Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘I did. Do you know what it is?’ Eydis leaned forward in her chair, showing Henri the markings on her back.

  Henri frowned, examining the pattern, and then – a piece of the puzzle clicked in place for her, remembering the king’s words.

  The mist has a rather peculiar effect on magic wielders. You see, it marks them – a tattoo across their whole body, invisible to the naked eye … except on a full moon …

  ‘King Arden, he told me something, but … It can’t be. It doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘So you do know, then.’

  ‘But … I can see it. I thought the marks were invisible? I thought they covered every inch of skin? And if that’s the case, why have I never noticed marks on myself? On Allehra?’

  Eydis shook her head. ‘Every full moon, I have more of my markings tattooed on permanently. Why should it be in moonlight alone that people see what makes me who I am?’

  Henri didn’t know what to say to that.

  ‘As far as I understand it, only those Ashai who aren’t mist dwellers are marked. And even then, there are exceptions such as yourself, people who no doubt wear a talisman or an enchantment. I also believe the markings cover skin according to how much power one has. Fortunately or unfortunately, I am yet to decide, I am not a full-powered seer. I get mere glimpses, and these are not set in stone, not to be lived by.’

  Henri nodded. That made more sense. ‘But this means you were exposed to the mist?’ she asked.

  Eydis nodded. ‘On a journey to Qatrola. Our ship was caught in a violent rip in the Northern Passage, and for a moment, it dipped into the mist. It was only for mere moments, but we lost three crew members. It’s strange – everyone has such different reactions to it.’

  Henri tipped her head back to rest against the chair and closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to believe about the mist. Whether the king had been lying for whatever reason, or if he was misinformed himself. Was Ines feeding him wrong information? And then he in turn was —

  The servant boy, Ulrich, interrupted her thoughts as he re-entered the room with a tray of steaming mugs. Without a word, he placed it on the table before them and bowed low to Eydis.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, smiling. ‘That will be all for the moment.’

  ‘My queen,’ he said, and was gone.

  Eydis handed Henri a mug and then nestled herself back into the chair, this time tucking her feet underneath her, waiting for Henri to speak. Henri looked across at her friend, and whatever physical comfort she felt in the cosy room was pushed aside by the rolling anguish within her.

  ‘Eydis,’ she said. ‘It’s —’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I can’t … I can’t even make sense of everything yet.’

  ‘Together, then. Together we will make sense of it.’

  ‘Arden threatened Valia, my kindred,’ she said, and for the first time in a long while, Henri’s voice quavered. She took a sip of the hot mulled wine to steady herself, and felt it warm her from within. ‘It all feels so raw,’ she continued. ‘Everything that’s happened. Everything Arden told me. It was he who destroyed the sacred part of our forest. He’s been bottling mist. And there’s a whole other continent we don’t know …’

  Eydis’ eyes were glazed over, staring deep into the fire. She was as still as stone.

  Bear stood up on his hind legs, pressing his front paws to Eydis’ armrest. He gave a soft bark, and Eydis jolted.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said quietly, smoothing the dog’s head with her hand. ‘Bear … Bear is special. Or perhaps it is our relationship that is special. I’m not sure, I have never come across anyone similar. It is as though he senses my mind wandering too close to danger, too close to that seer’s edge, and pulls me back.’ Eydis gave a bitter laugh. ‘I doubt that makes any sense.’

  Henri shrugged. ‘I’ve heard and seen stranger things.’ She was glad for Bear, for she had been on the verge of falling to pieces.

  Eydis gently pushed Bear from her chair, and as though satisfied his master was back in the present, he curled up once more near her chair. The winter queen took a long drink from her mug and dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘I fear the light I must shed upon your tale will make our burden no easier to bear.’

  Henri groaned, and tossed back the remainder of her mulled wine. ‘I’m going to need more of this, then,’ she said.

  Eydis rang a bell beside her and Ulrich appeared. ‘More wine, dear boy,’ she said. ‘Probably best to bring us a pot to hang over the fire.’

  ‘Of course, my queen. Can I offer you some food? Or anything else?’

  ‘A wise suggestion, Ulrich,’ Eydis said with a smile, and the boy flushed. ‘Bread and cheese. And tell me, is there any word from Nicolai or Jarel?’

  ‘No, Your Majesty. They have not yet returned from the Kildaholm Alps.’

  ‘That will be all, then, thank you.’ Eydis shook her head when the boy had left. ‘Those two fools,’ she hissed. ‘Nicolai insists on taking Jarel on these damned hunts – primitive morons.’ She looked up at Henri. ‘Five silvers says I have to go out there and retrieve them at some point.’

  Henri laughed. ‘Jarel is well, then?’

  The queen’s younger brother, Jarel, always had been the better behaved of the two siblings, but since Eydis had stepped into her role as queen, he’d regressed and now apparently gave her many headaches by befriending her lover, Nicolai.

  ‘Jarel is a pain in my arse,’ Eydis retorted, waving Ulrich back into the room and holding out her mug for a refill. Ulrich filled Henri’s mug as well and then set the pot and ladle over the fire and the bread and cheese on the table. When he had left for the final time, Eydis turned to Henri, the light-heartedness gone from her face.

  ‘Not two weeks past, we discovered a cult.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A cult, devoted to Ines, Arden’s so-called true queen of the realm. When he was actually doing his job, Jarel tracked down one of her worshippers, who was inducting our people into this fanatical group.’

  ‘Here? In Havennesse?’

  Eydis clenched her jaw and nodded. ‘Yes. There’s a little village not far from the Hamasaand Ranges, usually known for breeding mountain goats – they make their living from milk and wool, but … This crazed lunatic had taken over the village. We usually trade with these people – their goat’s milk is unparalleled – but it stopped. And this is why. They had sacrificed all their goats to Ines, and turned their barns into shrines. Jarel was so disturbed that I took a small force down there. Some of them were so crazed they impaled themselves on the altars rather than speak with me. The others speak of nothing but Ines’ generosity and incredible talents.’

  ‘Have you found any others?’

  ‘Cults? Not here, not yet. But my sources say Ines has established a dedicated following on each continent.’

  ‘Ellest too?’

  ‘She has King Arden on her side, Henri. It cannot surprise you. What surprises me is that he has not professed her his chosen goddess yet. A change in the religions of Ellest – that seems to be the path he intends on taking.’

  ‘Surely not.’

  ‘Though I am not a full-powered seer, I’ve had troubling visions.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘She intends to take Qatrola first, if she hasn’t already. She started with so many people on the inside. And Qatrola is small and weak. Run by that gods-awful regent. No doubt she has him in her pocket like the others.’

  ‘King Arden’s regent?’

  ‘Unfortunately.’

  ‘You yourself said that these visions aren’t set in stone.’

  ‘That I did. But sometimes you just know.’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘How deep the fate runs … Henri, my oldest friend. We must be the ones to stop her.’

  ‘How? How do we stop her? I have Arden practically on Valia’s doorstep. I came here for your aid.’

  ‘And you shall have it, but the invasion of Havennesse is imm
inent.’

  ‘As is the invasion of Valia.’

  ‘No, not yet.’

  Henri made to rise from her seat in frustration; however, Eydis knew her well, even after all these years. She simply rolled her eyes, and bid her sit back down.

  ‘We are not here to argue,’ she said. ‘We are here to help one another.’

  ‘I have nothing to give,’ Henri said, holding her head in her hands.

  ‘Henri, I have a well-trained army, but we do not have the numbers. We need you, and we need your kindred.’

  ‘How soon?’

  ‘Within a fortnight. Sooner.’

  ‘Eydis, even if I wanted to help you, how do you suppose we ship the entire army of Valian kindred to Havennesse in time?’

  ‘I never said ship.’

  ‘Has the wine gone to your head? A ship from Angove is the only way to get across the East Sea.’

  Eydis absent-mindedly stroked Bear’s head, and rose to fill their mugs once more from the pot simmering over the fire. ‘Did Mariette take you past the Valley of Twisted Trees?’

  Henri nodded.

  ‘Meet me in the cloakroom in fifteen minutes,’ she said, already at the door, with Bear at her heels.

  Henri groaned. Why did she get the feeling they were about to head out into the freezing night? She drank another half a mug of mulled wine while she waited. If her suspicions were correct, she’d be glad for a hot face and burning belly when they stepped out into the icy Havennesse air.

  Chapter 4

  Sweat dripped from Swinton’s brow onto the yellow parchment clutched in his hands. He watched as the droplets seeped into the ink, marring King Arden’s perfect penmanship.

  Commander,

  In light of recent events, the time has come to prove yourself and your loyalty. We have reason to believe that my daughter’s betrothed, Prince Nazuri of Battalon, has intentions against the union of our monarchies.

  You are required to gain his trust. We need his alliance in the days to come. You must tell him of the one true queen, and her impending rule.

  Get close to him, Commander. Force him to see the light as we see it.

  Your son remains well, for now. Though his fascination with the castle maze has not gone unnoticed by our true queen. She has sensed him. What a shame it would be for him to discover what lies beneath —

  ‘What’s that?’ Fiore appeared in the doorway of his chambers.

  Swinton jumped and crumpled the parchment, stuffing it in his trouser pocket. ‘Nothing.’

  Fi frowned as he entered the rooms, closing the door behind him. ‘You ready?’

  Cursing the Battalonian heat, Swinton retied the first few laces of his loose-fitting shirt. He was constantly sticky and lethargic here. He’d given up wearing his usual black attire and leathers, for he’d nearly fainted from heatstroke on the journey to the capital. There was nothing for it today; formal occasions were formal occasions. He tucked the coin he wore around his neck, Yacinda, goddess of secrets, down the front of his shirt and turned to Fi.

  ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  ‘You’re not marrying him,’ Fi quipped. ‘Have some pity for the lass, old friend.’

  ‘She’s not marrying him yet. This is merely an introduction.’

  ‘Lot of fuss and ceremony for an introduction.’

  ‘Such is the way with most royals,’ replied Swinton. ‘And for the sake of the gods, tuck your shirt in.’

  With his sword belted at his waist, Swinton strode from his apartments and into the palace hallways, Fiore trailing close behind. Though he had resided in the impressive structure for over a week now, the grand interior of the halls still took his breath away. Polished, intricately patterned tiles shone beneath his tattered boots, reflecting the glittering lights of the chandeliers above. As he walked, he marvelled at the gloriously high ceilings, and the towering stone archways covered in detailed mosaic reliefs. Despite being surrounded by such thick walls, the halls within the shiprock were wonderfully light, and surprisingly cool in comparison to the hot desert wind outside.

  ‘Commander, may I offer you a refreshment?’ Kamath, the Battalonian squire who’d been assigned to him, rushed forward with a tray of drinks, fresh-faced and bright-eyed.

  ‘Kamath, you needn’t wait around for me. I’ve told you this. When I have need of you, I’ll send for you.’

  ‘I can attend to you much faster if I am near, Commander.’

  Swinton sighed. ‘Any word from Ellest?’

  ‘No, I visited the falconry this morning. No birds from Ellest have arrived.’

  ‘And you sent the one I requested upon my arrival?’

  ‘Yes, Commander.’

  Swinton felt Fiore’s gaze shift between them, though he managed to refrain from asking questions.

  ‘Lead the way to the great hall, then,’ Swinton told the squire.

  Swinton prided himself on his sense of direction, but the echoing passageways of the Battalonian shiprock were disorientating. The palace was enormous, and spanned across many levels within the rock. So many, in fact, that elaborate pulley systems had been introduced in order to get from one level to the next much faster. Swinton preferred not to use these channels, as his stomach dropped uncomfortably whenever he found himself in one of the large crates used to transport people up and down.

  The throne room was bejewelled with an array of stained-glass windows from which coloured reflections flickered across the polished floor. Numerous Battalonian nobles and courtiers filled the space; the formality of the occasion and the impending presence of a foreign princess had lured them in like moths to a flame.

  ‘Fix yourself up,’ Swinton hissed at Fi, his friend’s shirt still untucked.

  The herald announced them, and Swinton plastered a warm smile to his face as he approached the dais and bowed deeply before King Roswall and Prince Nazuri in their glittering thrones.

  The king welcomed them and bid them stand by the courtiers while they awaited Princess Olena’s arrival. Swinton shuffled into the crowd of elaborately dressed nobles and realised he was nervous for the girl. Here she was, with no family or friends to speak of, being married off to a stranger.

  The herald announced Princess Olena of Ellest. Despite her grim expression, Her Highness looked striking in a deep-claret gown as she entered the throne room. The dress clung to her dainty frame and flowed out generously from her narrow hips. Her eyes had been lined with dark cosmetics, making her appear much older than her fifteen years.

  Swinton watched as her first handmaiden silently accompanied her to the foot of the dais, to stand before the king and prince. Olena took a deep breath, tucked a loose golden strand of hair behind her ear, and curtseyed, the layers of fabric rustling.

  ‘My dear child,’ said King Roswall. ‘It is such a pleasure to see how well you are adjusting to your new home. In Battalonian colours no less.’

  Swinton heard a number of courtiers around him murmur their agreement at the princess’ chosen gown. Swinton wondered if she’d had any say in her attire today. Or if she even cared.

  ‘Your hospitality is unparalleled, Your Majesty,’ she said.

  ‘As are your graces, Princess. But! I cannot wait a moment longer,’ he said, turning to the olive-skinned youth beside him. ‘Princess Olena, may I present to you, my son – Prince Nazuri of Battalon.’

  Prince Nazuri rose and swept down the steps of the dais. As he stood before the princess, his height was immediately apparent. He towered over her, his lean physique somehow exaggerating his stature, along with his finely made tunic billowing about his middle. As the prince took Princess Olena’s hand in his, Swinton could see how deeply tanned his skin was in comparison to the princess’ milky complexion. Streaks of gold ran through his dark hair, as though bleached by the strength of the Battalonian sun. The prince brought Olena’s hand to his lips.

  ‘My lady, it’s an honour to make your acquaintance,’ he said quietly. ‘I apologise for not being here upon your arrival,
but my father bid me attend business in Hawkend.’

  You are required to gain his trust. The king’s words echoed in Swinton’s mind. As did the enormity of the task at hand. Get close to him, Commander. Force him to see the light as we see it.

  Princess Olena bowed her head. ‘No apology necessary, my prince. It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  Swinton squirmed on behalf of the princess. The stiff formality of their meeting, the audience looking on … He could think of no worse way to begin a courtship.

  ‘Might you do me the honour of accompanying me on a walk?’ Prince Nazuri was saying. ‘We have much to learn of each other.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Princess Olena.

  Prince Nazuri moved to offer his arm, but realised the princess couldn’t see him do so. Gently, he took her hand and looped his own arm through hers. Swinton noticed Olena’s subtle flinch.

  ‘Father, I ask for your leave so that I may give Princess Olena a royal tour of the palace,’ said the prince, looking from Olena to King Roswall.

  ‘But of course! Nothing makes me happier than seeing two great continents come together in such a beautiful union. Be off with you!’

  Swinton and Fiore paid their respects once more to the king and followed the royal couple out. Although he had an entire guard at his disposal, Swinton preferred to be in the princess’ company as often as he could.

  The betrothed pair strolled through the impressive halls. Swinton and Fi tried to maintain a respectful but practical distance from them, wary of striking the perfect balance between protecting the princess and invading her privacy.

  ‘I trust your journey was comfortable, my lady?’ said Nazuri, turning to gaze at Olena as he awaited her answer.

  ‘I’m not sure you would find many who deem the journey from Ellest to Battalon comfortable,’ she said.

  A smile tugged at the prince’s mouth. ‘I am sorry to hear that.’

  She shrugged. ‘What’s done is done.’

  The pair let the words hang between them for a time.

  Trailing behind them, Swinton allowed the simple phrase to sink into him as well. For all her youth, for all her sharp-tongued comments, the princess spoke the plainest of truths.