I think back to the announcements the sentinels had given last year as the search for Noam’s replacement was underway. “But the sentinels said they weren’t ever able to find him.”
“They couldn’t tell anyone they had,” my sister replies. “It would have created more gossip. They—we—let Noam stay in his exile until now. Noam told us and the king what the disease was. How bad it may get, Rowan.”
I lean back. “How can you trust him?”
“At the end of the day, he is Leonodai,” she says. “He knows that, still. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been so eager to help us when we went to him for answers.” Her tone gives her away. When she’s thinking like a sentinel, Shirene knows to bottle up. But with me, she forgets.
“You’re worried,” I say.
“Of course I’m worried,” she fires back. “Children are dying.” She straightens, asserting the few inches of height she holds over me. “Just … keep quiet for a few days, okay? Noam’s role in this may come to light after we are through this crisis. Not before. Can you manage that?”
“Hey,” I reply, “I’m not stupid, Shirene. If you weren’t supposed to tell me about him, then that’s on you. But yes, I can keep a secret. I’m a warrior, too.”
“No, you’re not. I am a sentinel, and you are a warrior-elect.”
A lifetime of shrinking back against Shirene’s anger takes hold of me. For a moment, it’s like we’re kids again and she’s telling me to stop following her around, to leave her alone.
She turns from me. “I shouldn’t have even had this conversation. Don’t share what you’ve heard until you hear it announced formally. That’s an order, Warrior-Elect.”
“Understood, Sentinel,” I reply before immediately turning and launching myself off the garden wall, taking my lioness form before Shirene gets a chance to see me cry.
My sister has never pulled rank on me before. Ever. I guess being a sentinel is more important than our shared blood. It’s her duty, my mind whispers, and I know that’s true.
But in my chest, my heart drags toward the sea. I hardly see her anymore, and when I finally have her for a moment, this is what I get? What kind of person is she becoming?
For a moment, I contemplate going back, but when I look around, Shirene’s already gone. Fine. Go back to doing errands for the king.
I swoop down low and take my human form on the Heroes’ Path. The paved trail twists along the sheltered side of the palace ridge, where the strong northerly winds can’t reach it. It’s here we keep records of our past, both in statues and inscriptions in bronze. Citizens, especially older ones, walk up the path as I walk down. Some carry flowers, food, and other baubles in their arms to leave them at the feet of the great Leonodai who came before us.
I know each statue and story well. King Exin brandishes a long spear that points toward Balmora, an ever-present sign of defiance to the humans. Scholar Islaine’s hand—made of pure gold—shines from wear. She copied the entirety of the Leonodai’s oldest texts so that they’d withstand the test of time. To this day, new scholars in training still gather at her statute to touch her hand as a blessing.
I pause in the shadow of a woman dressed in the simple, practical clothes of a healer. Queen Rowyn, my namesake. Mother says she always preferred the other spelling. Queen Rowyn is known as the Soul of the Heliana, a queen who aided her husband as his mind deteriorated early into their reign. Loyal to the end, she is said to have humbly dressed as a healer so the king would not fear her after he’d forgotten her name, their love, and any echo of his former power.
A touch on my shoulder pulls me from my reverie. “Callen.”
“Hi,” he replies. Strands of light brown hair have escaped the bun at the back of his head, leaving him looking as defeated as I feel. “I know you said you would find me. But that was … before.”
“I know.” I turn away from Queen Rowyn and her watchful gaze and meander down the path. “It’s okay. What did the sentinels have to say?”
“We have until the eleventh bell,” Callen replies, following. “But I saw you didn’t fly off with the rest of the warriors-elect. I wanted to see if you were all right.”
Skies keep him, I know in my gut that Callen is not talking about our exchange in the grotto earlier. It isn’t the first time we’ve had a fight—if you can call what happened a fight—and it isn’t the first time we’ve both silently agreed to ignore it because of where we are or who we are around. He just wants to know how I’m doing after the news.
“Of course I’m not okay,” I say, then lower my voice to a whisper. “How could I be?”
“I know.” He gazes out at the city below us. The Heliana’s gentle arches, curved pathways, and pale stone faces make her glow in the sunlight. Our city is beautiful, but the sight of it doesn’t make me forget the silent threat currently threading through her streets.
Callen shakes his head. “I can’t wrap my mind around it. Have you heard from your mother? Did she already know?”
“I’m going to go to Storm’s End now,” I reply. “That’s all I can do. Because of a stupid oath I haven’t taken, I have to stay here and … what, do nothing? This is a chance, Callen. This is what I’ve been training for.”
“I’m sure the sentinels have their reasons, Ro,” he says. “They always think things out.”
“Well, they didn’t think out this one,” I mutter. “How are you doing? Did they tell you how long you’ll be gone?”
“Ten days, at least. No one’s been that far into Balmora in a century. Since before Garradin.”
We both look outward onto the city. My heart aches.
“I’m scared,” I say. “The people have no idea what’s coming.”
The truth comes so easily with Callen. Years of having no boundaries with each other will do that. Well, you kept some boundaries, I think, trying in vain to push it from my mind again. There are bigger things to worry about than your best friend telling you he loves you.
Except that the same best friend is right beside me.
“Rowan, any one of us could die,” Callen says. “If I don’t make it back—”
“Don’t say it,” I cut in. “You’re coming back. Everyone is coming back.”
“But you know what I’m getting at.”
I do. My pulse quickens as my stomach spins like a child’s toy top. There’s almost no telling how far they’ll have to travel and if they’ll come back. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, but I have to say something.
“Just never stop trying to come back,” I start. “Okay? No matter what happens over there. Because, skies alive, Callen, if you don’t come back, I’m going to go there and find you myself.”
“And give me hell for it.”
“And give you hell for it,” I echo.
A heart-wrenching roar sounds from above us. It’s another healer, different from the one I saw this morning, and he’s flying fast for the palace. Fear weighs down my stomach as if I’ve been swallowing stones.
“I have to go,” I say. “My mother will need me.”
He nods. “Okay.”
“Okay. Great.” I step forward, but something stops me. Maybe it’s our ancestors’ eyes on us. Maybe it’s something else.
Turning, I touch his shoulder. His armor warms beneath my fingertips as I linger. On any other day, it would mean nothing. Today, it’s all my heart can muster without making a bigger mess of a problem that needs to wait until the sick children are better. Until we have the time and space to work things out.
I step back and shift into my lioness form, flying high and far away from him before I can hear him say anything else. Before I have time to wonder why I am so reluctant to say goodbye.
7
CALLEN
I watch her go and feel bits of myself fraying, unraveling so far that they won’t ever be fixed. Skies alive, I can’t die on Balmora now knowing the last word I spoke to the most important person in the world to me was okay.
I have to give her time a
nd space, for real this time. And nothing says space like the miles of open ocean and enemy territory that will keep us apart for over a week. With a quick touch to my blue stone earring, I take my lion form and circle the city, heading to the Warriors’ Hall. The massive, U-shaped building’s glass roof shines in the sunlight as I get closer. I tilt my wings and aim for the second floor, where my room and the rest of my cohorts’ rooms are.
As I land in one of the Hall’s open entryways, I catch a glimpse of Ox and Exin leaning over the railing opposite my room. Ox sees me and gives a polite nod. I return it, a feeling in my stomach twisting like I’ve eaten something bad.
He’s a strong fighter, I remind myself. Warriors are trained in all manner of weapons, and Ox favors a bow. An archer is a solid asset to have if we encounter humans and want to avoid an outright battle as the sentinels instructed. I have no doubts about his loyalty to the king or to the city, but if I could pick a different member for my team, I would.
I glance down at the lush greenery and reflection pool on the Heliana’s lowest level, the Underbelly. A handful of warriors-elect linger in the walkways, their heads low as they sulk together. The excitement about getting to move up a level must have soured. I don’t envy the frustration every warrior-elect must be feeling.
I go into my room, drawing the bolt firmly across the door behind me. I wash my face and body, then re-dress in a clean uniform. The long cobalt tunic falls to my knees, going over my underclothes and pants and then secured in place by a belt. The open triangular cuts on either side leave room for my legs to move freely. Intricately embroidered wings and feathers line the hems, and at the center is a re-creation of the Glass Tower, just as light hits it. Sunlight in the form of gold thread spills out from it.
It’s similar in style to the warrior-elect uniform, though theirs lack any decoration and are made in a rougher cloth. This uniform has to be earned, and I would earn it twice over on a mission like this.
I collapse back onto my bed with a sigh. Someone knocks at my door, maybe to congratulate me or say goodbye. Either way, I pretend I’m not here. My mind still echoes with the sound of Rowan’s disbelief in the grotto, and the pain of knowing I embarrassed myself for nothing.
At least I have the mission to focus on now. Find the cure, bring it back.
The journey will fill my thoughts, and the days apart will give Rowan and me the space to move past what happened. Best I can hope for now is that we’ll go back to just being friends. We never have to talk about it again.
My pounding heart says otherwise.
8
ROWAN
The door of Storm’s End is locked when I arrive. My hand rests on the round iron handle a moment. All my life, these doors have been open, even at night. I didn’t think my mother still had the key.
Luckily, I know of the side entrance through the school kitchen. Making my way around the side of the building, I brush aside some overgrown vines to find the latch on the gate. I scoot way down the small alley between the school and the adjacent building, then let myself in.
The kitchen of my childhood feels smaller as I cross its terra-cotta tiles. The tables and counter have been swept completely clean, and the arched windows overlooking the courtyard have been let open wide.
Past the kitchen are the classrooms. The halls of Storm’s End usually ring with laughter and songs, but today, the sound of my sandals on the ground is the only haunting melody.
I slow as I near the last room by the staircase that leads to my mother’s private living area. The nap room is lined with six beds on either side. Plush rugs and blankets are normally strewn about, despite my mother and her assistants’ attempts to teach the children to be tidy. Heart low, I step inside.
Each bed is made up and the pillows fluffed, ready to send the Storm’s End classes into sweet dreams. Well-loved stuffed toys are delicately propped up on some of them.
“Mother,” I whisper. This is a new pain. My mother loves to teach, loves to have kids under her wing. But now I envision her fussing with the pillows and blankets, unsure of how to fill her time without the kids actually there. Storm’s End is never supposed to be this immaculate, or this quiet.
Without waiting another moment, I turn and climb the stairs two at a time. I knock twice on her office door before entering. When she doesn’t answer, I let myself in.
Talla An’Irina stands with her gaze turned to the balcony. Just as I carry her name, she carries her mother’s. It is the Leonodai custom to trace lineages through matriarchs. Light glances and twists off the glass panes of the balcony window as the summer wind makes the curtains flutter.
“Mother?” I say, and she turns to me finally. We meet halfway across the room and linger in a firm embrace as long as we can. “When did they tell you?” I ask, my question muffled in the folds of her shawl.
“All of the children were sent home yesterday afternoon for the holiday,” she replies. “The sentinels came by here this morning to let me know not to call them back.”
“The sentinels said there were two children who died,” I say. “Were they…?”
“Yes,” she says. The crack in her voice breaks me in two. “They were both my girls. Such sweet kids.”
I tighten my arms around her, but it’s she who lets go first. My mother keeps quiet for a moment longer, then beckons me close. She draws her arm through mine and pulls me in tightly. I lay my head on her shoulder.
“We haven’t been preparing for this,” my mother counters. “We’ve been preparing for a war where every Leonodai has a lust for battle and the desire to protect what is ours. We haven’t readied for one where little ones die.”
I frown. “This could help us fight. To remember how much is at stake.”
“Or it could blind warriors to reason,” she counters. “Desperate people make bad decisions. I’m glad the king is keeping warriors-elect here. He’s being careful in case we are attacked.”
I open my mouth to retort but close it again when I realize just how right she is. It’s the same thing Bel said in the Tower. She turns from me, and I imagine the wheels of her mind flying ahead to what she must do.
“We must burn their things. Their blankets, their spare clothes. Just in case.” Her gray-streaked hair, piled onto her head and fixed with a beaded cord, shows her age, but it doesn’t shake the strength rooted in my mother’s soul.
The fourth bell tolls. A flash of light illuminates the room as the sun aligns with the mirrors in the Glass Tower. The light melts away my other thoughts. The beams tell the humans that we are here. We are strong. And we are not going anywhere.
My mother strides toward the doors. “We have work to do.”
* * *
Out in the school’s courtyard, I arrange some heavy blocks of wood into a pile. Beside me are clothes and blankets and even a stuffed sheep that is clearly well-loved. It was the last of these that broke my mother. When she brought out the girls’ belongings, the doll rested on top. My mother handed it all to me and let out a shuddering breath. “Burn the basket, too.”
I gather my resolve and strike the flint against stone. Sparks rush out and catch against the dried reeds at the base of the firewood. I work quickly and silently, moving between the courtyard and nap room to make sure nothing is missed.
Mother leaves to go consult with the other leaders of the Heliana’s schools, Oak’s Heart and Moon’s Shadow. When word of the disease breaks, they will not have time to themselves for many days and nights. Worried parents will need their questions answered. Grieving ones will need much more.
Smoke drifts from the firepit, stinging my eyes. I take a step back as the small folds and embroidery of a dress are engulfed in black. When it’s all but ash, I add more wood and more of the girls’ belongings. As I watch several pairs of small shoes burn, I fight the nausea in my stomach. A disease that only kills children. I didn’t know anything under the skies could be so cruel.
Heat kisses my skin until I’m sweating, but I don’t stop u
ntil the possessions are all gone.
The coo of birds carries from above me. Their talons curl around the windowsill as they huddle together and try to keep out of the twisting smoke. I focus on a ruddy-colored bird on one of the perches above me and start to call it. Though their Knowledge has been gone for centuries, ancient magic connects Leonodai to all birds. The practice of capturing short messages in magic and sending them on borrowed wings is taught to Leonodai children early. A lump forms in my throat as I realize that practicing with the birds may very well be what exposed the children to the disease in the first place.
It takes a tug of magic to link the bird’s mind to my own. The bird turns and focuses on me, a high-pitched whrrl sounding from its small chest. A low whistle from me seals it.
“Ox,” I tell it, picturing his face clearly in my mind as I do. Then I add my message, “The rooftop. Ninth bell.”
I snap the connection like a taut thread. The bird ruffles its wings, and then it goes.
9
CALLEN
The lack of sleep from the night before gets to me and I doze off. I’m awoken by the sound of fourth bell. With a stretch, I sit up and give my room a once-over.
There’s little else I’ll need for the mission besides my armor. The sentinels will have food and other supplies prepared for us, but I will need a cloak for camouflage as much as warmth. I had to be ready to face the enemy, as well as the elements.
Thumbing through my modest closet, I settle on one lined with thick wool from Vyrinterra. The horselords take extreme care of the other animals there and only sell a limited number of these cloaks per year. My father got it for me as a gift, but there hadn’t been any heart in the gesture. It didn’t matter that he drank most of our family’s money away after having been relieved from his duties as a general following a catastrophic loss against the human soldiers five years ago. What mattered was that I looked like a general’s son, the kind who would prove himself enough to make the city forget about the losses we suffered that day.
The Endless Skies Page 6
