From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  “Hey.”

  He smiled sadly, kissing her on both cheeks. “I know better than to ask how you are, love. I heard what happened to William.”

  “Yes, well, as far as anyone knows, he was only my guard apprentice, nothing more.”

  Taking a sip of wine, he motioned to the room. “What brought this on?”

  “I thought, perhaps naively, that it was far past time for us all to reconnect. There’s too much going on in the realms for us to be silent.”

  The door to the room opened again, and they both turned. When Vlad strode through, Anastasia relaxed. Seeing who was on his arm, however, her stomach quickly soured. It seemed, impossibly, like Ostana’s belly had grown in the two days since she’d shown up in the Queen’s study. Mohan fell into a coughing fit upon seeing Ostana, choking on his wine.

  Anastasia narrowed her eyes. “What is she doing here?”

  “I don’t know.” Mohan cleared his throat. “When I left, Vlad said she wasn’t coming.”

  They both watched as Ostana approached her little brother, Niboki. Anastasia hadn’t even seen him, so keen was she on avoiding the dinner she’d created. Niboki took one look at Ostana’s pregnant belly and turned away from her, ignoring her attempts to talk to him. Eala, who was talking with Niboki, gave Ostana a pitying look, but said nothing to the little werewolf prince. Despite herself, Anastasia felt sorry for Ostana. Upon hearing of her unmarried state, her family practically disowned her, much like Euaristos, the King of the Demigods, had done to his daughter, Isidora, when she’d confessed her love for a vampire stable hand.

  Looking away, Anastasia greeted Vlad. His vampire fangs flashed as he gave them a quick grin, shaking both of their hands.

  “We’ve told everyone that we eloped,” he said in lieu of greeting.

  Mohan pursed his lips. “Any particular reason why you felt the need to elope?”

  Vlad narrowed his eyes, but ignored him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was bringing Ostana. I just thought—”

  “You’ve made many mistakes, Vlad,” Anastasia said coolly. “What’s another among friends?”

  Steeling herself, she marched away. Nearing the table, she surveyed the room. Nalin, Prince of the Elementals, stood with Eala and Niboki. His white hair—in a long braid down his back, as he was unmarried—lifted in a magical breeze, while his all-white eyes flitted between the mermaid and werewolf princes. He wore a traditional black jeogori coat that started with a high white collar, and hung loosely down to mid-calf. The long, puffy sleeves, chest, and back were decorated with gold thread, depicting the traditional nine symbols of his kingdom for wisdom, strength, and kindness when ruling.

  Across the room, Prince Zeathus, of the Demigods, conversed with Prince Hughie of the ghosts. While Zeathus was dressed in the linen chiton toga-like gown of his home realm, with polished gold fasteners embossed with lightning bolts, Hughie was dressed in the simple shirt and pants he’d died in.

  Behind them, the Prince of the Giants, Dammek, stood with Prince Rokker of the Trolls. They shared a plate of hors d’oeuvres, murmuring together.

  These were the future rulers of the High Council, the Princes of the realms. It felt surreal to be with them all again, after so long. How they’d all changed over the years. She remembered when Dammek, now well over seven feet tall, had been shorter even than Rokker. Or when Eala had played ball games in the Sehirian gardens with Anastasia and his now-wife, Diriara. The only somber part was Aatu’s absence. He would have loved this reunion of sorts, nearly as much as he would have enjoyed making poor puns at the transparency of Hughie’s spectral form.

  A servant stepped into the room, clearing his throat. “Dinner will now be served.”

  They all took their places at the long table, Anastasia at its head where her mother usually sat. Mohan took up the seat at her right, while Vlad and Ostana thankfully sat further down the table. Eala sat on Anastasia’s other side, offering a reassuring smile.

  “Good to see you again, so soon,” he intoned.

  She grinned. “I’m glad it’s under better circumstances.”

  “As am I.”

  Servants entered, carrying bowls of iced fruit soup. When they left, murmured conversations began again.

  Nalin nodded to Mohan and Anastasia’s proximity with a wry smile. “Why is it that sorcerers and Nadmilise are so close? It seems you cannot have one without the other nowadays.”

  Hughie leaned forward. “It is because they are the two most ancient races. The Nadmilise were created as spiritual leaders and are the great ancestors of the human race. What they lacked in magic was put into the sorcerers, who were created as their counterpart. They were literally made as two halves of a whole.”

  Mohan snorted. “Thanks for the history lesson, love.”

  “I didn’t know that,” said Vlad.

  From down the table, Zeathus cleared his throat. “So why are we really here, Anastasia?”

  All other conversations ceased as the future rulers of the realms turned their eyes to Anastasia. She resisted the urge to squirm under the weight of their gazes, and instead wiped her mouth with a napkin while she collected her thoughts.

  “Long ago, the future rulers of the realms would gather regularly.” She looked between them. “They would discuss politics, trade, their lives, knowing that they would all, someday, make up the High Council. They understood that they would need to at least be friendly with one another, if nothing else, to rule effectively.”

  Zethus rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, that’s all well and good. But you don’t want us to be friends. You want to know if we’re going to leave Jacqueline to its own mess like the werewolves.”

  “We did not do that!” Niboki exclaimed.

  “So what was it, cub?”

  Ostana pursed her lips. “Our father is not the same after Aatu’s death. He is not thinking clearly, which is why my mother stepped in—”

  “They are not your family, veyisha.”

  Veyisha certainly was not a word said in proper company. In fact, Anastasia had to think of what it meant; her mother definitely wouldn’t have taught it to her. Wincing at Niboki’s harsh language, Ostana lowered her eyes. Vaguely, Anastasia wondered if this was truly how Niboki felt about his sister, or if those were his father’s words coming from his mouth. She doubted the ten-year-old was capable of such blind hatred.

  Mohan whistled softly, leaning close to Anastasia. “It’s like our very own Opera.”

  “Either way,” Nalin said into the stunned silence, “the werewolves did pull out of the Realm Guard.”

  Zethus started up again. “Yes, but none of this explains why Anastasia felt like getting us all together in one room. Unless…” He peered into his soup. “Wasn’t someone poisoned here a few months ago?”

  The other princes looked into their own soups, suddenly disinterested in eating. They couldn’t honestly think she’d poison them, could they? It didn’t make any sense. Gods and Angels, Anastasia forgot how much she detested Zethus. He was crude, just like his father. No wonder his sister Isidora wanted to get away.

  “The food isn’t poisoned, Zethus,” Vlad said.

  “Unless you’re in on it, too. You, Mohan, and Anastasia are oddly close.”

  Vlad narrowed his eyes. “We’re friends.”

  “Yes, well, so were you and Ostana, until, you know, you weren’t.” Zethus nodded to Ostana. “How was your wedding, by the way?”

  Anastasia put down her spoon. “Enough!”

  All eyes turned again to her, but this time, she didn’t waver. They were nothing but frightened children hiding behind their parents’ bravado—even Vlad. They’d never truly witnessed war. They’d never witnessed famine, or Shadow attacks, or mass imprisonments. None of them knew how to act, towards themselves or to each other. To get through this, they would need each other. They couldn’t fall to squabbling amongst themselves, especially if their parents were lost along the way.

  “We were all friends, once upon a tim
e,” she finally said. “And I believe we should work towards that, once again. My main reason for calling this meeting was to share information. Our realms cannot withstand us acting like individual realms any longer. We must merge, if we are to survive.”

  Dammek tilted his head. “Merge?”

  “Freely share information and advice, integrate our policies and our people.”

  The servants came and cleared away the soups before bringing the next course. Anastasia was glad to see that most of them finished the soup, in spite of Zethus’ poison claim.

  Dammek spoke first in his low, slow tone. “I see the castle has fared well despite the Shadows.”

  “We are thankful it has been restored to its previous beauty,” said Anastasia.

  “And the refugees?”

  “The lists change by the minute. It has been difficult, but we have managed to reunite forty-three-percent of people with their families.”

  Zethus snorted. “Only forty-three? The Demigods have ninety-eight-percent reunited.”

  “Yes, well,” Mohan interjected, “only five of your men were displaced, so those really aren’t very high odds.”

  “We lost more than five men.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Seven. Seven men. My apologies.”

  Before Zethus could retort, the servants cleared the table for the next course. Anastasia took a sip of cold ale, sitting back in her seat. It was at that moment she realized Niboki wasn’t at the table. Confused, she excused herself and headed out into the hall. She found him, a moment later, standing at the door to the kitchens, holding a tankard of ale.

  “Niboki?”

  He turned, his face falling into a comically shocked expression as he recognized her. “A-Anastasia.”

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I don’t like ale.”

  “Alright.”

  He held out the pitcher. “I added some honey, like Aatu used to.”

  She felt a pang of grief. Hearing Aatu’s name coming out of his brother’s mouth—his brother who looked like a miniature version of him—was surreal. It felt like ages since she’d lost him, and yet, it could’ve been yesterday.

  “I know I’ve never said it to you, but I am sorry about Aatu.”

  Niboki nodded. “I know it wasn’t your fault.”

  She started. Surely Tamo was just as upset about losing Aatu as he was about Ostana’s pregnancy. So why wasn’t Niboki shouting at her as he had his sister?

  “Niboki, I—”

  “And I know it isn’t your fault we aren’t getting married.” He shrugged. “You were married to my brother. That would’ve been weird.”

  She laughed at the disgusted look on his face. “I agree.”

  “I liked you, you know, when we met.”

  “I liked you, too.”

  Together, they returned to the banquet hall. Wordlessly, she finished her ale and held out her goblet to take some of the honeyed ale, as Aatu had liked it. Niboki met her eyes down the table and grinned, raising his own goblet.

  “No, I don’t agree,” Nalin was saying. “We shouldn’t be punishing deserters so severely.”

  Zethus scoffed. “They do it once, they’ll do it again. You can’t trust a man at your back with a sword if he’s just as likely to turn and run with it. They’re cowards!”

  “Following orders doesn’t equate heroes.”

  “No, but you’re less likely to die.”

  Rokker amiably slammed his fist on the table. “I agree with thine Council. Thine deserters should be punished to thy fullest extent.”

  “Thank you,” Zethus said.

  Eala speared a piece of meat and waved his fork around as he talked. “There are a number of reasons people don’t follow orders. Cowardice is one, but it is not the sole reason.”

  “Again, it comes down to percentages.” Zethus shook his head. “Cowardice is the most common reason, regardless.”

  Anastasia thought of William and Chris. Chris deserted the Realm Guard to help her get to Jumba among the Sehirian refugees in the Sky Temple. William had ignored his draft summons to help her find her grandmother. Neither was cowardice. But she couldn’t share that information with Zethus.

  “How easy your life must be,” Mohan said, “that you can live in black and white.”

  Zethus frowned. “There is right or there is wrong. No in between.”

  Hughie pursed his lips. “So where do you stand on the draft? Should women be included for every realm?”

  “If you are able-bodied, you should defend your realm.”

  Vlad dropped his fork. “How can you expect women to fight alongside men? They are the fairer sex!”

  A guard slipped inside and approached Anastasia. She leaned back in her seat so she could hear the whispered message, covered from eavesdroppers by the buzz of conversation.

  “William Dinas has escaped custody, Your Highness.”

  Anastasia didn’t outwardly react, but inside she felt like she had a stomach full of snakes. “Thank you.”

  The guard exited. Anastasia thought back to the conversation with Calla and a silent anger ignited within her. Calla couldn’t have honestly broken William out of prison, could she? What did she think would happen? That her family would pass judgement on him and he would just step into the role Head Warrior? Did they care not for the fact that William was now a fugitive as well as a deserter? Gods and Angels, what had they done?

  “There are examples from this last battle,” Dammek murmured. “Of strong women.”

  Mohan continued, “Nadmilise, sorcerers, elementals—”

  “All very well,” Vlad replied. “But they have advantages. The sorcerers and elementals have kinds of magic, and the Nadmilise are stronger.”

  “Thine lasses can be trained,” Rokker said.

  Vlad scoffed. “I’d like to see you try to give a vampiress a weapon.”

  Anastasia’s mouth twisted in a wry smile as she remembered the band of vampiresses that attacked her and William outside of Miruna’s cottage. Surely Vlad would’ve sang a different tune had he met those women.

  Ostana’s fork clattered against her plate a moment before she gave a small cry of pain. They all turned to look at her. She had her hands on her belly and breathed raggedly. Immediately, Anastasia understood; Ostana was in labor. It took Vlad and the others a moment to realize. Once they did, they all leapt to their feet, quite unsure of how to handle themselves. Vlad recovered first.

  “Someone send a message to my father. We need to portal to Viire!”

  Nalin shook his head. “She can’t portal in her condition; look at how close her pains are.”

  The men all stared at Ostana again, trying to figure out how best to handle the situation. Anastasia stepped up, all of her conflicted feelings about Ostana vanishing as she tried to remember what she knew of birthing a child.

  “She’ll give birth here.” Turning to Mohan, she instructed, “I need a bucket of water and some cloths.” To the others, she instructed, “Clear the table and help Ostana lie down.”

  As the princes leapt to follow her instructions, Anastasia spoke soothingly to Ostana. “Just breathe slowly and hold tight to Vlad’s hand. It’s going to be all right.”

  Once Ostana was on her back, and Mohan returned with the water and cloths, Anastasia knelt between Ostana’s legs. It seemed the baby was ready to come into the world. Absently, Anastasia realized Ostana must have been in labor since before dinner. A grudging respect bloomed within her; she didn’t think she’d be able to sit though dinner with contractions. Anastasia was thankful, either way, as she remembered very little about the correct way to midwife.

  “By the Gods!” Ostana swore. “Make it stop!”

  Vlad smoothed her hair back from her face. “It’s almost over.”

  “This is your fault! Yours! You hear me?”

  Anastasia did what she could to coax the baby free, pressing the warm cloths around Ostana’s thighs. Mohan pressed a fresh cloth to Ostana’s sweaty forehead
. She screamed, gripping Vlad’s hand. The other princes stood in a semi-circle around Ostana and Vlad, watching with equal parts mystification and fear.

  When, at last, the baby was free, Anastasia took a knife from the floor and cut the umbilical cord. She cleaned the child and passed him over to Ostana.

  “Dear God,” Vlad breathed and started to cry.

  Ostana stared at the pale infant in her arms as though shocked it had actually come from within her. Zethus wordlessly distributed everyone’s goblets.

  “To the baby!”

  Anastasia raised her goblet in a toast, feeling suddenly very tired. “To the baby.”

  As she took a sip, she marveled at the strange taste of the ale. It was sweet and a little sour, along with the yeasty flavor of the ale itself. No wonder Aatu had liked adding the honey; it brought out dimensions in the flavors.

  Mohan put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Life’s a beautiful thing, love.”

  She leaned into him, watching Ostana and Vlad with the baby. Standing there with her friends—for it seemed that was what they were—her issues suddenly seemed miniscule.

  She couldn’t agree more.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  W hen Lili came to rouse her that morning, Anastasia was already awake, seated at the small desk in her chambers. She held a stick of violet wax over a candle, watching the wax drip onto the letter she’d just written. After it pooled, she pressed the seal to it, watching with tired fascination as it dried, the tiara and voluptuous swirls of the Jacquelinian royal crest embossed in the purple.

  “Did you sleep at all, my Princess?” Lili questioned, throwing the curtains wide.

  Anastasia winced in the sudden brightness. “Enough.”

  “Hmm.”

  Lili moved to the wardrobe, choosing the gown Anastasia would wear for the day. Placing her letter on the pile she’d accumulated that morning, Anastasia rose.

  “I called on Master Glude.”

  Taking Anastasia’s dressing gown, Lili nodded. “For?”

  “I don’t want to call the Representatives back for William’s escape. I’m sure they’d do something drastic. But I can’t do nothing, or else it looks like I just let him go.”