He wouldn’t be there to watch the race. These days, he and my mother rarely left our family quarters in the lower levels of the palace. I don’t remember the last time I visited, and they’ve never once come to see my room at the Warriors’ Hall.
The image of my father’s hollow gaze and the desperate hope that Exin was wrong weighed on my wings like anchors as I did a few laps around the Hall to warm up. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake how I felt. A stronger warrior may have been able to overcome his emotions, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to.
So when the time came for competitors to check in for the race, I didn’t go.
Back in the present, I step back into a sheltered archway and try to gather my wits. I run a hand through my hair and try to shake my nerves. I’ll have to get her alone somehow. I press the pads of my fingers into the stone wall behind me.
Then, before my courage leaves me, I round the corner and call out her name.
It’s Vera who sees and greets me first. “Hey, Callen, happy High Summer!” She cocks her head to the side. “It’s a shame you didn’t race today. I was all ready to cheer for you.”
By this point, Rowan has seen me, too. She waves, letting go of Ox’s hand as she does. “Hey,” she says, greeting me with a hug like she always has. Only it feels different this time. “You okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“You didn’t race,” she says. “It’s all you’ve talked about since last winter.”
“Yeah, actually,” I reply. “It’s nothing important. But I did want to talk to you, really quickly. If you have time.”
“Oh.” She gives me a look, but nods. “Yeah, okay.”
She parts with the others, saying that we’ll catch up. I try not to grin with vindication at how quickly she agrees to come with me. We’ve been best friends since we were kids—even now, that connection is strong. I still matter to her.
Once it is just the two of us, I turn toward the palace. I take a shortcut through a narrow alleyway. The shouting of children above us makes me look up.
There are three of them, two girls egging on a third to make the jump from one rooftop to the next. They are about five or six years old—just old enough to be growing into the full extent of their magic, including shape-shifting for the first time. Each of the kids is dressed in what I guess are their best festival dresses, but the dirt on their hands and elbows tells me exactly what they are doing.
Rowan sees where I’m looking and smiles. “We used to do that,” she says. “Remember? Jumping and trying to change into a lion at the same time.”
“To see if we had enough magic to shape-shift, yeah. I remember,” I reply. “I also remember you insisting we try on a wider gap than this one.”
“And we both made it across fine, even when we couldn’t transform yet,” she says. “We’re alive.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I reply, wishing my heart weren’t racing as it is. I run a hand across my brow and through my hair, cringing at the nervous sweat.
“So,” Rowan asks, adjusting the sash on her waist. “Where are we going?”
A great question. It took me a while to think of the right place to get this off my chest, but somewhere around dawn, I landed on it. “The grotto.”
“During High Summer? You’re feeling bold.” She laughs, but she takes her lioness form anyway and starts for the entrance we discovered years ago. “Weird. I was just thinking about that place.”
We fly over to the secret entrance. The spot is concealed off by the shadows of the palace on one side and mossy boulders on the other. I lift the blanket we use as a door and as camouflage. I let her go first, then take a deep inhale as I follow behind.
Already, the air is cooler. Rushing water sounds in the distance. Skies. Will the water be too loud for us to talk? I should have picked somewhere quieter. But it just felt right to do this in a place that was already ours.
Rowan slows as we get closer to the spring, sensing the same hushed reverence we felt when we first found it. I stand beside her as we look into the restless, glowing waters. Above us, the cave arches sharply into a high, domed ceiling. Dust clings to the green-glass lanterns affixed above the four tunnels where each of the rivers—Sun, Moon, Crescent, and Wind—flow outward. Magic pulses through the air like blood through veins.
Rowan’s mother, Talla, told us this is where the first king and queen of the Leonodai used their magic to break the Heliana from the coast of Vyrinterra when Garradin was destroyed and the threat of the humans became real. Doing so took every bit of their magic and ended up killing them. For their service to the magical races, the then-divided families of Leonodai banded together into one kingdom.
The current king, Kharo, is a direct descendent of that first king. I wonder how that feels, to have to live up to such expectations. With a general for a father, I only have a drop of that pressure, while the king had a rain.
I glance over at Ro, watching the glowing reflection of the spring dance in her eyes a moment before she catches me staring.
“What?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I look back to the spring. “Just been a while since I was here.”
“It’s the same as it’s always been,” she says, and I pick up on the hint of annoyance in her tone. Is it annoyance or impatience? Does she want to get back to the festival? To Ox?
It’s now or never. Skies keep me, I have to do this. “Ro, I wanted to talk to you.”
She leans back against the wall of the grotto. “You already are.”
“Hilarious,” I reply. Inhale, exhale. “I just … I wanted to tell you something.”
Her expression changes, eyebrows raising just a little in concern. For once in her life, she doesn’t say anything. I send a prayer to the first king and queen, hoping they’re watching over me from the Endless Skies. Whatever magic lifted the Heliana into the skies, it has to be enough to say this.
“I love you,” I say. “I love you, Ro, and as way, way more than a friend. I’m in love with you.” Her lips move, but no sound comes. I swallow hard. “I just really wanted you to know.”
She looks away from me. “Callen, where is this coming from?”
“I’ve wanted to tell you for months,” I say. “But I didn’t have the guts until I saw you with Ox.”
“So you only wanted me because I was with someone else?”
“No, that’s not it.”
She avoids my gaze. “Well, that’s how it sounds.”
“I know, just … wait a second.” I lean on the wall next to her. She moves away. Rowan never shies away from me. We’re different. We’re us.
I can barely hear my voice over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. “I’ve wanted to tell you for so long. You’re funny and smart, and you’re going to be a really great warrior. I know you think I go easy on you in sparring, but I swear on the skies I don’t.”
“Okay…”
“And you’re so beautiful, Ro. I can’t believe I never told you. You should see how the other warriors look at you.”
Sand scrapes beneath her feet as she shifts. “So?”
“So. It just felt right, when I realized I wanted you in a new way. When I realized I loved you.”
Rowan starts to pace, her hands touching the hilts of her throwing knives like I know she does to focus. “I can’t believe this is happening. What did you expect me to say, Callen?”
“That’s not … Come on,” I protest. “I was hoping you’d want what I wanted.” My hope sours to bitterness. “Haven’t you ever looked at me like that, even once?”
Finally, Rowan’s eyes meet mine. Dark brown, with flecks of gold as all Leonodai have. “Of course I have,” she says. “Of course I’ve thought about it. I just think I want something more. Something different.” I don’t want you. That’s what she wants to say, she’s just too kind to say it.
I put my hands on my hips. “Great. Got it.”
“Look, I gotta go, Cal.”
The sound of my nickname breaks m
e. I let out a bitter laugh. While I call her by hers all the time, she only uses Cal when she is frustrated about a bad training session or thinking about her father. When she wants to be alone.
“Okay, go then,” I reply. “I’ll just go throw myself in a river or something.”
She sighs, exasperated. “Callen.”
“Rowan.”
We stare at each other a second, but it passes like a lifetime. I think of every time we must have touched: hand in hand climbing rooftops when we were children, or swimming in the rivers with Vera and our other friends after sparring days. I want so badly to hold her now. To go back to how it was between us just minutes ago.
She turns abruptly and heads back the way we came. “I’m sorry, Callen. I have to go now.”
I follow behind her, giving her a wide berth. The Sun River, I think. That will be the best one to throw myself into. All at once, Rowan’s steps get faster. She throws back the blanket covering the entrance and dust flies into our eyes.
I curse. “Rowan, what the skies—”
“Listen.”
Then I hear it, too. Bells.
I count the tolling, ready to decipher whatever signal is coming from the palace, but it’s too early in the day for the closing ceremonies. Even if it weren’t, the High Summer festival calls for highest bells, the ones that spark curiosity and joy.
These sounds are low, each one a different shade of midnight. In seconds, wings are lifting from the streets in the distance as warriors and warriors-elect answer the call.
Grief and fear drum together in my chest, alternate beats of the same instrument. Rowan turns to me, sunlight making the gold in her eyes glow with fire. Determination.
“We have to go,” she says, referring to the Glass Tower. Because of our ranks, she’ll be in the back half of the Tower, and I’ll be with the other warriors up front. “I’ll find you. After. To talk about … this.”
“Okay,” I reply. “Let’s go.”
She takes her lioness form. Wordlessly, I call my magic and do the same.
There is one thing every Leonodai, every warrior, places more honor on than anything else: loyalty. Loyalty above all. Rowan may not be a warrior in name, but she is one in soul. She must answer the bells’ call.
We are being called to our king, and we cannot wait.
* * *
Rowan breaks away from me toward where the warriors-elect gather, whereas I go to my place closer to the thrones. I beat my wings forward to slow myself as I cross beneath one of the palace’s hundreds of white stone archways.
The Glass Tower never fails to make me feel small. Windows and mirrors line the walls in an alternating pattern. The floor is a polished marble gifted to the Leonodai by the bearkings of old, before their kind became as reclusive as they are now. The light gray stone nearly glows, appearing to contain a depth of light and swirling patterns like the ocean’s surface. The first time I saw it, I was almost afraid to step onto it—it looked as if there was nothing to catch me.
At the end of the hall are the thrones, two high-backed chairs of dark wood inlaid with gold. The thrones themselves are empty. Instead of the royal family, the current sentinels wait for us in front of the dais. Such a sight would usually inspire pride in me, but to interrupt the High Summer festival with bells so low and foreboding …
“Hey,” calls a voice. Exin comes over to me. “Missed you earlier at the race. Where were you?”
“Dealing with something … else,” I reply. “I’ll tell you later.”
He indicates his head toward the sentinels. “Any idea what’s going on?”
“No clue.”
“Whatever it is, it’s enough to worry the citizens,” he says. “We’re never called like this.” Exin glances around, then nods toward a group of warriors-elect who just flew in. “Maybe the king’s moved their ceremony up a day?”
“But why?” I reply. “Besides, none of their families are here.”
Near us, in a group of seasoned warriors six years my senior, I spot Sethran. He was involved in my third and fourth years of training, and after his classes ended, I sought him out for one-on-one mentoring. With a keen mind for strategy, he doesn’t always fight in tournaments, but when he does, he is an absolute spectacle to watch.
Sethran sees me and nods, touching his hand to his shoulder. I do the same, spirit rising at the sign of respect from him. Then I spot Rowan in a group of warriors-elect behind him, and my excitement vanishes.
I should have kept my mouth shut. At least the bells gave us something to focus on. She said she’d find me later, and I have to respect that. If she wants to find me, she will. The tiny spot of pale blue stands out against the dark of her hair. Almost reverently, I touch the matching earring and rub the metal between my fingers.
Then I notice Ox breaking through the crowd toward her. He says something to her and then, with a touch at the small of her back, makes his way over to the other warriors.
It’s such a tiny gesture, but it takes all I have to remain upright. Blood pounds in my ears as a chime rings out. Years of conditioning force me to take a knee, and I stare blankly into the depth of the stone that reflects my own stupid face. I was—am—way too late. If she wants to be with Ox, there’s nothing I can do about it.
We wait for the king and queen to enter. It won’t be the first time I’ve seen them. The pair make appearances here and there, sometimes simply walking among the citizens in the marketplace. But lately, they have become more private, devoting themselves to raising a strong heir.
The magic threaded throughout the Heliana relies on the vitality of the royal line. Prince Tabrol, as the heir, is referred to by many as the lifeblood of the city. The very city will fall if the royal line fails, so the scholars taught us. Throughout our history, the royal family has been extensive. But sometime in the past forty years, the line began to fail. A royal cousin was killed in battle, another by infection. Kharo’s older sister is rumored to have taken her own life, but no one knows for sure.
Prince Kharo, as he was then, wasn’t raised to rule. He became king and quickly took his warrior queen. Crown Prince Tabrol’s birth three years ago was such an occasion that even training was canceled. Rowan and I spent that day relaxing with our friends, then watching the sunset near the Western Gate. She’d put her head on my shoulder for the first time, but I didn’t love her then like I do now.
I could kick my past self for not seeing it sooner.
Shaking myself from my memories, I wait with the others for the king and queen to make their entrance. Only they never do.
Instead, the Ninth Sentinel steps forward, clearing her throat. I glance at Sethran and see the pride in his expression. A sentinel and a warrior in love—they’re their own kind of royalty. Sethran told me they’ve stopped taking walks together in the daytime because they get so many adoring looks.
Sentinel Shirene takes a breath. “Honored warriors, today you have been summoned at the request of Their Graces King Kharo and Queen Laianna, the sovereigns of all Leonodai.” Her voice does not shake, but I sense a weight of worry behind it. “The king commands your discretion as to not alarm the citizens of the Heliana. Nothing you are about to learn leaves this room.”
For a moment, her eyes flicker to her fellow sentinels, from which she gains some sort of reassurance.
“Two weeks ago, the healers brought to the king’s attention an illness among several children for which the usual remedies proved ineffective. The healers and scholars have searched their books and believe that it is a human’s disease brought here by the dead birds that have been found throughout the city. As of now, two children have died.” Her voice sticks on the last word, and I can guess whatever the Ninth Sentinel is feeling right now is the closest she has ever been to true hate. “The healers treating the children are unaffected, and at this time, we believe it only affects the youngest Leonodai.”
I resist looking for Rowan behind me. Her mother runs a school in the northern district. She, Shir
ene, and Matron Talla love those girls like they are family.
“Horrible as the disease is,” Shirene goes on, “there is no reason to panic. The scholars also found record of a cure—a flower—that grows in the heart of Balmora. King Kharo has commanded that twelve teams of four warriors will go into the humans’ lands, find the cure, and bring it back. You are to exercise caution to go undetected as long as possible.”
Thoughts spin and twist and fight for space in my mind, suffocating me. No one has been sent into Balmora in years, since long before I even began training. It is horrible that kids are sick, but something about this still feels bigger than that.
“The warriors will leave tonight at the eleventh bell, when we won’t be seen by the humans,” says Shirene. “Each team and their respective commanders will receive additional instructions from the Fourth and Sixth Sentinels. Hammond?”
The Second Sentinel, Hammond, comes up beside her. “We want to avoid an unnecessary panic. We also want to keep the disease from spreading. We know many of you have younger family members. As such, the king has postponed the ceremony for warriors-elect tomorrow.”
Instantly, there are murmurs of protest from the warriors-elect, and this time, I don’t stop myself from seeking out Rowan. The look on her face shatters me. That ceremony is all she’s wanted for so long.
“Quiet, please,” Sentinel Renna calls out. Obedience and training bring the room back to a tense silence. “Upon the teams’ return, the warriors-elect will take the oath as normal.”
She inclines her hand to Shirene, who unfurls a scroll. The Ninth Sentinel’s large, pale blue eyes scan the paper for the briefest of moments. “When I call your name, please stand. Teams will join Sentinels Carrick and Hammond in the antechamber and wait for the remaining warriors to be dismissed before receiving instructions.”
The Endless Skies Page 4
