I smiled broadly as I moved into the stadium, the wide space open to a white sky. Snow fell gracefully above the heads of the thousands who sat around the pits yet never reached them, as it evaporated in the heat of the inside.
The sound of raucous bidding was deafening as I stood at the highest point in the stadium, rows stretched below me before dropping into a large, open pit where dirt and blood mixed together so seamlessly that, unless you knew what you were looking at, it would be easily mistaken for mud.
“Ovailia!” my father bellowed from below me, his voice an excited boom over the noise I was already inundated by.
Already in good spirits thanks to the entertainment, Edmund smiled with a dangerous grin that, to anyone else, would insight fear. And, while I did feel the shiver of warning, it was the eagerness of danger, of reward, that pulled me forward.
He sat alone, surrounded by pillows and platters of food, his guards flanking him in such a wide berth that he was an island amongst the shiny, silver bleachers. An island that was draped in an ornate cloak I hadn’t seen since before we had been banished from Imdalind the first time.
I recognized the fur-trimmed relic as what he used to wear to council when I was a child. It had been given to him by some king when he had saved their country, or so the history books said. In reality, it was him taking over, a coup he would run from behind the scenes.
Another kingdom we had claimed for our own.
Just like this one.
All he needed was the crown, and he would get it before all this was over.
“Father,” I began, his eyes lighting up at the greeting. “You seem quite comfortable.”
His nefarious smile grew, hand waving to the bare bleacher beside him in an invitation to sit.
Without missing a beat, one of his newly found servants, one of the Chosen, moved forward to place another pillow there, his head bowed low, his hands and arms covered with bruises. He shook as he moved, as if every step was a trial, the shake in his back growing the closer he moved to my father.
“Was your task completed?”
I knew he was speaking of Sain, and I smiled, the poison in my spine tightening in a heavy exhilaration. There was a reason I had been rushing to return to my father, and it wasn’t because he had called for me.
“Yes.” My voice gave everything away as my heart rate moved into a torrent of thunder.
I expected him to reply, to demand more information, but instead, he drank, smiled, the maniacal greed I had seen in his eyes so many times before taking over. It filled me as it did him, increasing my excitement.
“He gave you something.”
“He did not mean to.” My lips twitched into the smile my father always brought on, my own eagerness to tell him mounting.
“Was it the location of Ilyan’s camp?”
“No. You know as well as I do he cannot give that. Not that we would use it, anyway. We need those brats alive.”
He looked at me with a scowl, his displeasure obvious. My heart constricted at the possibility of failure before steadying again. Even though I might never be able to give him what he truly wanted, I already knew I had something better.
“I saw the sight,” I gasped, pulling his attention, “the one he’s been hiding from us, the one concerning Joclyn.” I leaned toward my father as he did me, the screams and catcalls erupting around us at the start of the next battle. The shock of what I had admitted sat heavily between us. “When I was standing in the field, the water inside of me pulled me into it—his recall.”
Despite the sound of the fight that had begun, despite my chest heaving with the excited breath, all I heard was silence, all I saw was the look of stunned shock on my father’s face.
His eyes darkened to a color I hadn’t seen before, the depth of them almost black, the bottom of an endless pool of death. A look of longing took over his face, making the fear spread into me in an electric way that made me feel alive.
“What did you see?”
“I saw you standing with Joclyn as companions at the banks of the deep wells of Imdalind. I saw Ilyan’s death. I saw the Vilỳs, untarnished, sweeping through the city in joyous revelry. I saw you and I and Ilyan sitting with Joclyn on the four-headed thrown, the one that was destroyed in the seventeenth century.”
“But that is not what he has told us. Are you sure it was true?” His words were slow, calculated, the pits and all the bloodshed not so much as pulling his attention anymore.
“What I saw, what the poison within me showed me, was nothing like what I had seen before. Yet, from what he was speaking of, from what the magic told me, it’s true. What I saw is what the sight always was. Even from the beginning. Sain changed it somehow. He changed what he saw before he gave the sight to Ilyan, before he showed it to me. I don’t know why, but what everyone thinks is true … is not.”
I could barely get the words out as the fear knotted through my shoulders with each shade my father’s eyes darkened.
“What are you saying?”
He already knew the answer. He just needed me to say it.
He needed me to unleash the anger.
A cheer broke through the crowd that surrounded us, the sound deafening as it filled the canvas tent we sat in. I didn’t know if someone had won, if someone had died. I didn’t bother to look. I didn’t dare break away from my father and the eagerness in his eyes.
“Sain has been playing us all—all of us—all along. But I have seen what’s coming. We have the upper hand.”
The eagerness in his eyes faded to anger, the flame in them moving to an aggression that rippled over him, tensing his shoulders as he turned away from me, looking back to the two small figures who battled in the pits below. Their frames were so small and fragile I was sure they were children.
“Did you see enough to know what he is planning?” I barely heard his grumble above the roar of the crowd, the sound almost incessant now. Something must have happened; I could smell the blood in the air.
I just didn’t care.
“No. I saw enough to know what the real outcome is … or, rather, what it was supposed to be.”
“Supposed to be?” He jerked toward me, his eyes wide as he questioned. “Do you not think that it will?”
Utter disbelief ran through me, shock at the unexpected question. He had never asked for my opinion.
Never.
And yet, there we sat, surrounded by the dust of battle, the smell of blood and sweat heavy as the question lingered between us.
Nerves and anxiety infected me with the simple question, the emotions growing worse by the minute.
“Sain prides himself on his infallibility. He has always been vocal about that. But even he could not believe in his own ability if he is giving false sights to those who seek his council.”
A small, feminine scream rang out from the pits before the boisterous yell of the crowd drowned us as my father turned to me, a grimace spreading over his face.
“Unless he believes that, by giving out whatever information he chooses and preaching of its truthfulness, it thereby will become.” Edmund had put the outcome together before I could, his words poignant as he turned back to the pits, watching the two children—a boy and a girl—as they clawed and pulled and battered each other in an attempt to draw more blood.
“Ovailia.”
A pleasurable ripple moved up my spine at the sound of my name on his lips. I sat up a little straighter, letting my hair fall down my back as I scooted closer to him, eager to hear what he had to say, eager to be what he needed me to be.
“I need you to arrange another meeting with him. If what I have done to you has allowed you to see this sight, then you can see more. Use it. If Sain won’t give us the information, then maybe you can get it for us.”
After all of his anger, after all of the fear he had bled into me, this was not what I had expected.
Pity? I had always been taught that pity was for the weak, and my father was not weak.
“
He has lied to you, Father; do you think showing him mercy is wise?”
“Normally, no. Regardless, he has already shown he does not fear us, so we need to give him a reason to love us, a reason to work alongside us.”
“But, Father—”
“Then we will crush him,” he interrupted, a smile stretching so wide the white of his teeth bled through. “He is still as valuable a pawn to us as we are to him. It all depends on how we make our moves, who gets the king first, so to speak. I will use him to the very fullest until the moment he becomes disposable.”
“But how do—”
“Look to the pits, Ovailia,” he interrupted again, his tone, while kind, warning me of the storm beneath the surface.
My muscles tightening in fear of what I had almost unleashed, my focus shifted toward the pit for the first time, toward the children who circled, who lunged, who bled, who screamed. Who battled for one of the coveted places inside of Imdalind, in my father’s army.
I had heard their fight before, but now I saw it. Now I rejoiced in the beauty of the system my father had created.
“Take these children,” he began with a small gesture of his hand. “Young, innocent, they don’t want to hurt each other. They don’t want to kill. But they want to impress me, and they will do anything to gain that honor…” He looked at me, his grin still wide and haunting before he stood, the bright red cloak unfurling beneath him until he looked like the royal monarch he was.
With nothing more than that one movement, heads turned toward him, the stadium began to quiet, and even the children who fought below us slowed to a stop, their eyes turned toward their king in expectation, their backs bent in reverence.
“This fight is a good one”—his voice was loud; even I cringed against the weight of it—”so let’s up the ante, shall we!” His voice rumbled as the crowd went wild, and the tiny frames of the children shook in anticipation. “The victor of this fight will move beyond Imdalind and gain the right to be my new, personal bodyguard.”
Gasps, awe, cheers, they filled me as they did the crowd around us, a pride and exhilaration flowing freely at what was about to occur.
The children looked at each other in question. Even though they didn’t fully understand, they knew this was a greater prize than what they had originally been told. And before Edmund had taken his seat on the billowy nest, they had begun to fight again, this time with more fervor and desperation than before.
“Will you look at that?” Edmund’s voice was a calm torrent beside me, but I, like him, couldn’t look away from the way the children attacked each other, jumping and clawing and tearing and biting. “They were doing as they were told before, but now … with a promise of victory, a promise of a better goal, they truly fight. Their hearts are in it now.”
My head snapped from the children to my father, unsurprised to see him sitting there with that grim smile on his face, his eyes revealing all the knowledge and power he had.
“Tell me, Ovailia, how did his magic react to yours today? Did it try to connect again?”
“It did.” I was proud, and he was pleased, which increased the ecstasy inside of me.
“So his desire for you is strengthening?”
“Yes, Father, as you asked me to do.”
“Wonderful,” he cooed, his focus finally pulling back to the pits where a lone child stood over a lifeless shape, tiny fists smashing into bloodied flesh again and again. “Use him. Even go as far as completing the bond if you must. Anything to access his sight, to get the information we need.”
“Complete the bond?” An odd mixture of desire and disgust roared through me, the disgusting emotions making me feel vile.
“He has secrets we need, Ovailia, and with the magic I have embedded in you, once a bond is complete, you will have full access to whatever I wish. You just need to give him a greater reward. Give him a reason to fight to the death, and you have always been his reason. You just need to show him you still are.”
He looked away from me as the child was pulled off the heap of the body she had destroyed, her eyes wild and manic, everything so covered in blood and dirt it was difficult to tell if it was the boy or the girl. If it wasn’t for the clothing, I would have never known.
One thing was perfectly clear: she knew she had won. She knew she had gotten what she wanted. And all because my father had given her the opportunity.
“Give him a reason to do anything I say,” I whispered more to myself than to my father, but he heard, anyway.
His face broke out into a smile, the same mania in his eyes darting to me as the pit master brought the child to him. “Give him a reason to fight for it.”
He was right, and what was more, I knew I could. Sain had shown me something in himself I had never seen before. His eyes had become something different, someone I had never seen, a magic I had never felt. Even when we were bonded, I had always felt that something was missing from the man, something he kept so deeply hidden I had even convinced myself it wasn’t there.
But today … Today, I had seen it.
Today, I had wanted it.
It was a feeling I was trying to ignore, yet hearing my father speak of the connection, of the espionage in such a way, I wanted it. I wanted to exploit it—exploit him.
“Our King, our lord,” one of my father’s many servants announced loudly from beside us, his voice carrying over the now silent stadium as he presented the child to her new master.
She was covered in blood and filth, her blonde hair barely visible from underneath the mud that coated it. She did not cower. She did not even try to hide. She stood still and tall as she met my father head-on, her focus solely on him.
It was as he had said. She knew what she had done; he just needed to give her a reason to do it.
“What is your name, child?” Edmund asked, his voice calm, obviously taken aback by the loyalty the child was already displaying.
“Míra,” she said, her voice as strong as the gaze she had fixed him with.
Edmund said nothing as he walked toward her, placing his hands on her bare arms as he looked at her.
Her steady gaze wavered as his magic filled her, as a new Štít was placed against her heart, taking away any choice over her life the girl had held before.
Turning the child into something more.
Just as my father had me.
Just as I would Sain.
It was as my father had said: it was all in how you played the game.
And I was going to play.
“Good job, Jaromir! You are going to be a pro at this in no time!” my voice boomed through the red-lit courtyard, the deep sound echoing off the cobbles and broken stone work in a weird ricochet.
Everything was different close to Ilyan and Joclyn’s barrier. The small patio was bathed in a golden light that filtered over the already painted world. The light made everything look real, closer to how things were on the outside. It wasn’t perfect, but close enough that, for brief moments, I could believe everything was normal.
You will never get outside.
That was probably why I preferred to do my work out here, even though Ilyan demanded all magical training take place within the cathedral where he had placed a secondary shield to protect the ancient building, as well as keep the signs of our presence as shrouded as possible. I understood the reasoning, but the ancient space was too dark for me. I always felt trapped. Besides, the larger barrier Ilyan and Jos had placed out here did much of the same job. So, as much as I could, I would bring us out here and pretend it was nothing but a never-ending sunset.
I wished that was all it took to forget we were trapped in my father’s doom bubble.
Don’t worry; I’ll keep reminding you.
Even if it wasn’t for the restrictive prison we were trapped in, there would still be that incessant voice in my head, the disembodied words of my father seeping through me, trying to control me.
Trying.
But he couldn’t, not anymore. I wouldn’t let
him. I would fight the anxiety his voice gave me. I would rise above him. I needed to, not just for me, but for what was coming.
I was reminded of it every day as I trained Jaromir, as I trained all of the other newly awakened Chosen, preparing them for what no amount of fantasy could conceal.
At first, I had rebelled against the job before I realized I was one of the few people here who knew what my father was capable of, who knew what they were up against. And someone needed to prepare them for the war that was ahead.
My war.
The war I am going win.
The war you are going to help me win.
No.
We shall see.
That training was as good a daily reminder as any.
“I didn’t quite get the flick like you taught me, though, sir,” the little boy spoke in quick Czech as he approached me, his shaggy hair bouncing as his voice rattled on with all the eagerness and excitement he’d possessed since the first day I had started training him.
“What flick?”
“You know, how you move your wrist to the side a bit…” He smiled widely, showing an odd mix of adult and baby teeth, before stepping away, the grin growing as he pushed his hands before him.
I could see the gears in his mind twist and turn as he thought about what he was about to do, as he twisted the magic to perform whatever wrist flick he was talking about.
With a bang like a gun, the magic erupted from his palms in sparks of colors that went wide, much wider than it had the time before, thanks to the odd jerking motion he was trying to accomplish.
Even with the large spray, the magic was still accomplished perfectly.
While all the other Chosen had fought against their new abilities and life, mourning what Edmund had taken from them, Jaromir took to it like a duck to water. He mastered complex tasks easily and quickly, surpassing all the others who had awoken around the same time.
You should use him.
Use him to help us win this.
To defeat Ilyan.
To kill Joclyn.
Of course, his acceleration was partly to do with how far he had pushed himself, how much perfection he expected. He refused to move on to another task until he had perfected it, and he would get quite upset with himself if things weren’t honed in record time. It was a lot for a boy of nearly nine to take on.
Dawn of Ash Page 8
