by S. M. Boyce
But it was only Garrett. He rested a hand on her shoulder and tried to smile, but the grin dissolved with a few twitches of his lips as he turned her back toward the cave through which she’d entered. The walk was silent and quick, and soon the sun broke around a bend in the tunnel. Adele waited on the platform outside, still a blue dragon. She nudged Kara’s shoulder and knelt so that she could hop on. Kara obeyed.
Adele jumped off of the platform, gliding down on a draft to the forest below, but Kara barely registered the movement. Her head began to ache again. Groggy thoughts and memories resurfaced, spliced together in blood-soaked fragments.
“Kara?”
The voice was familiar, deep and concerned, but she didn’t want to look up. She didn’t acknowledge that she’d heard anything.
“What did you people do to her?!”
“She will be fine, prince.”
“Kara, look at me.” The voice grew louder. Hands brushed her face. They were warm and covered most of her cheek. She leaned into one and closed her eyes. The hands pulled her in and her ear brushed the soft fabric of a shirt. A heartbeat thudded against her eardrum, slow and steady, like a clock.
“Have her sit,” Adele’s muffled voice said. She’d shifted back to human form, then. Kara didn’t open her eyes or look around. The heartbeat faded and her face was cold as the shirt pulled away. She was ushered onto a rough log and hands rubbed her arms, warming her with the friction.
“What was the verdict, Adele? Garrett?”
Silence.
There was a frustrated sigh. “Kara, drink this.”
A flask pressed against her lips and she drank without thinking. A hot liquid burned her tongue and throat. She coughed and sputtered. Her mind snapped awake. The burning trailed down her throat and into her stomach.
She gasped. “What is that?”
“Whiskey. Magical stuff,” Braeden answered with a grin.
She coughed again and looked around. They were in a forest. Trees arched above them, their green branches interwoven with one another such that they looked like supports in an attic. She sat on a log at the edge of a small clearing, and Braeden sat beside her. Garrett leaned against a tree with his back turned, but Adele was close, her arms wrapped around her torso as if she was somehow cold despite the hot day. She hunched her shoulders, and her eyebrows twisted in remorse.
“Hang the Council,” Garrett said.
Adele shook her head. “No, my love.”
“They’re wrong.”
“Verum has never been wrong.”
“There’s a first time for everything. Kara can be strong enough to succeed, but she needs help to get to that point. If we leave—”
“If they discover us, we will be killed for treason!” Adele said, her voice the barest whisper.
“You promised to never fail her, not me, yet even I know it’s wrong to abandon her now,” he snapped.
Adele whipped her head back as if he’d hit her.
“Guys, I’m right here,” Kara said, standing. “I don’t want anyone to die. I’ll just figure this out on my own.”
Adele sighed. “No, Garrett is right. The pendant I made for you when we met is a promise, one that would shame me should I ever break it. I was just so certain that they would understand,” she said, looking down to the forest floor and fingering the round necklace with Kara’s tear-diamond in its center.
“We must be careful,” Garrett said, voice gentle once more. “Kara, when we return you to Hillside, you should leave immediately for the other kingdoms so that you don’t stay in one place for very long. We have devised a way for Braeden to join you, if the prince is so inclined.”
Braeden nodded. “Of course I will, though I have an idea of what you want me to do.”
Adele pulled out a small pouch from her pocket and emptied the contents onto her palm. In it were two objects: a small blue orb and a triangle carved from marble the color of a mushroom. Roses were etched in fine detail into the triangle’s corners. Adele left it alone, picking up the blue orb instead. A hazy green swirl snaked through it in the sunlight.
“These are the keys to both Losse and Kirelm. The only way for Braeden to join you is to pose as a member of their kingdom, as he has in Hillside. These keys will convince them of his loyalties to their crown.”
“He just shows them a key and he’s in?” Kara asked. “Great security.”
Braeden grimaced. “No, not quite. Remember? Each kingdom’s people look different, Kara.”
“Ah, right. So you’re going to change form? Like you did at the Stele?”
“That’s our hope,” Garrett said. “You will not be safe if you go alone to either Kirelm or Losse. Even while you were in Hillside, we worried.”
Adele returned the keys to their pouch and threw it to Braeden before she reached behind the log, pulled out a brown backpack, and threw that to him as well.
“What is this?” he asked, catching it.
“Clothes for each of the kingdoms, as well as a sword from Ayavel. You need to be armed, prince, but a Hillsidian sword will raise suspicion. Aislynn is neutral to all of them, so she sends tribute and frequently trades. They will not question this blade.”
Braeden knelt and rifled through the bag before he stood and shook his head.
“The Queen ordered me to kill an isen in the Eastern Hillside villages. She let me stay longer only to—um—” He stopped himself, his eyes flickering over to Kara and then to the grassy forest floor. He cleared his throat.
“I’ll take care of the isen and give you the credit,” Garrett said. “It’s ideal cover to throw Hillside off your scent while you are with the Vagabond.”
Braeden nodded. “That works.”
“She will need to see you now so that she can recognize you later,” Garrett pointed out.
“Right.”
Braeden stood and dragged the pack into the nearby bushes. He took off his shirt, and Kara blushed, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to look away. He had thick arms and a muscular torso with a single, thick scar down the right side of his chest. A thorny tattoo with sharp barbs and spikes spiraled down his arm, starting at his left shoulder and ending at his elbow. He glanced to her and shrugged when he caught her eye.
“What? I don’t want to rip my clothes.”
Kara didn’t mind.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the air around him shimmered and hummed. His skin faded to a dull shade of blue, and he grew a good two feet taller, but thinner at the same time. His ears inched backward, moving farther up his head, and his straight black hair grew out until it touched his shoulders. His eyes moved closer together and tripled in size, the black irises stretching until the whites were gone like they had been in his Stelian form. Kara shuddered at the memory, but was sure to smile when he looked over.
“That’s awesome.” She laughed. Braeden chuckled along with her and seemed to relax his shoulders.
“That is his Lossian form,” Adele explained, unimpressed. “You will likely visit Losse second, since Kirelm is closer.”
Braeden took that as his cue. The air hummed again. His now-blue skin dulled until it was tan once more, and continued to fade until it became as silver as a suit of armor without its shine. His shoulders broadened. He grew even taller. Large, black wings sprouted from his shoulder blades as Adele glanced nervously into the forest over her shoulder.
“Could you pick him out of a crowd, Kara?” Garrett asked.
“Maybe out of a lineup in Hillside,” she quipped. Kara could remember that tattoo, provided that wasn’t a commonality as well. She wondered if the other kingdoms mandated shirts. She hoped not and suppressed the urge to laugh at her own little joke.
“He should wear this, then.” Garrett pulled a white shell necklace from his pocket. “It’s an Ayavelian piece, just like the sword, so the other kingdoms will not think anything of it.”
Kara nodded. “The necklace will help.”
Braeden slipped the shell necklace
over his head and returned to his Hillsidian self. Kara blushed at his bare chest again and tried not to stare. She’d done enough of that already. She turned and walked toward the edge of the clearing, searching for something to occupy her in an attempt to avoid creating awkward tension before what seemed like it would be a long trip.
“Vagabond, hold your foot!” Adele shouted.
Kara froze mid-stride and hoped that was what ‘holding one’s foot’ meant.
Adele rushed to her and knelt, lifting a small blue egg from underneath her raised boot. Kara backed away and found the broken remnants of a nest that had fallen from a tree. Twigs and pine needles were strewn across the grass, the bulk of the nest flattened from its fall. Only the egg had survived. Blue egg shells littered the wreckage, implying that other eggs had either hatched already or hadn’t been so lucky.
“What kind of bird is that?”
Adele smiled and held out the beautiful little blue orb without answering. It was polished and smooth, about the same size as a robin’s egg, and had hundreds of tiny facets in it. The smooth dents made the egg gleam like a sapphire. Kara reached for it and rubbed the shell. It was as hard and cool as marble, and a faint orange glow radiated from its center. Adele grinned and shook her head, the tension of her argument with Garrett apparently already forgotten.
“Guard this egg,” she commanded. “Don’t worry, as it obviously doesn’t break easily. Rub it often between your palms to keep it warm.”
“What is it?” Kara asked again.
“A wonderful sign. You will see,” Adele answered, but her grin faded. She held Kara’s jaw with her gentle fingers, so soft to the touch that Kara almost didn’t believe they were there.
“You have been through so much already, my girl, but the true hardships have not even yet been asked of you. I will help you as best I can, but I am afraid that I can’t promise much.”
Braeden yelled in agony, as if someone had run him through with a sword. Kara looked over, their moment broken. He cursed, the scream laced with pain so vicious and deep that it sent birds flying, startled, from a nearby tree. He grabbed his hand. His face twisted in pain as he fell onto the grass.
“What is it? What happened?” Garrett grabbed the prince’s arms and helped him onto a fallen log.
Braeden’s face flushed, his eyebrows distorted. He closed his eyes and white streaks grazed his temple.
Adele sat beside him and rested her hand on his back, setting her palm between his shoulders. Her entire body glowed white. The light ran down her arm and into his back, and at its touch, his breath slowed. His face relaxed.
“I felt this—a ripping sensation in my wrist,” he said, his voice thin. “It was the worst pain I have ever felt in my life. Something terrible is happening. I think it involves Carden.”
“Do you know where?” Adele asked.
He gazed off, his eyes out of focus. He watched the grasses twitch in the breeze as if they could speak to him.
“Hillside,” he muttered.
Ambush
At the same moment Kara was led from the drenowith cavern, Blood Lorraine of Hillside patrolled her favorite path in all her kingdom, listening as her forest danced in the sunlight. There was nothing like a Hillsidian summer. She savored the aromatic blast of lavender and the heavy scent of clover on the breeze. Somewhere in the canopy, birds twittered.
The sunlight warmed her neck, which was left bare in this particular gown. She’d opted for a green dress without the collar today, to better enjoy the wind and to make her walk more pleasant. Woven leather trimmings hemmed the dress’s seams, and her sleeves flared out over her deceptively tiny hands. Opponents underestimated her because she appeared so frail, but that was what she’d always wanted. However fragile she looked, she’d spent decades training in the very armory where Gavin now reigned.
The world grew more beautiful every day: more precious, as if it would fade away at any moment. Bit by bit, she relinquished her kingdom to her son without him even realizing. She’d even left her Sartori blade for him today, to examine while she walked.
She sighed. The legendary Sartori was her favorite weapon, one of only six in existence; only one had been made for each kingdom, too long ago to remember, and only a kingdom’s royal bloodline could wield its blade. It was laced with an almost incurable poison and could become anything from a sword to a walking stick, shifting into whatever its master needed. It—
A soft shock froze her body. Blue light flickered in her peripheral vision. She became suddenly aware of the hidden lichgate through which she’d passed. An unknown meadow stretched before her, its tall orange grasses a carpet for the small hill a short ways off. Trees behind her lined the edge of the meadow.
Only the wind kept her company. The trees swayed, but no wildlife ran by. Her stomach clenched at a blend of smoke and sulfur and something else she couldn’t place. The strange clawed its way into her lungs.
The breeze died, but the rotten stench grew stronger, until she could smell its subtle oak undertones. It was warm and unknown, with hints of musk and almond blurring its way through the acidic rot, but the meadow was calm and empty. She caught her breath and edged back toward the forest from which she’d come.
A Hillsidian with olive-colored skin and black hair ducked through the tree line to her left. The tall man grinned as he sauntered closer.
Why does he look so familiar?
“Braeden?” she called.
“Not quite,” the man said. He took steady paces toward her, and she could see brow-lines etched into his forehead; wrinkles around his eyes; large pores along his nose and cheeks that gave his skin a worn, leather-like appearance. No, he was older than Braeden.
Blood Lorraine held her ground, even though her every instinct was to bolt through the lichgate and back to safety. Shame twisted in her stomach. She’d killed hundreds in her lifetime, and yet her instinct was to run? His stench clogged her nose, rooting her in place. Something about him was simply wrong.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I can see why the boy likes this form, though,” he said, ignoring her question. “It’s very easy to blend in when one is Hillsidian. Everyone around here is so trusting.”
He pulled a thick blade from a scabbard on his back. Though Blood Lorraine did not recognize the man, she’d long studied his sword. He wielded the Stele’s Sartori, a great black blade with silver poison that glistened on its edges as he lowered its point to the grass. He sneered.
She caught her breath in that frightful second of discovery. This was Blood Carden: master of the Stele—and Braeden’s father.
Carden lunged. The blade lifted, aimed for her throat. Lorraine rolled out of the way and slid along the grass. She plunged her hands deep into the dirt as she moved, kicking up a trail of grass and small rocks that were buried in the soil. A green mist enveloped her as she skidded.
Horror and dread stabbed at her from within and fueled her as she summoned the only weapon that stood a chance against the Stele’s Sartori. The weight bled into her hands, familiar and heavy and comforting. With a sharp cry, she summoned her own Sartori from the dirt.
Gavin could look at it later.
Back in Hillside, Gavin settled deeper into his mother’s chair and admired her Sartori blade. It was beautiful, especially in its sword form. It had thick green steel and ornate silver designs etched into the blade itself. The hilt was heavier than he’d ever imagined her capable of wielding.
He tested it in one hand and then the other before he looked around her study. Ancient and invaluable books passed down for thousands of generations littered her shelves and her desk, a cherry oak creation with silver scrollwork inlaid along its base. A bay window on the far wall looked out on the main courtyard from which all the roads in Hillside began, and on the floor beneath the window, a thick patch of clover grew in a deep trench filled with soil. The warm musk of the clover flooded over him and made his eyelids droop, so he leaned back in the chair and grinned. Every
aspect of the study radiated the power and security of her kingdom.
Someday, it would be his kingdom.
His smile widened at the thought of being the Blood, of resting the weight of his people on his shoulders and knowing that everyone would look to him for answers and guidance. He stood and spun the sword in the air, focusing his mind on the green metal in an effort to make it change form as it so often had for his mother.
He held the tip of the sword hilt in his palm, so that the blade pointed to the ceiling. It twirled on its head as he glared at it, spinning faster the longer he bent his mind around the image of an axe. It flickered as it spun. The green curve of a battle axe darted into the blur of spinning metal, but quickly disappeared. The blade slowed and began to tip, so he grabbed the hilt to keep it from hitting the floor.
