Realm of Ruins

by Hannah West

  “Then why are you marrying Victor?” I asked, resisting her. “Don’t you know what this means?”

  “Darling, isn’t the throne the least of your worries? With the extended age of surrender, you never would have been queen in your lifetime anyway.” Her tone was vague and casual, but her gray eyes pierced, setting me on edge. She gripped my wrist, digging her nails into my skin.

  “But I—” I started, and she dug in harder, as if to silence me. “What’s wrong?” I whispered.

  Aunt Sylvana emerged from the room, the others shuffling behind her. My mother schooled her features into a calm expression.

  “The guests will be arriving soon, Ameliana, and we must not keep them waiting,” Sylvana said.

  “You can look in my wardrobe for something to wear, Valory,” Jovie offered. “I’m happy to have you as a roommate.”

  “Roommate?” I echoed.

  “I’m in the room across from yours,” she said, as though it had been vacant previously. “I always envied the pupils who lived in the dormitories together, how much fun they must have had.” She cradled an emerald jewel around her neck—the abandoned elicrin stone she used to wear to balls. “I’ll see you down there.”

  I glared at Jovie. My mother released me, leaving marks on my skin. “Valory, hurry, dear,” she said. “It doesn’t matter what you wear, as long as it gives you the freedom to move. Sore feet and cumbersome skirts are no excuse to avoid dancing at your own mother’s wedding. Now, go. Quickly.”

  The hidden meaning of her commands and their urgency alarmed me. Her order was veiled enough that I could choose to obey the surface meaning rather than the deeper one she truly wished to convey, but I had to hurry and I had to go.

  I darted across the hall and slammed the door of my suite behind me. The compulsion of her command was satisfied, though I knew she wouldn’t be.

  “Something’s not right, Mercer,” I said, crossing the room to meet him. “I think my mother is being forced to marry.”

  “By whom?” he asked, unfolding his arms.

  “I don’t know. Someone behind her in line for the throne, perhaps? Otherwise, what would they have to gain?”

  “We are on a mission, Valory. You saw the forest. That will be this whole realm if you don’t kill Emlyn Valmarys, and soon. We’ve already wasted enough time.”

  “I just need to understand what’s happening,” I insisted.

  “And when you understand it, you’ll want to stay long enough to stop it.”

  “Where’s Ellen? Maybe she can explain.”

  “Filling our waterskins.”

  “We’ll ask her what’s amiss.”

  “No, Valory,” Mercer said, catching my arm and pulling me back to him. “You are imperiling our whole mission.”

  “Our victory is certain. Isn’t that why we’re on this horrible journey in the first place? Can you not abide a short delay for something so important?”

  Mercer slid his hands from my shoulders to my hips. I felt that pull in my body again, that feeling as if he’d fastened a hook deep in my belly to draw me toward him. He bowed his head to kiss me, his mouth warm on mine. Heat consumed me from the inside out. I considered the soft surfaces nearby, every silky cushion where I might invite our bodies to touch skin to skin, where I could see him propping himself over me and peeling off my tired clothes lace by lace and button by button. It was just a fantasy, of course, and that realization was punctuated by his pulling away just as I melted into him.

  “It’s not certain,” he whispered, stepping back.

  “What?”

  “When I said I saw you stabbing the Moth King in the heart, I lied. I did see you destroying his court. But I didn’t see the moment of victory I described. My visions don’t coddle me. Sometimes they show me more than I care to know, other times they show me just enough to point me in a direction, to help me put pieces together and take action—”

  “You aren’t certain that I kill him?” The tone of my voice frightened even me. Mercer winced against the barely controlled rage.

  “But I knew it, from the moment I met you,” he said. “You were in other visions, visions that showed me your power. You needed to believe it was certain to come with me. I was going to tell you the truth: that I believed but didn’t know. But you were so insecure, so unsure of yourself, with so little command over your power or desire to use it—”

  “So you took the choice away from me? Why tell me? Why now? Why didn’t you just keep parading me north, your little fool on her supposedly sacred mission?”

  “Because I couldn’t keep lying to you, not after we…”

  “It took putting your lips to mine to grow a conscience?”

  “You can be furious at me when we’re back in the woods. You don’t ever have to speak to me again. But I know—not because I’ve seen it explicitly, because I have faith in you and your power—that you will kill Emlyn Valmarys. He will be nothing but a pile of ash to tread on when you’re done.”

  “He’s not the one who should fear my wrath right now,” I growled, the power deep in my bones coming to life.

  “Valory…” Mercer tried to touch a lock of hair that hung in my face. I wanted to break his fingers but settled for pulling away.

  “Go,” I said. “Go back to the woods and tell Glisette and Kadri the truth. See if they will still risk everything to deliver me to Darmeska.”

  He hesitated, the pain on his face plain to see. I felt bereft and broken, but indignation deformed these feelings into a pounding anger that could strip this palace to its ancient foundations.

  “You’re the only one who—”

  “I said go, you deceitful worm,” I whispered, each word sharper than the last. Mercer stalked back to my bedchamber. Through the open door, I saw him enter the portal and yank the curtain shut behind him.

  COLLECTED myself, exhaled the anger, and abandoned the suite that no longer belonged to me, or even to Ivria’s memory.

  I had changed into a plain black dress with an ivory panel down the bodice, a bit too simple for a wedding. It pained me to select from Jovie Neswick’s gowns when they occupied Ivria’s wardrobe, so I’d chosen the first one I touched. I still wore my boots underneath and secured my dagger at my hip.

  I couldn’t imagine remaining here with everything that had changed, but neither could I cross back through the portal to rejoin the others on a mission whose ending was up to interpretation. I was a vagabond, a wanderer, like my father, on a desperate pilgrimage to nowhere.

  Would Kadri and Glisette give up on the quest now that Mercer had returned to tell them the truth? Would they come through the portal and leave everything we’d fought for behind, hailing carriages to their respective homes, nestling in the protective bosom of wealth and status while the realm wasted away? Would Mercer continue charting his course, alone, and meet his fate facing the Moth King?

  My anger renewed at the thought of hidden lies beneath our intimacy, and I thrust these questions from my mind.

  Guests in elaborate formal wear packed the receiving hall. Whispers and stares abounded as a servant ushered me to an open seat next to Ander at one of the two high tables flanking the throne.

  “After you left for Beyrian, I wondered if I would ever see you again,” Ander said as I settled in, his hand fitting over mine. “I wondered if I would have a chance to apologize for accusing you. I know you were only trying to save Ivria. When I started hearing rumors, I realized how my resentment over your mistake might have fed unfounded suspicions. I should have stood by you from the beginning. I should have gone with my father to the Realm Alliance to defend you.”

  Long-sought solace overpowered my uneasiness. I squeezed his hand in return.

  “You don’t have to worry about the Realm Alliance coming after you,” he went on. “Their policing of elicromancers has gone too far. I will not let the rumors stand in my court. I know you’re not capable of what they say.”

  I was reluctant to clarify whether he was referrin
g to my character or my competence.

  “You can clear your name and, of course, stay here where you belong,” he added.

  His affirmation should have brought me such comfort. Ander doesn’t blame me. He’ll help everyone understand the truth. Arna is still my home.

  But these assurances didn’t settle well, and I couldn’t ascertain why not.

  I chanced a look around for the first time since entering the receiving hall. Jovie sat across from me, her tawny hair as tightly constrained as ever, the overture of a smile on her lips.

  With a start, I realized that Knox sat directly to my right. He stared rather studiously into his wine goblet, refusing to look at me.

  “Knox.”

  “Valory.” He compelled his eyes to meet mine. “No one mentioned you were planning to come.”

  “It’s my mother’s wedding.” I jutted my chin as though I had known about the event all along.

  A brunette woman with a spattering of freckles leaned around him. I recognized Elythia Carrow, the elicromancer beauty Ander had been dancing with just before I’d followed Ivria, unknowingly, to the place of her death. “How sweet that you returned for your mother’s wedding, Your Highness,” she said, with no trace of irony. “Last I heard, you were exiled to Darmeska.”

  She intertwined her fingers with Knox’s. His cheeks flamed, but he didn’t spurn her touch.

  “As I understand it, you were good friends with my husband before…at the academy,” she went on, catching herself before mentioning the Water. “I had my ceremony five years ago, so I didn’t meet Knox until…well, it was at Valory’s birthday ball, wasn’t it, my love?”

  “You’re married?” I asked.

  “With a babe on the way,” she answered, sculpting her dress to emphasize a rotund belly.

  Knox swallowed hard. I seized up a bit, disturbed by how much time had passed while we slept in the fay dwelling, how unexpectedly my friends and family in Arna had made use of that time. Nothing seemed to make sense. In fact, neither Knox nor Jovie should have been seated at the high table. They weren’t royalty.

  For the first time, it occurred to me to look at the familiar dark-haired man on the throne. I felt like a torn flag flapping in a stormy wind, and King Tiernan’s dignified expression would stake me to solid ground.

  But it wasn’t King Tiernan who sat on the throne.

  It was Prosper. Neswick stood nearby, wearing a pure white tunic.

  No.

  I turned back to find Jovie watching me keenly. I thought I saw a glimmer of light in the jewel around her throat, but it had to be a reflection of the chandeliers glancing off its many facets. And Knox too wore a gray elicrin stone that looked suspiciously similar to the one that had allowed me to recognize Brandar’s mangled body in the dawn light at Beyrian. Was it a trinket, a trophy? Or was there more to it?

  “Where’s King Tiernan?” I asked Ander.

  He didn’t seem to hear me. He was speaking to Melkior’s grandfather, Vesper.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Knox give a single firm shake of his head. I gripped his arm. “What’s happening?”

  “Stop asking questions,” he muttered.

  Was he afraid? Or was his good-heartedness a shell that sloughed off with friction? I had spurned his advances and ruined his future. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to act as my personal town crier, bringing me abreast of the latest court happenings.

  “Just tell me where King Tiernan is,” I whispered. But I shut my mouth as a cold certainty overcame me.

  I will not let the rumors stand in my court, Ander had said. His court.

  As the younger sister of childless King Tiernan, Odessa was meant to succeed him before her son, Prosper. Under no circumstances should my uncle be king right now.

  The stringed instruments stopped merrily plodding along to take up a more solemn and dignified tune. My mother emerged from the far end of the receiving hall, her joyful expression stilted. A somber Victor waited at the foot of the dais. I looked from him to Prosper, who wore a smile of quiet conquest. My gaze shifted to Ander, who stroked his chin complacently. Everything felt wrong, so wrong.

  My mother’s face changed, and I realized I had risen to my feet. Prosper’s gaze slid to me and I felt its iciness like a knifepoint protruding from soft snow.

  Someone behind me tripped and spilled liquid down my collar and around my throat. I gasped as I tried in vain to mop up the red wine with a cloth napkin. The ivory bodice of my dress was soaked through and seemed to fasten to my skin.

  Sniggers of laughter surfaced and even the musicians stumbled for a few beats, distracted by the spectacle. I whipped around and found Melkior grinning with triumph. He had done it on purpose.

  I wanted to shrivel and disappear, or shed my skin and crawl into someone else’s—become anyone besides Valory Braiosa.

  I shoved Melkior. He stumbled drunkenly back and fell in front of everyone. Ander stood and loomed over him, and for a moment Melkior looked truly terrified. “Get out,” Ander said, and Melkior scrambled away.

  “I’ll go clean up,” I muttered.

  “Should we stop the ceremony and wait for you?” Ander asked. The suppressed laughter had jolted to a mysterious halt.

  “Um, no,” I said, bewildered, embarrassed, frightened. “No, please continue.”

  Hiding the stain with crossed arms, I hurried out of the receiving hall, my boots clunky on the marble. I knew my mother could not come after me.

  In the secluded corridor, I let the panic wash over me. I wanted nothing more than to flee, to go back through the portal to the dead, blackened woods, even if it meant facing Mercer and our fruitless mission.

  This was not my home. This was not my family.

  Meandering footsteps and a hiccup announced Melkior’s pursuit, and with a breath to calm myself so I could refrain from breaking his neck, I looked him in the eye. “What do you want from me?”

  “Lower your voice,” he whispered, glancing over his shoulder, suddenly quite sober. “You have to leave.”

  “Not without answers,” I whispered harshly.

  “You want answers?” He yanked me down the hall toward the stairs. Even though it was Melkior, I felt inexplicably safer with every step.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, struggling to keep pace with him as we ascended to the upper floor and turned toward the men’s wing.

  “There are only five members of the Conclave now,” Melkior snarled. “They no longer just decide the fate of elicromancer pupils. They decide everything. The end of the Water was the end of the equitable Ermetarius reign. Our family was only noble so long as there was a Realm Alliance to hold them accountable. Why do you think Ander is able to pardon and reassure you, when the Realm Alliance wanted you in chains? Prosper, Ander, my father…they’ve taken control.”

  “That can’t be,” I whispered, the stain on my chest growing cold. “Where’s King Tiernan? He wouldn’t allow this.”

  “He has no choice.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he’s been overthrown.”

  “Dead?” I asked, dread slicing through my belly.

  “Nearly.”

  “What—?”

  “I’m taking you to him.” He flung stringy hair from his eyes as he beckoned me to hurry. “There is no age of surrender now. They will keep their elicrin stones for as long as they want and find excuses to confiscate them from any challengers. They’re going to slip control of Nissera out from under the Realm Alliance. The Summoners have infiltrated our government and the Ermetariuses have welcomed them because they have the same goal: to end restraints on elicromancers, to live forever, and to rule forever, unchallenged. Even if it means they must bow to a demon.”

  “Valmarys?” I asked, stopping dead merely because my legs seemed to forget how to function.

  “Yes,” he hissed.

  The truth dawned like a garish sunrise. Jovie Neswick wore a retired elicrin stone. She had been trained and schooled alo
ngside the realm’s most promising future elicromancers. She used to snap quills in lectures from taking notes so furiously. And now her elicrin trinket sparkled with light and power—the girl most of us had treated like an intruder at the academy.

  The Summoners didn’t just believe Valmarys was a god. They believed him a god who could grant their wishes in exchange for loyalty, in exchange for raising him from his slumber and restoring him to power. Their wishes for immortality, for magic—for the status that accompanied both—had been granted by this tyrant who possessed the power to steal and bestow elicrin gifts. At least, they’d been granted by the tyrant’s head servant.

  When Valmarys returned, the Summoners had reaped the rewards of centuries of devotion.

  And yet…Prosper sat on the throne and wore the crown. What sort of agreement had he struck with these impostors? How could Ander abide such atrocities?

  “Not Ander,” I whispered, resisting the boiling pressure of tears.

  “Yes, Ander,” Melkior spat. “He’s among the worst because he doesn’t know what a shit he is. Self-righteous bastard. He thinks no one knows that he’s the father of Elythia’s child, that Knox is being played for a fool. Ander turned his nose up at her until she and Knox married, then he changed his mind and had to have her. He appointed Knox to be a so-called crisis ambassador and sent him on a doomed mission to bring recovery supplies to Beyrian. Ander made me stay behind. Can you imagine? An elicrin Healer barred from stopping the plague! Instead, he sent Knox with two dozen men. Only Knox and three others returned, all ripe with the plague. I healed them. That’s when Valmarys came and took my elicrin gift. He transferred it to Jovie.”

  “No, no, no,” I muttered, lurching to catch up to him, latching on to his arm and forcing him to face me. “Is this some sort of morbid farce, Melkior?”

  “Look outside and see whose soldiers guard the palace. It’s not our guards or our branch of the Realm Alliance army. They’ve been summoned away to address the plague and the famine and the fires.”

  With my stomach tied in knots, I marched to one of the windows overlooking the courtyard. Men in white cloaks and tunics stood at attention around the perimeter—the perimeter of a new outer curtain wall that looked very unwelcoming to outsiders. Gray flags with white moth sigils fluttered in the breeze.