The Endless Skies

by Shannon Price

  “Thank you for coming,” the king says. The queen shifts, facing us, but she does not blot her eyes when fresh tears come.

  “Your Graces, what’s happened?” Hammond asks.

  “The worst thing that could happen,” replies the queen, her voice tight with bitterness. “My child is sick. He has it.”

  My heart seizes. Beside me, the healer gasps.

  “Let Prena see him,” Renna says quickly, indicating to the healer. “She tended to warriors yesterday, and has not be exposed to any of the sick children.”

  The king moves toward a door on the far side of the room, leading to the nursery, but the queen cuts him off. “I will get him.”

  We wait in a desperate silence until she reappears with Tabrol’s small frame situated over her shoulder. Prena steps forward gingerly to examine the boy’s flushed face, but I’m overcome.

  I’ve never seen Tabrol so closely before. Just three years old, his curly, gold-blond hair is lighter than that of either of his parents, but his hazel-and-gold eyes are unmistakably his father’s. The small prince shifts away from Prena, putting his face determinedly against his mother’s neck. The queen closes her eyes, gripping him tighter and bouncing him on her hip.

  “Well?” she says, so quietly that if the room weren’t shocked in stillness, I’d have missed it.

  Prena straightens up, a braver Leonodai than I am being in this moment. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. But I believe he has the disease. I’m so sorry.”

  “The fever only began this morning,” the king says. “There is more than enough time.”

  Slowly, gently, I reach for Tabrol. Something in my heart says I have to know for myself.

  “May I?” I ask the queen. She nods.

  I reach out two fingers and put the back of them to the prince’s forehead. The sensation is so sudden that I have to keep myself from flinching. The boy’s forehead is far too hot, as if he’s been playing for hours in a midsummer sun. If only a cool drink or swim in one of the Heliana’s four rivers would cool him off.

  A feeling beyond words stirs in my stomach. I am no mother and can’t be as long as I am a sentinel. I’ve accepted that—but looking at Tabrol and seeing the roundness of his cheeks and the soft way he fits in his mother’s arms strikes me like a sword meeting a shield. In a way, Prince Tabrol is the city’s child. He is our hope and our future. I feel the weight of his life press into my very bones. He is just a little boy. It’s unfair enough that he’s going through physical pain. It is impossible to comprehend the thought of his life being cut so short …

  “This is our fault,” Queen Laianna says suddenly, with a quiet violence that shocks the room. The warrior in her comes surging forward as she turns to the king. “We should have said yes.”

  “Laianna…,” the king replies gently, but heartbreak has taken hold in the queen’s eyes.

  “We should have said yes months ago,” she says. “Then none of this would be happening.”

  What is she talking about? I look at Hammond, my brow raised, but he avoids my gaze.

  “Forgive me, Your Graces, but the prince should be in a room with lots of air,” Prena interjects. “I will stay with him, if you let me.”

  “Please,” replies the queen, gaining some strength from having something to do other than despair. “Come. I will help you open the windows.”

  The two go into the nursery. As the door shuts behind them, Renna turns to the king. “Should we send more teams?”

  The word pulls me back to the moment. “The warriors-elect are ready,” I say. “I know you already considered it, but that was … before. They can take the oath another time but still be sent.”

  “No,” the king replies. He sits on the queen’s bed. Bowing his head, he removes the gold circlet from his brow and shakes out his dark-brown-and-gray hair. “The threat of an attack has never been more real than it is now. If my son dies, the Heliana’s magic will fail. The city will fall and the humans will be able to reach us by sea.” He sighs. “They know we are weak, and they are fueled by the fury at our prior refusals. If they assemble their numbers, we will be overwhelmed. We must ready for war. Not a battle. But a war for our lives.”

  Renna hesitates, but bows her head. “Yes, Your Grace. I will prepare the remaining warriors.”

  “The citizens will need a place to go,” says Hammond. “We should empty the Keep below the palace. It is the city’s safest stronghold.”

  The king nods. “Do all that you think is right. You need not wait for my approval.”

  We bow to the king. Closest to the door, I lead us out of the queen’s rooms toward a common area where a group of hallways meet. To our left, a staircase winds upward into the ceiling—that’s how the king typically enters the Glass Tower. Bookshelves waist-high line the adjacent walls below massive tapestries depicting the forests of Vyrinterra. The halls are empty save for us. Only the royal family and sentinels are allowed on this level.

  “Skies keep us,” Renna says finally. “The crown prince.”

  “I don’t want to believe it,” I say. “But the king is right not to send warriors. If—”

  “Time is already against us,” Renna says, cutting me off. “If the prince had more time, we could try to make amends. The humans have the right to be angry.”

  The confusion must be clear on my face, because just then, Hammond lets out a deep sigh.

  “Renna, my old friend,” he says. “Shirene doesn’t know.”

  The other woman turns sharply. “What?”

  “She doesn’t know,” he repeats, looking at me with that familiar fatherly expression. Only this time, it is mixed with something else. Regret? Worry?

  “What don’t I know?” I ask. “What’s going on?”

  Renna sinks into a nearby chair. “Do you want to tell it, or should I?”

  “I can,” Hammond says. “Do you want to sit down?”

  “I’d prefer not to,” I say. “Please. What is going on?”

  The older sentinel pulls out a chair and takes it himself. “A little over a year ago, the humans began leaving messages in bottles that they put purposely out to sea. The Sea Queen’s ambassadors brought them to us after their people found them floating in the water. The messages were simple, but clear. They even wrote it in our own language, skies know how. The humans wanted peace.”

  “What?” I gasp. “Why?”

  “A famine,” he says. “They offered peace so they could feed their people with the food from Vyrinterra.”

  I start to pace, my body seeming to know this information is too much to process while keeping still. “Why did the king refuse?”

  “All four kingdoms did,” Hammond replies as Renna lets out a bitter scoff. “We couldn’t trust the humans to keep their word. It could have been a trap. Besides, we had been successful at keeping the humans at bay for decades. It wasn’t on us to help the humans when we were comfortable keeping things as they were.”

  “Warriors still die in battles out at sea and at the Cliffs,” I reply. “How can you say that’s ‘comfortable’?”

  Renna gets up, her arms folded. “We cannot change what was decided back then. I’ll get to the point that this one keeps dancing around.” Her words are sharp, but she and Hammond had the benefit of working together for many years. A few barbs are nothing between them. “When Noam learned of the humans’ peace offer, he advocated for the kingdoms to take it. No voice was louder in favor than his. Time and time again, he argued to all four kingdoms’ ambassadors, and to the king, that it was an opportunity to establish goodwill and a lasting peace. Ultimately, when the Four Kingdoms rejected the idea of peace, he was livid.”

  Hammond makes a hmm sound in agreement. “He abandoned his duties to live with humans on Balmora for good. He thought that if they welcomed one Leonodai, they would welcome more.”

  “Why wasn’t I told any of this?” I ask, my voice rising in a way that I wouldn’t have dared just a few weeks ago. That Shirene would have kept her composure an
d probably held her tongue. This Shirene was changed, exhausted in body, mind, and heart. I have every right to be angry—and now I understand why the humans do, too. “I have been a sentinel for nearly a year. No one thought to tell me this? That the humans know our words and that they wanted to stop the fighting?”

  “I don’t think it was a conscious decision,” Renna replies. Her storm-gray eyes, lined with age and fatigue, bore into mine. “There was so much else to teach you. More important things for you to focus on. Besides, it was already done, a book opened and closed.”

  “Except now it’s open again,” I say. “That’s the real reason why we haven’t announced Noam’s return, isn’t it? Not only because we have more important things to do, but because if the citizens knew he had returned, they’d want to know why he left.”

  Hammond nods. “Yes. The people cannot know, Shirene. They can’t know their children are dying simply because their leaders were too proud.”

  His words shake the very stone we’re standing on. The lifeblood of the city is sick, and if he dies, then the Four Kingdoms will have no one to blame but themselves.

  Wordlessly, I turn away from them and trudge back to the infirmary. My peers follow, murmuring to themselves, but I don’t listen. Right now, I can make myself useful by staying with the families. That much is true, that in this moment, it’s also enough. We’re halfway back when I see the Chief Healer climbing the stairs toward us, taking two at a time despite her age.

  Renna goes to her. “Is something wrong?”

  “Sentinels,” she says. We wait in agony as the poor woman catches her breath. “I was looking for you. You or the Chief Scholar.” Her eyes dart around, but there is no one else in the hallway.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  She keeps her voice low and quiet, but not so much that I don’t hear her next, horrible words. “We’ve lost another child. An eight-year-old boy.”

  “Skies keep him,” I say, with Hammond and Renna echoing the same. By the look in the Chief Healer’s eyes, she’s far from done.

  “He was only in my care four days,” she whispers. “His mother said he wasn’t feeling well before, but even then, that makes it five days total.” Her voice racks with pain. “Don’t you see? The disease is moving faster than the scholars warned. They told us we had ten days. Now you see it is half that.”

  The three of us share a look. Hammond’s expression is as close to panicked as I’ve ever seen it. Renna looks ready to murder.

  “Go back to the infirmary and comfort that family,” I whisper. “Tell no one. We’ll consult with the Chief Scholar and come to you as soon as we can.”

  She shoots me a look like she resents being told what to do, but she goes anyway. When she’s out of sight, Renna pivots and strides determinedly down the stairs. I know exactly where she’s headed.

  “Noam said ten days,” I say as we head toward his room.

  “The deserter lied,” she fires back. “And the prince is doomed because of it.”

  15

  ROWAN

  The chimes of fourth bell ring out as I cross from the Warriors’ Hall and into the palace. The two buildings are connected by a walkway with the honey-colored glass in the windows and supported by sturdy stone arches underneath. I’d picked one of my nicest outfits—a pale yellow dress that was fitted nicely to my frame. My mother had had it tailored to me for Shirene’s sentinel ceremony, but it hasn’t seen any use since. I had left my long hair down, but at the crown, I braided it to the side and secured it with a single gold feather hairpin. I had enough to worry about without my hair getting in my face.

  At best, I hope to pass for the daughter of one of the military families. The only part of the palace I’ve been to regularly is where Callen’s family lives, though I stopped going years ago when Callen did. I hope that if I walk there with confidence, it will quell any curiosity from watchful guards. Anyone stationed in the palace will be several years my senior and may not know my name, but they’d notice someone who looks completely lost.

  For better or worse, everything appears to be moving more or less normally in the palace. The Leonodai who work here don’t have the luxury of taking a day off after High Summer. Still, it is a beautiful place to work and call home. Built into solid stone, an ample number of candles and sconces line every hallway. Stairwells wrap around the walls, leaving the center open and welcoming. Here and there, multicolored windows cast sunset-like patterns of light on the plush rugs. Palace attendants carry baskets of laundry or messages from one end of the hallway to the next. One gives me a second glance, but I duck out of her view and up a staircase.

  Walk confidently, I remind myself. I know where I am going, at least for now.

  On the next level, scholars in training study together over polished wood tables, the books stacked next to them nearly taller than they are. Just like warriors, they are expected to know their craft inside and out. On this level, numerous bookshelves run from wall to wall. Near them, candles enclosed in tall, thin glasses wait to be lit. No matter the time of day, a scholar can navigate the maze of tomes at their leisure, but the high glass limits risk of fire.

  Feeling out of place on this level, I take the first staircase I see. Already, my legs are warming up as if getting ready to run drills or spar.

  The third level is the last one to be built into stone, before the palace clears the top of the ridge, and is home to the king’s war council and the fully fledged scholars. Somewhere on this level is supposedly a grand ballroom, and though I am dressed for it, I don’t have time to explore. In the corner of my eye, I see the bright blue of the warriors patrolling the hall. They aren’t there to keep out enemies—after all, none have ever reached here—but they are meant to prevent inquisitive citizens from roaming around.

  I fight the urge to quicken my step, lest it make me more obvious, but I turn quickly toward where Callen’s parents live. The hallways look more familiar, and although the color of the rug is duller than I remember, the interlaced vine design is exactly like it was when I was a girl.

  “Not the time for reveries,” I whisper to myself. If I go any farther, I’ll wind up at a dead end. Pausing for a moment in a corner out of the way of the main walkway, I try to think like my sister and the other sentinels. Noam would be kept somewhere close to the king, but not too close. That meant this level, or perhaps the one above would be ideal. But it’s not like I can just go knocking on doors.

  I decide to lean on my warrior training and do some reconnaissance. Grabbing a book from a nearby shelf, I find a reading nook by a window and scoot myself into the corner. Hopefully, I won’t be seen at all, but if I am, I can pass for a bored palace girl. I open to a random page, keeping my eyes and ears open.

  On the levels above me comes the rolling of a cart and a pair of voices. They pass directly overhead, but I catch sight of a green healer’s uniform reflecting in a mirror. Okay, so healers are up there. That means the sick children might be, too. A moment later, I swear I catch the sound of crying. I swallow nervously, returning my eyes to the borrowed book when a tall figure rounds the corner.

  “Rowan?”

  My heart jumps to my throat, but as I look up, it’s not my sister or a guard who’s caught me. It’s Callen’s father.

  “I thought that was you,” he says. “Looks like I can still get some things right in my old age.”

  He says the last words with spite. In truth, the former general isn’t that old, but he looks it. A sallow sadness has taken hold of his formerly commanding gaze, and he’s gained some weight since I last saw him.

  “Sir,” I say, hastily setting the book aside. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “And you,” he says, but it’s just a formality. I can sense the question of what in the skies I’m doing here coming, so I beat him to the punch.

  “I’m looking for my sister,” I say. “She hasn’t answered any of my birds.” Or she wouldn’t have, if I’d sent any. “It’s a … personal matter. I hoped s
he’d hear it from me but I haven’t been able to get ahold of her.”

  “The sentinels have to put the king and royal family before their own,” he responds. “I’m sure it can wait.”

  Sweat builds under my arms as I try and fail to think of another lie. Breathe, I think. Make whatever you say believable. “You’re right,” I say. “I’ll just leave her a note, then. One of the scholars downstairs will have parchment and ink. Thank you.”

  Before he can say anything else, I hurry down the stairs. There’s so much more I could say to him, like, “Why didn’t you ask me about your son?” but now’s not the time. Once out of sight, I follow through on my words and ask a nearby trainee scholar to borrow some of her writing materials. Once Callen’s father’s shadow disappears, I hastily hand them back.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I’ve changed my mind. Thanks, though.”

  The sound of rumbling wheels makes me turn. A palace attendant pushes a small cart with a pitcher of water and a few other odds and ends down a hallway and out of sight. The smell of a hot meal lingers in the air, drawing more curious looks than just mine.

  “Where’s that attendant going?” I ask.

  “That’s Sentinel Faera’s old quarters,” the trainee replies. “You know how she was a scholar first. She asked to remain in her old room when she became a sentinel.”

  “But who’s in there now?” I ask, trying to keep a curious tone without being too obvious. The only thing this scholar has to believe is that I am a gossip-driven girl, nothing more.

  The scholar shrugs, flexing out her writing hand in a stretch. “I’m not sure. I didn’t think anyone was there, if I’m being honest.”

  “Weird,” I say, but I don’t take my eyes from the spot. I wave a hasty goodbye to the trainee, who reburies herself in her book without a second glance. Walking aimlessly over to the hallway, I pretend to inspect books while the attendant with a now-empty cart passes by me. When I’m sure no one is looking, I make my move. The short hall leads to a rounded door that’s been left ajar. Without wasting any more time, I knock and go in.