From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  Turning to Mistress Miglune, Anastasia inclined her head. “Thank you for your time.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  “I appreciate your help with this.”

  Mistress Miglune got to her feet. “Please let me know if I can be of further assistance.”

  As she left, Anastasia pulled out a piece of parchment and scrawled a quick note. Lili stepped inside, hovering in the doorway as Mistress Miglune let herself out.

  “Was she of any help, my Princess?”

  Anastasia stamped the letter with the royal seal, handing it to Lili. “Have this sent, would you?” As Lili nodded, she added, “She helped me understand the killer better, I believe. When the response comes in, tell him I will be awaiting him in the throne room.”

  Lili nodded. “Yes, my Princess.”

  Getting to her feet, Anastasia exited the room. When she reached the throne room, she sat in her mother’s throne and closed her eyes. Centering herself as her grandmother had taught her, she breathed deep, focusing on her premonition power. She reached out with her mind, grasping onto the violet thread in her mind’s eye. It jerked her forward, drawing her into the future. She tried to focus her thoughts, tried to select the future she wanted to see, but still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it.

  As she slumped back in the throne, an image exploded in her mind:

  The blue-eyed sorcerer stands on the dais in the throne room. I watch him as he gently runs his fingers over the carved wood. He stares up at the violet-glassed windows as though transfixed. And though this is a seemingly beautiful moment, I am on fire. Rage floods through me, this time my own. I hold myself still, wrapped in chains, threatening to explode.

  How could he have done this? He murdered countless people for his agenda and destroyed the realms in the process. For what? A throne? To be King? He could have it. Though, now, it really isn’t mine to give.

  He moves down from the dais, a grin splitting his face. If it wasn’t so laced with malice, I would be happy for him. At least the parts of him I used to know. But he isn’t that person any more than I am the girl he once knew. We both changed over the last few years. And I’m not completely sure for the better. But here we are, facing off once again. It feels like a loop we can’t break. No matter how we try to get away from each other, something keeps bringing us face-to-face.

  “Come now, Anastasia,” he says. “Surely you can muster some happiness for me in this time of coronation?”

  I spit on the floor at his feet. “You’re crazy.”

  He grins, which only justifies my response. He isn’t the man I once knew. He is long gone, trapped by the madness. And I’m not sure I can ever get him back.

  Throwing his arms wide, he engulfs me in black smoke. I begin to choke. Then reality sets in. This could be it, how I die. Is it a fitting end, do you think? Suffocated at his hands, with the use of Shadow magic? I don’t particularly think so, but alas…

  Just as I start to blink out, unconsciousness clawing for me, a flash of red explodes in front of me. An arrow shoots forward, hitting him square in the chest. He crumples, contorting on the floor. I suck in a deep breath of fresh air as his magic fades. My eyes widen as I struggle to take in what is happening to him. He shudders and quivers, screaming as his body starts to rip in two. But he isn’t dying. He’s becoming something new, something—

  Anastasia awoke, gasping for breath. She struggled to return to the vision, to see the end, but it was no use; it had faded, her magical connection to it severed.

  Sitting back in her throne, letting the deep auburns and blues of her premonition fade, she mulled over what she’d seen. The blue-eyed sorcerer was back; she hadn’t had a premonition about him in ages. And, it seemed, he would be taking her throne, taking over Jacqueline. And given her reaction in the vision, that meant that her epilepsy wouldn’t be getting better.

  She shivered, forcing herself not to think about it. She needed to figure out who it was that shot him, and what they shot him with. What could that red flash have been? A person, surely. But who? And how did they know how to stop him?

  A knock sounded at the door. Lili stuck her head in to announce, “Knowledgist Woodsman, my Princess.”

  Anastasia had nearly forgotten she’d written to Chris’ dad. She waved him in, smoothing her hands over her skirts. A moment later, Aleric Woodsman stepped inside the room. He wore plain trousers and a decorative tunic, the small, knowledgists’ tattoos on his forearms hidden.

  He bowed. “Your Highness.”

  “Knowledgist Woodsman, thank you for coming.”

  She studied him for a moment, wondering if he would be prone to the same outburst as William’s father. Though he regarded her in a detached manner, he didn’t seem overtly hostile. She wasn’t sure if she should be glad for that or not. It was far easier to know her footing with someone when they shouted at her.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.”

  He inclined his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “There have been some disappearances across the realms. There seems to be no connection between the victims, other than their age.”

  She didn’t enjoy lying to him, but she understood that she couldn’t outright say all of these people had been murdered and she’d met them in an alternate universe. Nor could she tell him about their DNA being stolen for a ritual. It would cause undue panic.

  “I would like you to look into the List of Ancients. I believe there could be a connection there.”

  He nodded, pensive. “Especially after the botched Anistes Droun attempt.”

  She raised her eyes at him, surprised of his understanding. She hoped her flimsy lie wouldn’t be too easily uncovered.

  “Is there anything you would like me to look at in particular, Your Highness?”

  “Yes. There is a person called the Vatis. They are a vessel capable of reading the List.”

  “I will see what I can find.” He considered her for a moment. “But I must be honest, Your Highness, I have not studied much about ancient Nadmilise lore. I am not sure I am the right person for the task.”

  She frowned. “Your son has the List, Knowledgist Woodsman. It is what blinds him.”

  Though the news certainly caught Aleric off guard, his demeanor didn’t change. He looked up at her, with an expression so much like Chris’ it nearly hurt to look at him. But he didn’t challenge her or seem off-put in any way. He simply nodded, once, and bowed again.

  “I will return once I have the answers you seek.”

  She offered a wan smile. “Thank you.”

  As he left, Anastasia sank back in her throne. She wanted to forget about all of this, just run away and not look back until she felt capable of getting a handle on all the moving pieces in her life. She was sure Aleric would see through her lies, especially if word of the murders was spreading through the people. Plus, William was still missing, which didn’t bode well for either of them. Her mother still hadn’t recovered, and Mistress Miglune was still pushing for her to take the signet. And there was still the matter of trying to fix the realms after the Chaos, the werewolves pulling out of the Realm Guard, her epilepsy, Dani being off on the Sand Isles tracking Shadows…

  She needed a serious break. But she knew she couldn’t afford one. Instead, she settled for reveling in the silence of the throne room. No one spoke; the silence pressed in on her like a living entity. Even Gath and Mortam were silent beyond the doors.

  For the briefest of moments, no one was asking her for anything. No one demanded anything. Letters weren’t appearing on her desk; drafts weren’t demanding her signature.

  But then the door to the throne room opened and Celia entered.

  “Come along, Anastasia.”

  Why did her aunt insist on calling her like an insolent pup? She was the acting Queen! But honestly, she didn’t have the energy to muster any kind of argument against it.

  Anastasia rose. “Where are we going?”

  “You’ve got
to ready for this evening.”

  “What’s happening this evening?”

  Her aunt blew out a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, Anastasia. When I leave a letter for you, make sure you read it! I don’t know how you get anything done with your desk as messy as it is.”

  “What was in the letter?”

  Her aunt led her towards her chambers, gripping her schedule and quill. Humoredly, Anastasia imagined it was welded to her hands. But then her aunt’s next words drove all humor from her:

  “Tonight is the ball to find your next suitor.”

  Anastasia halted. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “We discussed this, Anastasia! You need to remarry.”

  “Yes, but I don’t remember agreeing to this.”

  Her aunt rounded on her. “You need to get your head out of the clouds. You’re sick, and you’re not getting better. While you’ve been busy calling on warrior masters and knowledgists, the Privy Council decided for you. You need this. The family needs this. And it’s time for you to step up and accept it.”

  Caught completely off guard by her aunt’s tongue lashing, Anastasia mutely followed her back to her room. Lili stood within, a traditional gown in her hands. Though she was used to going all out for balls and celebrations, there were no holds barred for this evening.

  Anastasia was dressed in a gown of violet. Cutouts bared her shoulders, while the scooping neckline showcased her pendant. The full sleeves were slit at the crook of her elbows and hung all the way down to the floor. Swirling designs, like those of the royal seal, decorated the structured bodice in silver thread. A girdle of silver silk was tied around her hips, draping down with the velvety skirts and short train. Her long hair hung free, bound only by her intricately designed amethyst and diamond circlet.

  Facing her reflection in her looking glass, she stared. She looked like a medieval queen. Her aunt added a traditional silver sash, much like the one she’d worn for her coming of age ceremony.

  “You look beautiful, my Princess,” said Lili.

  Anastasia blinked. “Thank you.”

  Steeling herself, Anastasia followed her aunt from the room. They stood together before the ballroom doors, Celia fussing with nonexistent lint on Anastasia’s gown.

  “I will be down just as soon as I’m dressed, of course,” she was saying. “Most of the court will be in attendance as well.”

  “Alright.”

  “And be on your best behavior. Some of these men have traveled very long distances to be here.”

  Vaguely, Anastasia wondered how long her family had been planning this ball. It had only been a few weeks since the solstice, which meant they’d probably started that night. She absently touched her pendant. Just beyond those doors were her potential suitors, and not a one of them was William.

  Her aunt ushered her forward. Anastasia recognized the royal door keeper, Huln Davdek, from that meeting she’d had with the Court. He tipped an imaginary hat at her and she smiled. When he opened the door, she heard music rise up from within. Her heart suddenly leapt into her throat. There was a room full of men her family had selected as suitors, as future Kings of Jacqueline. How had she gotten to this point in her life? Facing down an arranged marriage for the third time.

  Huln stepped inside and to Anastasia’s supreme astonishment, trumpets sounded, heralding her arrival. She flushed. Her family really had gone all out for this ball.

  Clearing his throat, Huln said into the now silent ballroom, “Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Anastasia!”

  She didn’t miss that he hadn’t said her surname. It was no surprise that it caused tension, seeing as she and Aatu hadn’t even been married a full day before he’d died. She supposed it wasn’t something they wanted to draw attention to when trying to set her up with a new husband.

  Working to produce a smile, Anastasia stepped into the room. A bright red carpet led from the door into the room, flanked on either side by silver-clad trumpeters, the royal sigil hanging from their overlong instruments. Tall candelabra and chandeliers illuminated the arched walls and the carvings of the ancient Queens of Jacqueline. Up in a balcony, Anastasia could see her family, all dressed in immense finery as well. Her father wore a polished crown, one she hadn’t seen since before they’d left Jacqueline.

  Musicians struck up a song into the growing silence and Anastasia turned her attention to the crowd. She recognized a few faces—such as Gerrard and Ericcen—but many were strangers. It seemed most were Nadmilise, too, all dressed to the nines, in clothing traditional to their home cities. For some reason, the knowledge put her a little at ease.

  “May I have the first dance with Your Highness?”

  She turned to find Mohan behind her. He had traded in his usual drape-like clothing for a ruffled tunic, cravat, woolen vest, brocaded frock coat, jodhpur trousers, and spats. His usually spiky hair was tamped by a top hat decorated with metalworking goggles, and he held a jewel-topped cane.

  She giggled. “Only if I can hold the cane.”

  “You say one more word about my clothes and I swear I’ll leave.”

  She sobered. Slightly. “I promise I won’t mention your out-of-this-world getup.” When he scoffed and turned to leave, she reached for him. “Okay, I’m done now, I promise.”

  “You’re one to talk.” He motioned to the room and donned a facetious tone. “All the eligible men in all the land are hereby invited to try their hand at winning the fair Princess’s hand in marriage! You could be the next King of Jacqueline!”

  She swatted him. “Shut up.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong, love.”

  She followed his gaze, looking around the room. There were a fair number of royal ladies within the ballroom, but the men far outnumbered them.

  Mohan winked. “And they all know it, too.”

  Rolling her eyes, Anastasia moved away from him. A servant approached her, timidly offering a glass of champagne on a platter. She took it, quickly taking a sip. How in the name of the Gods and Angels was she supposed to get through this evening? She felt like a lamb heading to slaughter. Every eye was on her, even when it seemed like no one was watching. The women’s eyes followed her, checking to see which eligible men were fair game and which ones they should stay away from. The men were more open about their staring.

  Finishing her drink, she snapped her fingers at Mohan. “Might was well get this started.”

  He stepped up beside her and took her hand, leading her to the center of the room. The guests backed away, standing in a circle around them. The musicians played an elegant waltz; Anastasia and Mohan quickly fell into step.

  “How do I get out of this?” she asked him.

  He shrugged. “There’s always eloping.”

  “Is there a way out that doesn’t require marriage?”

  He didn’t answer. Which, she supposed, was an answer in and of itself. A tap on her shoulder told her the night had officially begun. Turning, she found Gerrard standing behind her. He wore Sehirian finery, complete with a fitted doublet with slashed sleeves, and dark hose instead of trousers. A jeweled girdle at his hips shimmered in the candlelight; an ornamental dagger hung from it.

  Mohan leaned close, as though pressing a kiss to her cheek. “He’s very handsome. Maybe you could use some of these poor boys for some fun.”

  With a wink, he stepped back, allowing Gerrard to step forward. “Treat her well.”

  Gerrard nodded sternly, as though he’d been charged with the highest order. “I will, Your Highness.”

  Hearing someone refer to Mohan by his title made Anastasia smile. No one ever really called him “Prince,” much less bothered with any formalities. It made her realize just how long she’d been in the company of other royals.

  “Are you having a good evening, Your Highness?”

  She turned to Gerrard. “I am.”

  Which was half-true, at least. She didn’t mind the dancing, or the food, or even the clothes. She enjoyed parties, especially ones with her friends. It was just the r
eason for the party that was upsetting.

  “Are you?” she asked.

  Gerrard considered her for a moment. “Despite the fact that my sister is my chaperone for the evening, I am.”

  He grinned and motioned to a young woman over at one of the banquet tables. She was dressed in a beautiful pink gown with slashed sleeves, complete with a coned hat and veil. The end of her veil was tucked over her arm, reminiscent of the way Ostana used to sling her long braid over her arm. This girl’s face was softer than Ostana’s however, and bright with excitement.

  “Do you get along?” she asked Gerrard.

  He nodded. “We’re twins; it made for easy companionship as a child.”

  “Do you have any other siblings?”

  “Two older sisters.”

  She smiled. “So you know how to treat a woman, do you?”

  He shrugged bashfully. “I may have learned a thing or two from my sisters. They were always very… helpful in teaching me how to court someone.”

  “I bet they were.”

  They both laughed. As the song changed, they continued to dance, waltzing lazily around the room. A few other couples had joined them, but for the most part, people congregated along the walls, watching. Gerrard didn’t seem phased by it in the slightest, his smile coming easy. She wondered just what would phase him. What would bring this soft-spoken man to anger? Would he be calm under pressure? What if they were attacked? Would he call for help or try to fight?

  But then she caught herself. She was mentally wondering if he would be a good King, a good ruler! It felt wrong. She couldn’t turn her back on William. And yet… if, or when, he was found, he would be grayed out, forced into servitude. He could never be her suitor then. And if he wasn’t caught, they could never marry. He’d be a fugitive for the rest of his life. Their only chance would be proving his innocence. And what if they couldn’t do that in time? What if her illness overtook her before then? She would have no heir, and Jacqueline would fall to its own sort of Chaos.