‘Yes. It is. But —’
‘I don’t want to talk about this again.’ Luka sounded tired. ‘I never wanted what you want.’
‘Glory? To be etched in Valian history? I only want the best for you.’
Luka shook her head and turned to the ladder. ‘You shouldn’t have brought me here.’
Bleak was pulled away from the matriarch grotto, hard. The doorways flew by, and she found herself in Valia again, but it was different to the forest she knew. Stepping through the door, she realised she was deep in the past.
The Forest of Ghosts was not the sea of charred tree skeletons as she knew it in the present. It stood before her now, full of life, the air heavy with the sweet scent of the magical herbs it grew. From where she was hidden in the canopy, moonlight caught in the drops of dew scattered across the emerald-green leaves, and the steady trickle of water sounded from the nearby stream. It was breathtaking.
A flicker of movement above caught Bleak’s eye. She nearly yelped as someone darted past her. Sahara, her cropped hair swinging by her jaw as she scanned her surroundings. Her face was fuller, younger. Bleak got the immediate sense the Valian was doing something she shouldn’t be … Sahara made to keep moving, but someone started after her. Athene.
‘Where are you going?’ Athene said, arms crossed over her chest.
‘I should have known you couldn’t mind your own gods-damned business.’
Bleak baulked. She’d never heard Sahara use that tone.
‘Well?’
‘I don’t answer to you, Athene,’ Sahara said coldly. ‘I order you to go back to your post.’
‘I don’t answer to you, yet. I get the feeling I never will.’
‘If you want it that way, I suggest you go back.’
‘You rigged the guard change.’
‘I did.’
‘Why?’
Sahara didn’t respond.
‘I can’t let you do this.’
‘No, you shouldn’t let me do this. But you will, if I know you at all. Isn’t that what you want? For Henri to be queen. For you to be her second. And then when little Luka is old enough … Well, I get the feeling you have some grand plans for her.’
‘No —’
‘Don’t deny it, Athene. I’m no Ashai, but even I have the power to see it. So you’ll let me go.’
Bleak’s heart pounded against her sternum. This couldn’t be …
‘I —’
‘Goodbye, Athene.’ Sahara dropped down to the forest floor, and ducked away into the darkness.
Athene stared after Sahara. Then, with a newfound purpose, Athene dropped to the ground as well, and started after the young Valian heir.
They wove through the tree trunks and underbrush of the forest, Athene breaking into a sprint. Bleak followed suit. She’d never been to this part of the forest, and it occurred to her that it no longer existed. They ran and ran, until —
Bleak gasped, skidding to a stop beside Athene.
Mist roiled before them.
At its hungry mouth stood Sahara.
Don’t! Bleak wanted to yell. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move.
Sahara pulled a glove from her hand and let the mist wrap around her fingertips.
Bleak watched on in horror as Sahara took in the breadth of mist before her, and made her decision. Then, she turned back to look at the forest. To say a silent goodbye to her home, her family.
Beside Bleak, Athene was as still as death, watching intently. Bleak wanted to shake her. To yell, What are you doing?
But Athene did nothing. She did nothing as the heir to Valia set her shoulders straight, and walked into death’s open arms.
‘Bleak!’ Someone was shaking her. ‘Bleak!’
Bleak opened her eyes to see Athene’s panicked face.
‘Are you alright?’ the Valian asked, still gripping Bleak’s arms. ‘You were in some sort of …’
Bleak couldn’t form any words. She just stared. This woman, the highest-ranked of the elite kindred, had watched her rightful ruler, her lover’s twin, surrender her life to the mist. And she’d told no one. If Henri knew the truth …
‘Bleak?’ Realisation dawned on Athene’s face. ‘What did you see?’ she said, clearly fighting to keep her voice even.
Bleak swallowed the lump in her throat.
Athene’s hands on her became bruising. ‘I said, what did you see?’
Bleak struggled against the Valian’s crushing grip.
‘What’s going on, Athene?’ said a sharp voice from the door. Henri strode in wearing her leathers, fiercer than ever.
Athene released Bleak. ‘I was —’
A soft moan sounded from the cot.
‘Bleak?’ a broken voice said.
Bleak whirled around to see Bren looking up at her, eyes bloodshot.
‘I’m here,’ she said, taking his cold hand in hers. ‘It’s me. I’m here.’
His gaze went to their hands, and then back to her face, drinking in her features as though he had expected never to see them again.
‘You’re safe now,’ she told him.
Her words had no effect. There was no relief in his eyes, only a question.
‘Bleak,’ he managed. ‘Who’s Alarise?’
Alarise. Alarise. Alarise. The chanting she’d heard in the prison filled her head once more. A chorus of pain and hope entwined. Henri and Athene had long since faded into the background. It was just Bren and her, as it had always been. She squeezed his hand.
‘Me,’ she said. ‘I’m Alarise.’
Her own name tasted like a stranger’s on her lips. Fighting her instincts to lie, to cover up who she was, each syllable rolled reluctantly off her tongue. How long since she’d said her name aloud? Since she had owned it?
Suddenly, she was keenly aware that Henri and Athene were still here, and that around her, the room had fallen silent. Her name hung heavy between them like a curse.
‘Alarise?’ Henri said slowly.
Bleak turned to her and nodded.
The Valian matriarch frowned. ‘That’s what they’ve been saying,’ she muttered, meeting Bleak’s gaze. ‘The Ashai, they’ve been saying your name.’
Rion raised his head and growled softly from the foot of the bed.
‘Shhhh …’ Bleak soothed him, reaching across and scratching behind his ears. The teerah panther quietened, but continued to watch on, his claws unsheathed. Bleak glanced at Bren. He was staring at her as though he didn’t know who she was. It broke her heart. She wanted to explain, to tell him that she was still the same person, the same gutter rat from Angove he’d grown up with. But … she couldn’t lie. Not anymore. She squeezed his hand again. He didn’t squeeze back.
‘Do we have to drag it out of you, Alarise?’ Athene said, arms crossed over her chest.
Bleak studied the warrior for a moment, her fiery red braid, her fresh fighting leathers, and the defensive stance she had taken up. Bleak turned to Henri. ‘I want Sahara here.’
Athene flinched. If she had any doubts about what Bleak had stumbled upon in the depths of her mind, they were doubts no longer.
Henri frowned, eyeing them suspiciously. ‘Fine,’ she said, nodding to Athene.
Athene hesitated in the doorway, looking as though she was on the verge of saying something, but after another frown from Henri, she disappeared.
Henri rounded on Bleak. ‘What in the realm was all that about?’
‘I —’
‘And not just that, before. What was she saying to you? Why have you got her handprints on your arms?’
Bleak looked down, and sure enough, red welts had appeared where Athene had gripped her. How could she explain it to Henri? What had come to pass all those years ago? How would Henri react?
A hacking cough from Bren startled her. She leaned in close, helped him sit up, and pressed a cup of water to his cracked lips. That was when it hit her. He didn’t smell like Bren anymore, like the smell of saltwater and briny wind she’d always
cherished. The liquid dribbled down his chin.
‘Bren,’ she breathed, wiping his mouth with a rag. ‘It’ll be okay.’
His eyes didn’t meet hers as he took the cup and drank.
‘Not so much, Angovian,’ Henri said from behind her. ‘Too much too fast won’t end well.’
The door burst open and Sahara stormed in. ‘What is it?’ She looked wildly from Henri and Bleak to Bren. ‘Athene said it was urgent.’
Behind her, Casimir’s lean figure appeared, and he leaned against the doorframe. He gave Bleak a single nod. He knew why they were here.
Bleak turned back to Bren. ‘I want to tell you who I am.’
He didn’t say anything, but Bleak could feel the tension from the rest of those in the room. And the magic, hers, Casimir’s and Henri’s, tentatively reaching out, exploring. With a final look at Bren, she let his hand go and stood. Rion came to her side at once.
‘My name is Alarise Thornton,’ she said, her voice wavering. ‘My parents were Gesa and Gabriel Thornton. I was born in Freyhill, the capital of Oremere.’
Henri and Sahara’s expressions were unreadable. But Casimir … Casimir’s eyes seemed lighter.
‘What does that mean?’ Sahara finally said.
Bleak faltered. She didn’t know. What did it mean?
Casimir spoke. ‘It means that Alarise is a member of one of the reigning families of Oremere.’
‘What!’ Henri snorted.
‘Alarise’s parents were the mediators who stood between and advised the two royal families. She is one of three Ashai heirs to Oremere.’
‘And Casimir is another,’ Bleak said, finding her voice.
‘So you’re telling us …’ Sahara started. ‘That we have two of three rulers of Oremere standing here in this room?’
‘Yes,’ Bleak said.
‘What?’ Henri looked to be in shock. ‘You’re … You’re a princess?’ she managed. ‘You?’
‘She didn’t mean that how it sounded,’ Sahara said.
‘Not a princess,’ Bleak replied evenly. ‘But part of the reign of Oremere, yes.’
Henri shook her head. ‘And what of the third part?’
‘Dead,’ Bleak said. ‘Killed when he was only a child.’
‘Are we su—’ Sahara began, stepping forward.
Bren suddenly gasped for air, choking and spluttering. Bleak rushed back to his side, pouring him more water.
At last, he met her gaze fully. ‘I know who you are,’ he rasped.
‘Bren —’
‘You’re a liar.’
There was an intake of breath. Hers. ‘What? Bren, I —’
But his words were as sharp as any blade, poised to cut deep. ‘You’ve lied to me about who you are – what you are – our entire lives,’ he said. ‘You’re a liar. That’s who you are.’
Chapter 36
Dash stood before the Queen of Havennesse, his palms clammy and his heart thundering. The throne room here was simpler than the one in the great hall at Heathton Castle, but no less intimidating. It held the strangest mix of people Dash had ever seen: legendary Valians standing alongside Wildenhaven generals, and a group of ragged vagabonds. From her throne atop the dais, with a number of great hounds at her feet, Queen Eydis studied him, her gaze lingering on his umber eyes and dark hair. Dash fidgeted, until Tailor gave him a pointed look from across the room.
‘You appear much recovered, Mister Carlington,’ Queen Eydis said, her voice clear and calm.
Mister Carlington. Only his Pa was called that. Though Dash supposed the Queen of Havennesse wasn’t likely to call him by a silly childhood nickname …
‘Thank you, Your Majesty. For your part in saving my life.’ Dash bowed his head, grimacing at the uncertainty in his voice.
‘We do not let children die here in Havennesse. I wish the same could be said for where you come from.’
Dash looked at the floor. He didn’t know of such things, and he would not speak ill of the king.
‘Mister Carlington, it has been brought to my attention that you and I have something in common,’ the queen continued.
Dash’s stomach squirmed and his magic fluttered beneath his skin. A deep sense of foreboding filled him. Having … power … Being an Ashai … It couldn’t be good. An Ashai now stood accused of murdering Olena’s mother. How long before that anger shifted from Valian royalty to the common folk?
‘I too am a seer,’ Queen Eydis said, allowing him time to process her words, her admission.
Wildenhaven is not like Heathton. Ashai aren’t persecuted here.
‘You and I must work closely together,’ she continued. ‘If we are to play a role in the war to come.’
There it was again, war.
Anxiety held Dash’s heart in its clenched fist. He felt as though he had woken from a deep, deep sleep, with the realm as he knew it changed forever. He swallowed the lump in his throat and bowed his head, as he had seen the others do before him. ‘I am your servant, Your Majesty.’
‘I have servants enough, Mister Carlington. What I want is an ally.’
Dash’s eyes snapped up to the winter queen’s. An ally? To the Queen of Havennesse? He was just a stableboy. He … But he wasn’t a boy any longer. He wasn’t mucking out stalls with Pa.
Dash lifted his chin. ‘I’ll do anything I can to help.’
‘Then tell me, what did you see?’
Forcing himself to stand still, Dash took a deep breath and described the scene that had unfolded before him: the ground quaking beneath his boots, and the Ellestian army charging towards him.
Queen Eydis nodded, thoughtfully twisting a loose strand of hair with her finger. ‘I had a similar vision only days ago. The horizon places it at Port Avesta. The Ellestian army will reach our shores in a matter of days, then …’ The queen spoke as though she was thinking aloud, as though it was just the two of them in the throne room. Dash waited.
The queen stood and signalled to a man Dash didn’t recognise, and a young redheaded Valian. ‘Our shores will be breached,’ she said. ‘I am certain of it. Nicolai, prepare our forces, we leave in two days. Where is Henri?’
The redhead stepped forward with a bow. ‘She and Sahara are visiting the Angovian in the medical wing, Your Majesty.’
‘Very well. Mister Carlington, care to guess how many men we’re facing?’
Dash bit his lip, recalling the vision yet again. ‘Thousands, maybe ten thousand?’
Queen Eydis glanced at the man named Nicolai, who gave a brief nod before turning on his heel and leaving the hall.
‘I don’t suppose you know how to fight?’ the queen asked Dash, her voice now tired.
Dash paused. He hadn’t thought … Hadn’t thought to try his secret drills with his new body, new strength.
‘I’m not formally trained, Your Majesty, but …’
‘But?’
‘I trained with the squires, every now and then.’
The queen gave a single nod and then turned back to the redheaded girl. ‘See if he can defend himself, Luka. I want another seer on the field.’
‘As you wish,’ Luka said, bowing her head again.
‘Then I take my leave,’ Queen Eydis said, and left with a final grim smile in Dash’s direction.
Luka turned to him. ‘So you’re the boy from the other night?’
Dash nodded.
‘Not a boy anymore, though, are you?’ she said, surveying him.
Heat flushed Dash’s face.
‘Come on,’ she said with a grin. ‘I have a soft spot for strays.’
The barn was empty but for the racks of saddles and horse tack mounted on the walls, and the loose hay at their feet. The subtle, sweet scent of it reminded Dash of home. Outside, the wind howled and rattled the doors, but he had to keep his focus. Despite the chill, he wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and swapped sword hands, the only thing that had come naturally to him since … Since everything had changed. The weight of the blade in his hand was a
comfort, an anchor to some distant form of normality he longed for. And it felt right. He drove forward and sliced at Luka. She knocked the blow aside and smacked the side of his head with an open palm, shaking her head.
‘If this is how they train all Heathton soldiers, then the battle won’t be a problem,’ she said.
‘I told you, I wasn’t trained —’
But Luka lunged, fierce and fast.
Dash sidestepped the first blow and blocked the second.
Luka rolled her eyes, twirling her sword in mock boredom. He circled her, having long since come to terms with the notion that he was fighting a girl. She was better than any of the squires he’d seen training. A lot better. In fact, Dash was pretty sure she’d be able to take on the weapons master himself.
‘Use your surroundings,’ she said, knocking aside another blow. ‘There’s more at your disposal than the blade in your hand.’ She kicked the loose hay up into his face, and in a whirl, had him disarmed with her blade to his throat.
‘Not as bad as I thought you’d be. Not great, but not terrible.’
Dash supposed that was a compliment of sorts, coming from a Valian warrior.
‘I’m … I’m not used to this body,’ he began, but she jumped in.
‘You know what we say in Valia? Excuses are for weaklings.’
Dash set his mouth in a hard line and adjusted his stance.
‘That’s more like it.’
Dash whirled his blade, feinting to the right and striking Luka’s left. She blocked, just.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘Again.’
The pair sparred in silence, the clang of their swords echoing through the empty barn, the straw crunching beneath their boots. The rest of the world faded into obscurity, and for now, it was just Dash and his sword, and Luka and hers. Each time the steel sang, Dash revelled in the reverberation. Each time Luka struck him, he found purpose in the throb of new bruises, getting up time and time again when his feet were knocked out from under him. He was sweating and panting, but alive. More alive than he’d felt since leaving Heathton.
Luka stepped back, giving him a moment to catch his breath. ‘You’ve got the skills, somewhere in there,’ she said. ‘But as soon as you stop swinging that sword, you look lost. And to be lost is to be vulnerable.’
Reign of Mist Page 33
