From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  An expert strike to my wrist forces me to drop the dagger. I block his next assault with my free arm and turn to sweep his feet out from under him. He leaps before I make contact, but I land a square hit to his chest. He stumbles backwards and wraps a hand around my wrist, tugging me with him.

  I jerk away and move back, gaining surer footing. We circle each other, and I catch my breath. My body is thrumming with adrenaline. I breathe deep, inhaling the rich scents of the damp forest around us. We’re both slick with sweat, but neither of us particularly minds. Besides, taking a trip to the Air Lake afterwards is part of the fun. I can imagine him, shirtless, standing at the edge of the Lake, surrounded by the cottony banks; a thrill goes through me.

  He lunges, and I nearly miss my footing avoiding him. He gets a few good hits in before he suddenly twists and goes down. We’re tangled in each other, so I drop to the ground with him.

  We roll through the mulch until finally coming to a halt. Gently, he runs a hand down the side of my face. I look up into his large brown eyes and feel my heartrate pick up as he leans towards me. He presses his lips to mine and it takes all of my self-control to not lose myself in the kiss. Instead, I feel around in the dirt until I unearth his dagger. Pulling back from him, I press the blade to his throat.

  He concedes with a groan, rolling away from me. “You’ll be the death of me, Anastasia.”

  Anastasia came-to with a gasp, unnerved that she was still looking into Ryke’s eyes. Pulling her hand away, she offered a polite smile. Had that been another premonition? It couldn’t have been, seeing as Ryke had had a tattoo of Anastasia’s name over his heart—a token of marriage. She couldn’t be married to both Ryke and Gerrard. So what was going on? Shaking her head, she pushed back from the table. She really needed to meet with Valdon.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  T he day of William’s birthday found Anastasia in the castle gardens taking tea with fourteen other women. They tittered as they sat in the shade of the hedges, talking of nothing of importance. Anastasia was reminded of the time she and Ostana had tea outside. It had ended up with them splashing together in the fountain to cool off. The memory left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  The ceremony that morning, for little Aagney’s christening, had been lovely. It had been short and intimate, with only a handful of other royals in attendance. Ostana’s family hadn’t shown up, not even her sister Kanna, with whom Ostana was close.

  Mohan had been named the godfather, and during the ceremony, he and Anastasia had both taken turns holding Aagney, who had slept through nearly the entire service. When he finally did open his eyes, however, Anastasia saw that they were the exact same shade of brown that Aatu’s had been. She knew Mohan had noticed as well, by the way his face had tightened when the priest passed him the baby. The tears she’d cried then had been real.

  “Your Highness?”

  Anastasia looked up, shielding her eyes against the harsh summer sunlight. Gerrard’s twin sister, the one she’d seen at the summer solstice, stood in front of her, holding a deck of playing cards.

  “Would you like to play?”

  She stared at the young woman. Today had been hard enough, simply being the day that it was, but then there was the added upset from seeing Ostana. She was in no position to be good company, understanding that nothing was likely to pull her from her sour mood. And yet, she owed these people, for uprooting their lives.

  Offering a wan smile, she said, “Sure.”

  The young woman, Alviva, sat across from Anastasia. A handful of others gathered around, filling the small table. Alviva shuffled the cards and then handed them out, her thin fingers gently handling the hand-painted cards.

  Grabbing her cards, Anastasia looked at the other women. She’d had Lili quiz her on all of their names, just to be sure she remembered correctly. Thankfully, the men were on the other side of the gardens—firing bows and arrows at targets—for Anastasia couldn’t quite get the Bellvie names quite right. There was something about all their names starting with a “C” that completely threw her. She grinned as she imagined their parents calling them all by the wrong names.

  “So,” Alviva intoned. “Does anyone else think Ryke is the best-looking man they’ve ever seen?”

  Joslyne, one of Great-Uncle Bale’s grandchildren, snorted. She was one of the older young women, approaching her twenty-third year. “He may be the best-looking, but his attention span could use some work, if you ask me.”

  “So what if he has roaming eyes?” Alviva’s sister, Ayvery, said. “You’re not marrying the boy.”

  Alviva frowned. “But isn’t that the point? To get married?”

  “Not to Ryke Toldens it isn’t.”

  Joslyne nodded. “Aelnold Ros is more my speed, anyways.”

  Ayvery wrinkled her nose. “Aelnold? Seriously? He looks like a stick with fur.”

  “Yes, well, he’s still better than Thores Carden. Who, might I add, sounds like he’s holding his nose every time he talks.”

  As the young women fell to discussing the various young men that were staying in the castle, Anastasia felt herself feeling a bit lighter despite herself. She’d forgotten what it was like to sit and gossip with girlfriends. The last time she’d done that had been with Ostana. But back then, she hadn’t really had anyone to talk about except Aatu. And that was awkward, discussing someone’s own brother with them.

  It was mind-numbing, in a good way, and made great background fodder for their card game. Plus, it didn’t seem like any of the girls were letting her win, which was nice. She ended up losing her first hand, which made her enjoy the experience all the more.

  Towards the evening, the men joined them. Their card game grew ridiculously large, so much so that it took nearly fifteen minutes for them to get halfway round. But Anastasia found she didn’t mind. They discussed normal things, like their jobs, or their pastimes—Ayvery and Joslyne were in the same dance class that William’s mother used to teach. By the time darkness rolled in, they were sitting in the light spilling from the castle windows discussing what the Gardens of Luas looked like.

  They’d all seen it when they received their tattoos, but all they’d ever seen what they called the entrance hall, the inside of the tree trunk with the wooden thrones. They speculated what was beyond the hall, what kind of riches and beauty awaited them upon their deaths.

  As a group, they headed inside for dinner. Anastasia excused herself, glancing at the moon. It was already almost too late.

  Rushing up to her room, she grabbed a traveling cloak and the basket she’d prepared that morning before the christening. On her way out, she dismissed all of her guards but Gath and Mortam. What she was about to do didn’t require an audience, and she didn’t trust her newer guards the way she trusted Mortam and Gath.

  Sneaking past the dining hall, Anastasia headed out into the city. She skirted the marketplace and the residential area, coming up on the forest. It was a short walk from there, and she quickly spotted the Small Hall at the warrior training grounds through the trees.

  Turning left, she headed deeper into the forest. Mortam and Gath drew their swords, huddling close to her in the darkness. Though she knew this was a risk—as she was one of the ancient families of Jacqueline, and likely on the killer’s list—she knew this was something she needed to do. As much for herself as for anything else. She needed this closure, the small sort of celebration, to move past the darkness strangling her insides.

  Reaching the precise spot, she dropped her basket. Pulling out some bread and cheese, she lit a small candle and sat down in the dirt.

  “Blessed day of birth, William,” she whispered into the darkness.

  Crossing her legs, she picked at her bread. Her stomach churned, thinking of where he could be. The wanted posters throughout the city certainly didn’t help things. She wished she could pardon him, bring him home, but not only did she not have the power—as the acting Queen—but she also couldn’t risk the questions it would raise. She needed to
keep the alternate universes a secret for as long as possible.

  She imagined what it would’ve been like if he had been pardoned. They could’ve had a small celebration with his family and friends, with food and games. It would’ve been simple, compared to her own birthdays, but it would’ve been all the better for it. She could’ve given him a new dagger, to replace the one he usually kept hidden in his boot but had lost during their last battle. Reaching into the basket, she pulled the dagger out.

  “I had this made for you,” she murmured, “while you were in prison. I was going to give it to you when you were released.”

  “That’s very kind of you.”

  She whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat; she hadn’t heard anyone approach. When she spotted the intruder, however, her heart jumped for a different reason.

  William stepped out of the shadows, a smirk tugging his lips. A strangled noise left Anastasia’s lips as she flung herself at him. His arms went around her, holding her in a fierce embrace. She breathed in the scent of him—smoke and the exotic spice of the Fire Lake—and relaxed for the first time in months.

  “What are you doing here?”

  He stepped back and cupped her face. She leaned into his touch. “A little birdie told me I’d find you here.”

  “You can’t risk yourself like that! What if someone had been here to arrest you?”

  “It was safe, Anastasia. I made sure before I came.”

  Anastasia. Her name fell from his mouth so easily. There was no formality between them, just mutual respect.

  She shook her head. “Where have you been? What have you been doing?”

  “Hiding, mostly.”

  “William,” she chided.

  He grinned. In the months since she’d seen him, he’d grown a beard and let his hair grow long. She reached out and ran her hands through the soft golden strands. He just stood, staring at her. Vaguely, she wondered if she looked any different to him. But before she could say anything, a flash of smoke brought a letter. It hovered between them, insisting Anastasia take it. When she didn’t, William frowned.

  “Are you going to answer that?”

  “I’d really rather not.”

  Slowly, William reached out and grabbed the letter. It was sealed with the Jacquelinian royal seal, which meant it either came from her father or her aunt. Despite the foreboding feeling the knowledge brought, she still didn’t take the letter.

  William’s hazel eyes scanned the parchment. His expression darkened within seconds and he handed the letter to Anastasia.

  “What?” she asked. “What happened?”

  Glancing down, she scanned the first few lines. She went hot and cold all over as the words sunk in. The werewolves have declared war on Jacqueline. They are moving their warriors into the realm. She looked up at William, feeling like someone had plucked her out of the real world and shoved her into a dream. It couldn’t be real. The realms hadn’t gone to war—without the effect of the Shadows—in centuries.

  Stepping back, William unwrapped the dagger. Sliding it into his belt, he stepped up to Anastasia. Wordlessly, he pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers. Anastasia tried to savor the moment, the feel of him against her, the scratch of his beard on her cheeks, but it was over too quickly. Her head spun. She tasted tears but didn’t realize she’d started to cry. They were at war. Her realm was at war. Against the werewolves. Aatu’s father had declared war and was moving to attack the city.

  “I love you,” William said.

  Anastasia looked up at him. “I love you, too.”

  Abruptly, she turned away from him. She didn’t look back as she moved away, knowing that if she did, she’d start to cry in earnest. Instead, she made her way to Gath and Mortam, marching through the forest. Thankfully, they’d stayed a good distance from the clearing, so they hadn’t seen William.

  They were in earshot now, and she overheard them discussing the guard surrounding the castle. She was about to comment when a hand clamped over her mouth. Thinking it was William, she didn’t struggle. But then, she saw William picking his way through the trees some yards away. Shock shot through her, and she wrenched against the hands that held her.

  “Don’t struggle, Anastasia.”

  The voice was familiar, friendly even, but there was something twisted about it. Something that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

  Something pricked her neck. She tried to scream past her attacker’s hand, but the forest swayed around her. She dipped and turned, stumbling, trying to fight back against the darkness closing in. But it was useless. It dragged her down, until she saw no more.

  ***

  She awoke some time later, entirely disoriented. When her vision finally cleared, she struggled to make sense of her surroundings; it seemed the ground was the sky and vice versa. Otherwise, everything seemed fine. But then the pain came. She cried out as fire tore through her ankles. The darkness threatened to take her under again, but she fought it back.

  Laughter reached her ears. It brought her back, grounded her in reality. Then, finally, it made sense. She was pinned upside down.

  “You’re faring better than the others.”

  Squinting through the pain, she saw a figure before her. It was distinctly male, but she couldn’t see him well enough to discern his identity. Something about his words gave her pause. The others. He meant the others he’d killed. This was the person murdering someone from every realm, the person taking their DNA to use in a spell. Panic overcame her, until she realized that her back didn’t hurt. He hadn’t taken anything from her. At least not yet.

  Another wave of pain crashed over her and she whimpered. What had he done to her ankles? Struggling, she lifted her head. What she saw drove the air from her lungs. Her ankles were a bloody mess, nails sticking straight through them.

  Bile coated her throat. Her vision flickered. Again, his laughter brought her back. There was something eerily familiar about it. But where had she heard it before?

  Something in her mind clicked and she thought back to one of the first premonitions she’d had, the one that made her think William was trying to kill her: Excruciating pain. My vision falters, fading out and in. A flash of deep blue; a flash of red. Laughter, maniacal. I fade out. Agony shoots through my ankle. Iron grips me, caging me upside down. This was the blue-eyed sorcerer, the one she’d been seeing since she arrived in Sehir. He was the killer.

  “My preparations are almost complete,” he said. “What do you think?”

  She shook her head. “Where are we?”

  “Surely you recognize your own city, Anastasia.”

  The way he said her name sent chills down her spine. She looked around, finally able to differentiate the ground from the sky, and realized they were in the town square. It was oddly devoid of people, as silent as the grave.

  “What have you done to my people?”

  He chuckled. “Absolutely nothing. It’s late. Everyone decent is in bed.”

  She didn’t miss the subtle dig at her being out in the woods so late. Had he seen William? Gods and Angels, William. Where was he? Had he gotten away? Had he seen her get taken? What about Gath and Mortam? Surely they would be looking for her by now. If they were still at the warrior training grounds, they might be able to hear her.

  “Help!” she screamed. “Help me!”

  “Help! Help!” her attacker shouted, mocking her. “It seems like no one’s here to hear us.”

  She glowered at his form. “Who are you, you coward? Show yourself!”

  “If that’s really what you want.”

  He stepped into the light and all the fight left Anastasia at once. She drew a shaky breath, hardly daring to believe her own eyes. But it was him. He looked like he had the last time she’d seem him, but leaner, darker.

  “Joey?”

  He grinned. “The one and only.”

  Joey was the blue-eyed sorcerer that tried to kill her in her premonitions. But that didn’t make any sense.
Joey wasn’t a sorcerer; he was human! How could this be? Were her visions wrong somehow?

  All thought of her premonitions fled her mind, however, when she saw what he was doing. He held a large syringe in his hand, poised to plunge it deep into her skin. She wrenched against her restraints, crying out as agony tore through her ankles. Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes, falling up into her hair.

  “Don’t to this!” she pleaded.

  He shook his head. “I thought you were stronger than that, Anastasia.”

  With one hand, he tore open the back of her dress. Pressing his cold fingers to her bare skin, he probed along her spine. Each touch felt like ice.

  Without warning, he plunged the needle into her back. A scream tore from her lips. Tremors wracked her body as a seizing sort of pain flooded through her. She could feel the needle inside her, pushing deep into her back. It felt like the small of her back was on fire.

  And then the suction began. She screamed anew, feeling like he was pulling her skin off from the inside out. There was nothing to brace on, nothing to detract from the pain. All she felt was the needle in her back, and his icy hands pressed against her skin. Unconsciousness threatened to overtake her again; she fought it back with everything she had left. She wouldn’t pass out. She couldn’t, no matter how bad the pain was.

  When, at last, he retracted the needle, she started to cry. The pain didn’t lessen but continued to throb around the entry site. Joey stepped in front of her, holding the syringe up to his face. She could see her blood on it, along with the spinal fluid inside. Something about seeing it outside her body made her lightheaded. This was wrong. Every part of this was wrong. Her body was screaming at her to move, to do something, anything at all, but she found herself oddly immobile. Iciness stole up her legs, clawing for her chest. Vaguely, she realized she was bleeding out.

  “This almost feels too easy,” he murmured. “But it is necessary. I have just one more ingredient to add, and then the spell will be complete.”