by Kova, Elise
“No, I’m finding Alyss.”
Marcus rushed back to her, grabbing both shoulders before she could turn away. “I promised him we would have dinner together tonight. There’s something he wanted to tell me.”
“Good, you two can have dinner. We will catch up some other time.”
“But it’s midweek. We always have dinner midweek.”
“You should have thought about that before you scheduled dinner with Cullen.” Eira folded her arms.
“Please, Eira. He’s not that bad.”
Cullen was that bad. And worse. Cullen was more terrible than Noelle and Adam combined. He was the “Prince of the Tower,” for the Mother’s sake. As far as Eira was concerned, he was the worst. He rarely spoke to anyone. And when he did, it always served to remind everyone else that they were far, far beneath him.
“Marcus—”
“Please.” Marcus leaned forward and met her eyes. His were a darker shade than hers, like his hair, and more of a sea blue than ice. His eyes were warm and inviting, like him. Hers were brisk, almost unnaturally bright, and off-putting…like her.
“Fine.” She sighed. “Fine, fine, fine.” Eira added a groan at the end for good measure. “But you owe me something good from Margery’s Bakery.”
“A sweet bun?”
“Two sweet buns, whenever I request.”
“Done.” Marcus clapped his hands and started down the Tower. Eira watched, debating one final time if she should follow or just escape while she could. With another groan, she caught up to her brother. A promise was a promise, especially between siblings.
They left the Tower through an unmarked door. Every apprentice had their name emblazoned on their door with a silver nameplate, lovingly made by a young Firebearer of the Tower as one of their early tasks. But the unmarked doors signified passages that connected with the palace proper.
“Marcus.”
“Yes?”
“Have you ever found a Tower passage that wasn’t marked?”
“What do you mean?” He glanced over his shoulder. The lone flame bulb of the long hall cast deep shadows on his face.
“A door, or passage, that wasn’t obvious?”
“What’re you talking about?” Marcus paused at the opposite end of the hall. It looked like a dead end, the mortared stone of the palace rounding out where an exit should be.
“I—” Eira tried to gather her slippery thoughts. “—I just thought that there’s so many secret, but not secret, passages… Maybe there’s one or two that are actually secret? Maybe there are passages that people have long forgotten about?”
Her brother chuckled. “Is this a plot from one of Alyss’s novels?”
“Yes.” Eira forced a laugh. “Never mind, ignore me.”
And he did.
Life had taught Eira over the years that she was an easy one to ignore—to forget, even. Sometimes, she wondered if she had an illusion cast over her at all times that made her blend in with the walls around her. An illusion like the one they passed through.
Marcus went first. He submerged himself without fear into the dead end of the tunnel. It was as if fog consumed him whole. Eira went after, passing through the illusion of a stone wall and into a palace hall. The only marker of the illusion was a small symbol—two halves of a circle, broken and offset from each other. It was the old symbol of the Tower, called the Broken Moon. That symbol had persisted for more than a hundred years before the crown princess, Vi Solaris, had decreed it must be changed to the marking of four circles and triangles that was now on the back of Eira’s robes. A sudden and strange demand, for sure. But Eira favored the new symbol over the old.
They walked down through the palace hallways to the training grounds. Uncle Fritz had told her that sorcerers were once an oddity on the grounds—unwelcome, as sorcerers had been in most places. It was a strange thought, because one wouldn’t think it had ever been true now.
The dusty training grounds of the palace had a whole section dedicated to sorcerers. They practiced alongside the palace guard and remnants of the Solaris army. Now, the vast expanse was empty, save for six people.
Marcus paused at a rampart, staring down at the small group that trained more by torchlight than sunlight. He rested his hand on the tall stone railing, looking on with what Eira could only describe as awe. She came to a stop alongside him, watching as well.
Three children sat off to the side. They were the newest class of Tower apprentices. Eira had heard the youngest was seven. The children watched as two young men practiced their sorcery, facing off against each other. They lobbed gusts of air that dug trenches into the packed earth. They dodged with unnatural grace, bodies hovering in the air for longer than should be possible. Their feet and hands moved like the wind. Because that’s what they were…Windwalkers.
Windwalkers were the rarest of all the elemental affinities of the Solaris Empire—sorcerers thought to be extinct until one emerged from the ashes of a dark history: Vhalla Yarl. The woman who was born a commoner, thought to be a Commons, and then ascended beyond her station like a bird soaring against gravity to become the empress.
The same woman who was currently instructing both young men in the sparring ring.
“Just think of it,” Marcus whispered. “Learning from the empress herself.”
“You learn from the Minister of Sorcery himself.” Something Eira yearned for. Even though she had the same blood as Marcus, she had never received the same privileges as her brother. Fritz had never pulled her aside for time one-on-one.
“It’s not the same.”
“Fate would have seen you born as a Windwalker if it wanted you to learn from the empress.” Eira watched the two combatants dance. She didn’t know the name of the younger, but she knew the older—Cullen.
Cullen was the oldest Windwalker. The first to awaken after Empress Vhalla. He had been treated with all the care that would be given to a quail egg from the moment he’d arrived in the Tower. Nothing was too good when it came to him. He was the darling child of every instructor.
Even the city had been enamored with him when he’d arrived. Being the first Windwalker after Vhalla Yarl had created an air of mystery and allure surrounding him. He’d even been granted a place in the Solaris court just for being a Windwalker. And because his father had gained a swift senate appointment.
He was first-generation money and nobility, and he acted like it.
“If only.” Marcus sighed wistfully, dropping to his elbows and leaning against the railing.
Eira couldn’t stand watching her brother daydream over being in the prick’s shoes. Instead of watching, she placed the small of her back on the stone, leaning on her elbows and turning her gaze to the frosty mountains beyond. Her brother, the epitome of perfection in her eyes, hoisted Cullen up on a pedestal as if he were the Mother’s gift to all sorcery. As if Cullen were somehow even better than the empress.
“You have a lot, Marcus. Don’t wish it away,” Eira murmured.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Any further conversation was cut off.
“Marcus, is that you?” Cullen called up.
“Hello, friend!” Marcus waved furiously. “Don’t let me interrupt.”
“We just finished; it’s all right, come down.”
“Are you sure?”
A pause to no doubt check with the empress. Then, “Yes, it’s fine.”
Marcus wheeled to face her. “Come on.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Come on. We have a chance to meet the empress!” Marcus grabbed her hand and nearly tore Eira’s arm from her socket as he tugged her down the stairs pocketed into the wall that surrounded the training grounds.
Had this been his plan all along? Eira wouldn’t exactly be shocked if it had been. Her brother was good at getting what he wanted. Perhaps befriending Cullen years ago and slowly working his way closer and closer to the other man was a long game to this mome
nt. She stared at the back of her brother’s golden-bronze hair. Whatever went on in his head was a mystery to her. But if only she were half as talented…half as determined…and half as loved as he was…
The world would be hers.
They emerged out of a side door and onto the training grounds. Cullen was already making his way over to them. The empress hung back, giving instructions that couldn’t be heard to the other Windwalkers.
“I’m sorry, friend. Time got away from me,” Cullen apologized with a suave smile. He said the words, but he didn’t look sorry in the slightest. Eira had no doubt he was used to people being at his beck and call.
Marcus finally let go of her and Eira gladly fell behind. She laced her fingers, watching as Marcus gave his friend a firm pat on the shoulder, exchanging pleasantries.
Cullen, the Prince of the Tower, as the ladies called him. He looked the part in all his fine court clothes. His hair was a deep brown, so dark that in the fading light it nearly looked black. But Eira knew from a past excursion she had been forced on that, when the sun hit it, there were strands that glowed almost as gold as her brother’s hair. Cullen’s eyes were a hazel sunset color—piercing, almost uncomfortably bright, like hers. Eyes that now turned to her.
“You brought your sister.” Cullen’s expression fell, the warmth leaving it.
“I can go,” Eira said easily. “In fact—”
“In fact it’s our weekly dinner tonight,” Marcus interjected. “You won’t mind if she eats with us, will you?”
“Not at all,” Cullen said with the grace one would expect of someone who’d received finishing lessons. The smile he forced objected.
Unwanted Eira. The ice wraith of the Tower. Sorcerer colder than winter. Eira was so busy beating herself up that she nearly missed the whispers.
…you and I…
…sure it’s safe…
The second voice belonged to the icy woman she’d heard earlier. The same woman who had occupied, or at least passed through, the mysterious room she’d found. The same woman who had spoken of killing the emperor. Eira turned her head, looking toward the wall where the whispers seemed to come from. She hadn’t heard the voice ever before, and now the woman was haunting her.
“What is it?” Marcus asked, a worried note seeping into his tone. He whispered, “Is it the voices?”
“It’s nothing,” Eira said quickly. “Nothing. Sorry, I thought of something I have to do, that’s all. I should—” Eira was interrupted once more, this time by the empress.
“Cullen.” Empress Vhalla Solaris crossed over to them. Her brown hair had been carefully coiled and pulled into braids that framed a golden circlet around her brow. One would expect an empress to be lofty and off-putting. But Eira found her more approachable than Cullen. “Are these your friends?”
“Yes, Marcus is a very good friend.” Cullen motioned to her brother. Eira took half a step back, as if she could become one with the shadow and fade away. She didn’t miss that he purposefully didn’t mention her.
“It’s good to meet you, Marcus,” the empress said kindly.
“Your Majesty.” Marcus sank into a low bow. “I apologize for the interruption.”
“Not an interruption at all.” The empress’s eyes promptly turned to Eira. “And you are?”
“Eira, Your Majesty.” She kept her eyes on her toes as she pinched her dress with three fingers and curtsied. Or, at least did her best approximation of a curtsy. Marcus seemed so natural among them. He was born for this. She was…a continual liability to his aspirations. What could her brother achieve if he wasn’t saddled with her?
Eira hated the question, but she hated the answer even more.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” the empress said politely, and promptly turned to Cullen. “You need to be better about not telegraphing your attacks. That’s how Gregor got in so many surprise hits to you today.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Cullen nodded.
Despite her scolding tone, the empress smiled with what Eira would dare say was fondness. “You remind me of myself. I had the hardest time with telegraphing, too. It’s natural, after all. We want to flow with the air.”
“I will do better,” Cullen vowed, nonetheless.
“I know you will. Now, if you will all—”
Horns echoed over Solarin.
All of them paused, holding their breath. Horns blared for two things and two things only. The first was war. But Solaris had been in peacetime for over twenty years. The second…was for the royal family.
“Vi.” Vhalla whispered the name of her eldest daughter, completely forgetting herself. Eira watched as the empress’s royal facade crumbled and a mother’s adoration shone through. Vi Solaris, admiral of the Solaris armada and crown princess, had been gone now for almost two years. “Please excuse me,” she said hastily and started across the training grounds, meeting guards already emerging from the castle.
Cullen placed his hands in his pockets, a thoughtful and unreadable expression on his severe features. “We should go to the Sunlit Stage; it seems the crown princess has finally returned from the brutal lands of Meru.”
3
“Meru isn’t a brutal place.” The words sprung from Eira’s lips before she could think better of them.
“What?” Cullen seemed startled that she was still there. “Oh, that’s right, you’re the one who’s obsessed with the Crescent Continent, aren’t you?”
“It’s called Meru,” Eira murmured, reminding him even though he’d just used its proper name.
“Let’s just go to the Sunlit Stage,” Marcus suggested. Her big brother saving her did have its perks. Marcus knew every topic Eira wanted to avoid and usually used that power for good. It was only a terrible ability when he was the one pestering her about said topic. “The crown princess hasn’t been home since the announcement of the engagement.”
“And what an announcement that was,” Cullen said with a shake of his head. “I can’t believe our princess will wed one of those pointy-eared folk.”
Eira remembered that night. It was the only time she and her brother had been permitted to a state function. Their uncles had brought them to a winter ball where the crown princess had announced her engagement.
“They’re called elfin.” She couldn’t stop herself from pointing out Cullen’s mistakes.
Cullen glanced over his shoulder at her. “Are you going to correct me at every turn?”
“If you keep being wrong then it’s my burden to bear.”
“Such tact.” An unkind smile spread on his lips. “I would love to see you for a day at the royal court. It would certainly be a sight to watch.”
“Keep your courts, I don’t care for them.”
“I suspect the feeling would be mutual.”
Eira glared.
“Be nice,” Marcus said with a note of combined warning and scolding to both of them. “Don’t talk to or about my little sister like that.”
“Apologies to you both.” Cullen didn’t sound sorry at all. Eira glared daggers of ice into the back of his skull, stopping just before they manifested in thin air and actually hurt the man.
She didn’t want to hurt anyone. Even if her magic insisted otherwise… Eira couldn’t deny a dark and curious corner of her wondered what it would feel like to freeze him slowly, just like the journal described. Could she hold him in a frigid stasis without killing him?
“You too.” Marcus didn’t exempt her.
“I’ll be nice as long as he is.” This was why she never had spent time with Cullen and Marcus.
She’d met Cullen years ago and didn’t like him in the slightest, avoiding him like the plague. Every story she’d heard whispered about him since affirmed the decision. Cullen was a polarizing person and Eira knew she was on the right pole when Alyss had agreed with her assessment. Then, after the incident three years ago and his involvement…Eira had all the more reason to be skeptical of his intentions.
The Sunlit Stage was the roya
l receiving area and largest, grandest public entrance to the palace. A wide stage connected the palace with an arena below. Common folk flooded in while palace servants and staff began to fill tall risers that stretched up and away from the semi-circle like sunbeams.
Luckily, they were among the first to arrive and secured good placement on the lower risers right above the archway that the crown princess would ride in through. The younger Windwalkers packed in around them, staying close. The other palace servants gave them a good step’s worth of distance, even when it became crowded. The wariness that prevailed in public consciousness around sorcerers was a stubborn weed—nearly impossible to rip out from the roots.
Eira ignored the servants, as usual, gripped the railing before her tightly, and stared at nothing. She submerged herself deep into the ocean of her magic, down and down until everything was muffled. This was a noisy place. The people were as loud as the brick and mortar. Everyone and everything wanted to speak all at once in a din that only grew in volume the moment the emperor, empress, and younger prince emerged with their royal detail and took their place at the edge of the stage.
“Imagine what it’s like…” Marcus sighed wistfully. His voice brought her back. “To have people screaming your name.”
“It gets old,” Cullen japed.
“Oh, quiet, you.” Marcus elbowed his friend.
Eira kept her eyes downcast toward the archway below them. Any moment now, there would be—
The rumble of hooves brought the crowd to a hush. With the flutter of pennons catching on torchlight, moonlight, and the last dregs of sunlight alike, a group of twenty people rode through the center roadway and into the heart of the Sunlit Stage. Eira inhaled slowly, as though she could breathe in the unbridled air of a land across the sea…a land filled with unimaginable magic and peoples beyond her current comprehension. As if the people before her radiated that very air off their velvet-clad shoulders.
Elfin. They looked almost like humans, but weren’t. From their pointed ears to brightly colored eyes, they were something different. A race of people that had been unknown to the Solaris Empire for hundreds of years until Crown Princess Vi Solaris formed the Imperial Armada and sailed across the sea three mere years ago. In three years, the world changed for the Solaris Empire.
