less than an hour. By the time she waded through the sea of people, Vi had committed their faces to memory.
Vi slipped into a back hall that connected to a waiting room where Fiera sat in a chair by the window—looking far more composed than Vi had expected.
“Are there a lot of people yet?” Fiera asked, perking up when Vi entered.
“It’s filling quickly.” Zira was nowhere to be seen. Having the sword out of sight put Vi on edge. She glanced at the two handmaids who hovered in the corner of the room. “Out with you both.”
They glanced at each other, but left when Fiera commanded a gentle, “Please excuse us a moment.” The princess turned back to Vi, dark eyebrows arched in question.
Vi stared down at the woman, wondering countless things at once. Was the cut of her dress—tight below the bust, but flowing loose around her abdomen—happenstance, or an intentional concealment? Had she looked into the future at all during these past weeks? Did she have any sense of what was about to transpire?
Not knowing the answers to those and several hundred other questions, Vi slowly drew her sword. Acting on instinct, she rested the point of the weapon in a crack of the floor and knelt before Fiera.
“Princess, soon to be Empress…” Vi looked up over top of her white-knuckled hands. “I shall not abandon my post before your throne, on this day or any to come. I am loyal to you, and any actions I take are an extension of that loyalty.”
“What have you seen?” Fiera asked. “Tell me. I am burdened by the sight as well, and accustomed to living with its revelations. You do not need to shoulder this truth alone.”
“There will be an attack during your ceremony.”
“Who else have you told?”
“No one,” Vi lied easily, and Fiera believed it without question.
“Not even Zira?”
“I need her to act without knowing.”
“I see.” Vi actually believed she did. “What do you need from me, then?”
“Faith. Trust.”
“You have had those from the first moment I laid eyes on you,” Fiera said softly. It was a gift Vi still didn’t feel she’d earned, but was grateful to have.
“When the moment comes, trust me to protect you.”
Fiera nodded just as their conversation was interrupted by the door opening. Lord Ophain stood in its frame. He was dressed in deep crimson finery from head to toe, a heavy silver pendant around his neck that Vi recognized as the mark of the Lord of the West.
“Dear sister, it’s time,” he said gently, walking over. Vi stood and stepped out of the man’s way, allowing him to take both of Fiera’s hands. Ophain was accustomed to servants and guards in his presence; he didn’t so much as look at her twice. “Are you ready to do this?”
“I am,” Fiera said with a small smile. “There is only happiness and love ahead. The war is done, and this shall put it to rest.”
The fight for Fiera’s life was only just beginning. But Vi said nothing as they left, arm in arm. She slipped out through the side door and joined the masses gathered to watch the first Empress Solaris be crowned.
It had become difficult to walk in the great room of the cathedral. People had filled it to the point of pressing against the guards on the outer ring. Vi looked for the faces of the men and women she’d seen earlier. She sought out people she might know. Some she was certain she recognized, others she was certain she didn’t. But her recognition or lack thereof was not a reliable measure for traitors. Vi could thank Jayme for that lesson.
Soft gasps and murmurs distracted her when she was halfway through her first sweep. Vi jerked her head upward, toward what was stealing everyone’s attention. Fiera had entered and, at the same time, the Emperor made his grand entrance from the upper doorway in the dome. As Fiera walked, her gold-trimmed train stretched behind her in equal measure as the Emperor’s golden cape.
They made their way to each other in the center of the room. There, in an outer circle, was a row of soldiers. After that, a row of Crones, Fiera’s sisters, and Zira.
“My lords and ladies of the West, our esteemed guests from the South and East, I welcome you all to this most joyous occasion,” Ophain’s voice boomed as they reached the middle of the chamber. “It is my honor as Lord of the West to present my sister to our Emperor so they might be joined in marriage.” Ophain presented the hand of his sister to Tiberus.
“Eons ago,” the head Crone began to speak, wasting no time. “The Father lived in a land of eternal night. It was in that darkness that he met the Mother. She was a brilliant star…”
Vi tuned out the ceremonial storytelling. Her eyes continued to scan the crowd, even more attentive as she positioned herself directly behind Fiera. Deneya would defend Zira, and from this vantage Vi would get a look at the attacker if she was lucky. But her vision hadn’t shown her the aftermath of the attack, and Vi would be ready for whatever came.
“The Mother watches over us, bringing life and joy. The Father watches over our timelessness, seeing us safely into the lands beyond.” The head Crone produced a long red ribbon from inside her robes. It was the same one Vi had run back to the castle for earlier. She pushed forward into the crowd, ignoring the glares and rude gestures of those around her. “From our births to our deaths, we are bound to the plans they have laid. We walk the red lines they have given us.”
Not if I have something to say about it, Vi silently added. She was the one who could change those red lines—if she was bold and brave enough.
“By this, it is not for us to question those who are called to each other, just as it is no more our place to question those called to greatness. To do so would be an affront to the divine.”
Vi heard the scoff of a man to her left. She looked in his direction. He murmured something to another gentleman beside him. Vi stepped through the crowd, squeezing through an opening to get closer to the man. The ripple effect of shifting people caught his attention.
Their eyes met and he gave her a thin smile before looking forward again. The other man he’d been whispering to shuffled through the standing masses. Vi caught only a glimpse of the back of his head. Luke?
“Princess Fiera Ci’Dan, daughter of the last King of Mhashan, may the Mother bless you with the greatness of her warmth.” The Crone carefully laid the ribbon, looping it over the couple’s joined hands. Vi looked between them and the man who had vanished into the crowd. She couldn’t go chasing after him. She had to stay close to Fiera; the time was near. “Emperor Tiberus Solaris, first Emperor of this great land, chosen by the sun, may the Father bless you with his resolution.”
The Crone carried on with her blessings, wrapping their hands with each one. At the same time, Vi worked her way through the mass of people, pushing bodies aside when they refused to move. She was right behind Fiera as she and Tiberus recited their vows to each other.
For a brief moment, the world was calm. Happy, even. Fiera smiled brightly as she promised to be the Emperor’s, to honor him, to serve him, to hold him to a standard befitting an Emperor of all, for all. The Emperor nearly teared up as he promised the same—that he was hers, that he would love and cherish her, that she would forever be the brightest ray of the Solaris sun.
The future was hopeful in that breathtaking minute. And Vi witnessed the first glimpse that told her, beyond all doubt, this unlikely couple had come together to be greater than the sum of their parts.
Then the Crone spoke again: “The Mother bestowed on Mhashan a weapon to guard us all.” Zira unsheathed the sword. “May your love be as strong as this blade, as unyielding a
s its edge. And, should she above bless this union, may her fire touch the fate that binds you both.”
The Crone stepped back as Zira raised the sword above her head. Movement caught Vi’s eye. Zira dramatically lowered the weapon over top their joined hands. Vi sank into her legs, ready to spring. Women around her wept tears at the ceremony’s beauty. Vi readied herself to kill.
Fire ignited between the ribbon and the blade, burning it away as ash. Vi held her breath as Zira lifted the sword. This was it. This was the moment she died.
Instead, like the fire that burned in the sculpted brazier above the center of the room—flames erupted at Fiera’s back, igniting chaos in the crowd.
Chapter Sixteen
Zira screamed, stumbling forward.
Vi launched herself forward as well, pushing a Crone and Princess Tina out of the way to barge into the inner circle of the wedding ceremony. Zira’s back was singed, her clothes hanging by threads. But for the time being, she was very much alive.
People began to move, the crowd rumbling as if the earth itself trembled beneath them.
“Everyone stay back!” Vi shouted at the top of her lungs. She reached for the head Crone, pushing the elderly woman away. Vi spun, grabbing Zira and pulling her toward her, Fiera, and Tiberus in the same moment.
“How dare—” the Emperor grumbled. Before he could finish, Vi conjured a thin wall of flame with a thought. It burned white-hot and towered above them, nearly touching the bottom of the stone basin the statue was holding aloft in the dome above.
“It’s an assassination attempt.” Vi glared at Tiberus. “Keep your wife safe and don’t move.”
Sweat dotted his brow, but the Emperor kept silent, the reality of the situation sinking in. He clutched Fiera to him, so tightly that Vi couldn’t make eye contact.
“Zira, stay here and protect the sword.”
