Reign of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

‘Ines knew. And for a time, I knew what she knew. What do you remember from before you left Freyhill?’

  ‘Not much. It’s all fragmented. And even those memories … How do I know what’s real? She … She was in my head. For days, Casimir.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Show me what you remember. You’re a mind whisperer, Alarise. Show me, mind to mind.’

  ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘It’s an instinct.’ Casimir gripped Bleak’s arm, turning her to face him.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you,’ she managed, fear curling in her stomach.

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  But Casimir peeled off his gloves and offered his hands.

  Gritting her teeth, Bleak removed her own gloves. ‘If this goes badly …’

  ‘I’ll take full responsibility.’

  ‘Good.’ She took his hands in hers.

  Casimir was right. It was an instinct. She felt the snow shift beneath her feet, and suddenly, she was somewhere else, another plane of existence, with Casimir by her side. Her memories played out before them, slowly, as though they had all the time in the world. She showed him young children running through the halls, Prince Ermias and herself. She showed him Lady Gesa and Lord Gabriel Thornton dressed in all their finery, dancing elegantly in the great hall.

  She showed him …

  ‘You and Ermias can no longer be friends,’ her father said gently.

  ‘Why not?’ she managed between sobs.

  Mama squeezed her shoulder. ‘For the good of Oremere, Alarise. For a peaceful reign to come.’

  Bleak felt her magic tug in a different direction. Forward. To much more recent times. Freyhill dungeons. It smelled damp, and a coppery tang filled the air. Her mouth went dry as Ines appeared before them. Beside her, Casimir went rigid. But this was a memory; she couldn’t see them watching on. Instead, she paced before a prisoner, Bleak, chained and bloodied in torn undergarments.

  ‘The Goldwells and the Ashdowns were so concerned about the possible budding romance between two children that they didn’t see what was right in front of them. Me. And Prince Casimir Ashdown.’

  Bleak wrenched them from the memory. Both she and Casimir stood gasping for air in the snow.

  ‘Is it true?’ she rasped. ‘Were you … with her?’

  Casimir took a moment to gather himself. ‘Yes,’ he said finally. ‘I was. Before everything happened, before the mist took over … And sometimes, afterwards as well.’

  Bleak stared.

  ‘I was in love with her,’ he said, tucking his hands back under his arms. ‘How could I not have been? A beautiful priestess showing a young prince special attention … She made me feel less alone, gave me someone to share my dreams with. It wasn’t allowed, of course, which only made it all the more desirable …’

  ‘Prohibition is the seed of revolution,’ Bleak muttered.

  Casimir glanced at her. ‘Ines’ motto of sorts … I had been with her for a year when she told me of her power – that she was what we call a “collector”. One of the rarer Ashai, like my own power, like yours. She has the ability to take and host other Ashai’s magic. In the years we were together, I think she realised how rare her gift was. What it could be used for. She’s still the only collector I’ve ever met. What I didn’t realise at the time was that she’d been feeding on the power of other Ashai, and on mine. That during her travels to the temples around the realm, she’d been quietly building a following. A born-again queen of the realm, who could take and give magic as she saw fit. And she’d been using me, to learn of the weak alliances throughout Oremere and the other continents. My father was trying to educate me, groom me for when it was my time to take the throne. And I gave her all that information, as my partner, my future wife. I had no idea … When I realised what she was doing, it was too late. So I too started travelling, all around Oremere, all around the Upper Realm, trying to spread word of her …’

  ‘How did it come to pass?’ Bleak interrupted. ‘The realm, and Oremere as we know it now?’

  Casimir’s eyes glazed over. ‘The mist had been in place for centuries, a shield of sorts. To create a safe haven for the Ashai folk in Oremere. The rulers of the other continents agreed to keep our secret, preferring the Ashai to remain segregated from their communities. But Ines … When she succeeded the Lady of the Oremian Priestesses before her, she was given her own temple. It became a laboratory, a headquarters for her operations to go unchecked. Where she experimented with her magic and the mist. She weaponised it. Slowly, she recruited an army, brought in soldiers from Qatrola, turned the Oremian guards against the royal families. She was a master, Alarise. Beautiful, cunning, ruthless. She planted so many seeds of mistrust and conspiracy, wove so many stories that eventually, the Ashdowns and the Goldwells turned against each other. Only your parents saw it. Tried to convince the kings and queens that the threat wasn’t each other, it was her. And the order of the Oremian Priestesses. But it was too late. Ines overthrew the palace in one night. Had Langdon and Farlah murder them in their beds, even poor little Ermias. Your parents took you and fled. The memory you have of those gates? The blood dripping? The heads of those in the royal household had been spiked there, before Daleren and his brothers took them down.

  ‘She released her altered form of mist that night. It churned through Oremere, and was released by her lackeys around the realm. It sought Ashai power worthy of its master. Now, it seeks the rulers of Oremere.’

  ‘Is that how she caught you?’

  Casimir shook his head. ‘No. I was in Ellest trying to find allies when Freyhill fell. My downfall wasn’t until the plague – a disease to flush out the Ashai folk, another of her creations. She found me, half-dead in an abandoned tavern in Heathton.’

  ‘And then?’ Bleak pressed.

  ‘And then I was hers,’ he said, his skin paling. ‘There was nothing … nothing I could do. She …’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Bleak managed. She knew all too well how deeply those wounds ran.

  ‘But I do,’ Casimir said. ‘By day, she tortured my mind. Showing me what she’d done to my parents, to the Goldwells. What she was doing to my people, to the land. She showed me how she hunted our kind, how the wheels were already in motion for her reign. She showed me you, begging for help from healers, trying to stifle your abilities. And by night … By night she loved me, as she had done before. Twisting my grip on reality, weaving my love for her with my hatred of her, so I could feel nothing for myself but loathing and disgust.’

  Bleak exhaled a shaky breath. ‘What did she want from you?’

  ‘She wanted to know where the rebels were hiding. Wanted to know who they were. She wanted to know about you. To get her hands on the heir of the mediating family. It would have meant great things for her – control over a pride of teerah panthers, access to a mind whisperer’s abilities.’

  Bleak glanced back at Rion and the others. ‘What about the panthers?’

  ‘They have always answered to the mediating family.’

  A gong sounded, startling Bleak, and a porter came scurrying towards them.

  ‘Your presence is required in the queen’s study,’ he said.

  ‘Whose?’ Casimir asked.

  ‘Both of you. This way, if you please.’

  Looking sceptical, Casimir shrugged and made to follow the boy.

  ‘This tale isn’t over,’ Bleak said.

  ‘Far from it,’ Casimir replied.

  They walked into Queen Eydis’ study to heated voices.

  ‘There’s no way we should be throwing a party,’ Sahara said, outraged. ‘We’re about to go to bloody war.’

  ‘All the more reason to celebrate life, my friend,’ Eydis retorted, a smile in her voice.

  They ignored Bleak and Casimir standing in the doorway.

  ‘Henri, tell her this is insane,’ Sahara implored her sister.

  ‘It is insane. But I
’m inclined to agree with Eydis,’ said the warrior queen, to Bleak’s surprise.

  ‘What?’ Sahara’s tone of incredulity echoed Bleak’s own feelings.

  ‘We need to show Eydis’ army what we’re fighting for. We need to celebrate the wins – getting you back,’ Henri argued. ‘Getting Casimir back.’

  Casimir scoffed. ‘I don’t need a celebration. I need some damn peace.’

  But Bleak and Casimir had been summoned as a mere formality. They weren’t to have a say in these decisions.

  Bleak had never been to a dance, let alone a ball. The closest thing Angove had to either was the drunken mess of movement that ensued when the Eerey Brothers played their fiddles. Bleak rubbed the bridge of her nose, recalling the few times she and Bren had managed to sneak away from his older brothers to enjoy the revelry. A lifetime ago.

  Later that night, curiosity got the better of Bleak. Music trickled down the halls and into her rooms, and finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. With Rion silently padding alongside her, Bleak made her way down the torchlit corridor to the main hall. The melodies became louder, the notes of fiddles and flutes laced together, luring her to the festivities taking place behind the closed doors. The guards either side of the entrance stiffened at the sight of Rion. He was still something of a novelty here. But Bleak simply nodded to the guards, and after a moment’s hesitation, they opened the doors.

  A world of colour greeted Bleak. The hall was packed with Havennesse natives, dressed in the most opulent gowns and tunics. The dancing had begun already, and glimmering sheer fabrics swished across the polished floor as partners were whirled and dipped to the lively melody. No one stood upon the dais. Queen Eydis was at the heart of the room dancing with Nicolai, and the Valians sat at a table across the room, drinking and eating, laughing loudly with each other, the royal twins at the helm.

  ‘Bleak!’ a familiar voice cried, and a stocky body crashed into hers.

  Bleak drew back to peer at the beaming face of Athene’s daughter, Luka.

  ‘I didn’t think we’d ever see you again!’ the redhead exclaimed, clapping Bleak heartily on the back.

  Beside her, Rion growled quietly, but Luka paid him no heed.

  ‘I didn’t think I’d see you again either,’ Bleak managed.

  ‘Come, let’s eat.’ Luka tugged her towards the Valian table.

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Pfft. Don’t be a fool. You look half-starved. You’re eating.’

  Bleak craned her neck, searching the room for Casimir. She wanted to finish their conversation. He was nowhere in sight, so she let Luka drag her over to the others. Henri spotted them, and suddenly, they were all shuffling down the benches to make room. Bleak found herself pushed into the seat beside Sahara, opposite Henri.

  The warrior queen locked eyes with her. ‘Good of you to join us,’ she said, reaching for a plate.

  Luka squeezed in beside Bleak. ‘You’re looking a little more like a Valian these days.’ She nodded to the scars littering Bleak’s arms.

  ‘Who said I want to be a Valian?’

  ‘Everyone wants to be a Valian,’ Luka said with a grin.

  Sahara laughed at this, and Henri, who was piling her plate high with food, glanced up at her sister, concern etched on her face.

  ‘Relax,’ Sahara told her. ‘I wasn’t disagreeing.’

  ‘Just as well,’ Henri replied, brow quirked. ‘Ten years is a long enough break from being what you are.’

  Henri looked to Bleak, and held out the plate she’d been filling. ‘Take it,’ she said. ‘You need to eat.’

  Bleak gaped. The Valian queen was serving her? Shock rippled down the table as well. Sahara took the plate from Henri and placed it in front of Bleak.

  ‘My sister’s right. You look like a damn ghost.’

  And that was that. With the entire Valian kindred watching her expectantly, Bleak had no choice but to pick up her knife and fork. They didn’t return to their meals until she’d had her first bite. The food tasted like metal to her ruined tastebuds, but she ate anyway, listening to the Valians discuss the war to come.

  ‘We need a better idea of her numbers,’ Athene was saying.

  ‘I already gave you a good idea of her numbers,’ Sahara said coolly.

  ‘It’s not precise enough.’

  ‘This is war. There’s nothing precise about it.’

  Bleak looked between the matriarch’s first-in-command and her sister. The tension was palpable, like a rope pulled taut between them. Bleak’s power flickered beneath her skin, telling her to dig deeper. She ignored it. Strains within Henri’s kindred were none of her concern. She spotted Rion stalking the perimeter of the hall, restless, and wondered what was making him uneasy. The rest of his pride came and went as they pleased, roaming the frozen forests and mountain ranges of Havennesse. Rion, however, refused to leave her.

  Bleak tore her eyes away from him and watched the queen and her guests sashay around the hall. Eydis was stunning. She wore a sheer, bell-sleeved gown that revealed the stark ink tattooed across much of her skin. She and Nicolai danced with complete and utter abandon, enchanting the rest of the dancers to do the same.

  ‘Do Valians ever dance?’ Bleak asked Luka.

  ‘Sure,’ Luka mumbled between mouthfuls. ‘Can’t say it’s that graceful. But Rheyah’s Feast always ends in dancing.’

  Petra refilled their goblets and pushed one towards Bleak.

  Bleak bit the inside of her cheek. ‘I can’t …’ she said, sliding it back.

  ‘It’s water,’ Henri said, taking up her own goblet. ‘They’re all just water.’

  Bleak didn’t know what to say, as Henri clinked her goblet against hers.

  ‘We’re all stronger in numbers,’ Petra offered with her salute.

  Suddenly, the blast of a battle horn sounded from outside, and the Valians were instantly on their feet.

  The music ceased, and Queen Eydis turned to Sahara. ‘Are you expecting more of your people?’

  ‘No. We’re it.’

  The men and women who’d been dancing stood awkwardly in the centre of the hall, shifting nervously as Rion stalked between them towards the iron doors.

  ‘Sahara, Henri – with me, if you please,’ said Eydis, donning the thick furs Mariette now held out for her.

  The rest of the Valians made to follow, but Henri shook her head. An icy gust of wind forced its way into the halls as the doors were opened, and Queen Eydis, her guard and Henri and Sahara disappeared outside.

  The music did not start up again. Everyone waited, faces fear-stricken.

  Minutes passed, and Bleak could feel Luka shifting anxiously beside her. Likewise, Athene was craning her neck in the direction of the now closed doors.

  ‘Who could it be?’ Luka said in a whisper.

  ‘Maybe King Arden. Come to join the party …’

  Luka did not look amused. ‘If that bastard ever shows his face to the Valian people, he won’t last two seconds.’ There was venom in her friend’s usually light tone. Henri must have filled them in on what had occurred in Heathton, and the Valians were thirsty for Ellestian royal blood.

  Rion’s ears pricked, and the doors swung open again.

  A tall stranger staggered inside, holding the limp body of a young boy in his arms. ‘Casimir,’ the man’s voice boomed. ‘I need Casimir.’

  And then a familiar voice. ‘Where is he? We need him, now.’

  Bleak scrambled to her feet. Behind the stranger holding the boy was Fiore – the Captain of the King’s Army.

  What in the —

  Casimir emerged from the crowd. ‘I am Casimir.’

  ‘We need your help,’ Fiore said, stepping forward, his hands outstretched in desperation. ‘The boy needs your help.’

  Queen Eydis and the others swept in from behind the newcomers.

  ‘This way,’ Eydis said, motioning for them to follow. ‘Casimir, you too.’

  There was no way Bleak was going to stay put. Sh
e dislodged herself from the bench and ran after them. With Rion behind her, no one objected to her presence. She followed them up a spiralling staircase, and into someone’s bedchamber. The stranger, who looked oddly familiar, laid the lifeless body down on the mattress, and swept up a sweaty fringe from the young brow. The boy’s eyes fluttered.

  Bleak stared. The first thing she realised was that she knew the boy. His dark hair and burnt-umber eyes made him undeniably the boy she’d run into at Heathton Castle. The second thing she realised, as Casimir peeled back the blankets wrapping the boy’s fragile frame, was that he had the plague.

  Chapter 28

  ‘You brought a boy who has the plague here? Here?’ Henri rounded on Fiore, hands already at her katars. She didn’t care how damn far he’d travelled. She didn’t care that he’d obviously left the service of King Arden. What she cared about was that he was putting her kindred, and her sister, in danger.

  ‘I had no choice – there was no —’

  ‘Have you lost your mind?’

  ‘Henri, it’s safe,’ Eydis said, mopping the boy’s brow with a damp cloth. ‘He’s no longer infectious.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘I have seen it.’

  Henri took a deep breath, fury still roaring in her ears.

  Fiore turned to Casimir. ‘You have to help him.’

  ‘I’m not a healer,’ Casimir said. But Casimir was looking at the other man, and Henri realised with a start that she recognised him. The Tailor. The Tailor of Heathton. The man whose bizarrely well-timed advice had been critical in her escape from King Arden.

  ‘What?’ Fi spluttered. ‘But … the rumours … You have to be a healer.’

  ‘Those rumours weren’t accurate. They were rumours.’

  ‘But you have healed people.’

  ‘It’s not healing as we know it,’ Tailor said. ‘He ages them, making them more able to fight off the illness.’

  ‘What? That’s not what you told me,’ Fiore snapped.

  ‘I told you what you needed to hear to get the boy here. That’s all.’ Tailor turned back to Casimir. ‘You’re his only hope.’

  Casimir was still staring. ‘You …’