From Anastasia (The Anastasia Series Book 3)

by Jordi Burton

  Gerrard frowned. “They do not work here. We tried.”

  Anastasia swore. It seemed their only choice was to fly. She guessed that would be a good time as any to test the limits of their travels.

  “Call everyone together,” she commanded.

  Nodding, Gerrard headed through the door. Anastasia paced. She had no idea how long they would be in this place. It would take time to set up crops, to hunt whatever wildlife there was, to establish trade. They would be restarting their civilization. Unless the Ancients were the key to ending Joey’s spell. There had to be something around that could give her the information she needed.

  Gathering her skirts, she headed outside. The ancient families stood in a clump, eerily avoiding touching each other. It seemed that touch intensified a person’s emotions.

  Thirty-three people stood staring at her. Thirty-three frightened people, some no more than children. All that fear was focused on her; she struggled to see through it, to assert her own emotions among them. Letting out a breath, she worked to remember that she wasn’t frightened, only concerned.

  “I’m glad you all are safe,” she said into the silence.

  Thores scoffed. “Safe? You call this safe? We have no idea where we are or how we got here. By the Gods and Angels, we have wings!”

  Anastasia shut out his panic, keeping her voice gentle. “We are in the Old World before the founding of the realms, the place where our ancestors once lived. And as far as I can tell, it was a spell that brought us here. Which means it can be broken.”

  “So break it and bring us home!”

  “It is not that simple.”

  Thores’ frustration seemed to leech into others. Those nearest him fixed Anastasia with the same hostile glare, clenching their fists. She needed to get control over the situation. Centering herself, she focused on feeling calm, on radiating a sense of peace. When no one else shouted up at her, she felt safe enough to continue.

  “I will need to break you up into groups,” she said. “Those that feel well enough to travel will join scouting parties. Those that wish to stay here can gather clothing, shoes, food, necessary items from the homes nearby, while others can help gather food from the fields and water.”

  Thores narrowed his eyes. “And what will you be doing?”

  “Cataloging everything you bring back to me.”

  “So we work while you sit around?”

  Gerrard stepped up beside Thores. “She is our Crown Princess. You will show her the respect she deserves.”

  “She is no longer our Crown Princess. King Tamo had her removed from the throne!”

  All eyes turned to her. The memory of watching the High Council remove her flashed through her mind. Hurt and sorrow flooded through her. Thores was right; she was no more in charge here than he. But strength and determination trickled through the shroud of upset. As Gerrard neared her, it grew stronger, until it blocked the other emotions. She was the Crown Princess by blood. Divinity flowed through her veins.

  “I was removed due to my health,” she explained. “So long as I am well here, I will continue to rule.”

  Gerrard nodded. “All hail Princess Anastasia!”

  Nearly everyone around him joined in the chant. All except Thores and his siblings. Anastasia didn’t pay them any mind. They were scared and confused. Once they had a good meal in their bellies, and a decent night’s sleep, all would be well.

  Thankfully, the people divided themselves up for scouting. Gerrard went with his three sisters north, while three other Tomlin women headed south. The Ros brothers set off to the west, all scouting for other people. It was a sight to see their great wings unfurl, sunlight shimmering through their feathers. Anastasia and the others stared as they took off, lifting into the sky with effortless grace.

  When they faded from view, the remaining members of the ancient families took to scrounging around the homes and nearby estates. Anastasia sat in the center of the town, scrawling on a piece of parchment.

  As the day wore on, she catalogued everything the people brought to her: pemmican, clothing, shoes, blankets, the number of homes. She even managed to sketch a rough map of the city. It was circular, with the castle acting as a tip at the bottom. The further inland, however, the worse condition of the homes. It seemed poverty radiated outward, the wealthier families sitting closer to the castle’s island. With a frown, Anastasia noted that on the map, as well, the homes of the ancient families were labeled.

  The foragers returned with baskets full of fruit, vegetables, and seafood. It was all wild-looking, but safe to eat. Anastasia rationed them based on an estimated number of people.

  At dusk, the scouting parties returned. They were disheveled and travel-worn, but otherwise unharmed. At least twenty others flew in with each group, all tight with nervous energy. Thankfully, they seemed neither surly nor hostile. They had questions, she knew, but they were just glad to have the food she handed out.

  “How was it?” she asked Gerrard.

  He shrugged. “They were scattered all across the inland. Some were in caves up in the mountains.”

  She thought it odd that there was a lack of wildlife, but she didn’t voice her concerns to Gerrard. Were there no predators here? She’d seen the bird the night before, and certainly the fish in the water, but nothing larger, no game. That could prove problematic in the future.

  Someone nudged her. “Your Highness.”

  She turned to see Ericcen standing behind her, holding out a makeshift torch. “It will be dark soon.”

  “Right. Thank you.”

  As they brushed hands, an image exploded in her mind:

  Ericcen’s head is bent over his work, his sweaty hair falling into his face. As I watch, he impatiently brushes it away with a swipe of his hand. His fingers are grimy, coated with dirt and grease, but it doesn’t bother me. In fact, it’s a little thrilling, a showcase of his dedication to his craft. I can imagine him scrubbing the dirt clean at the water pump outside, methodically washing away the day. It’s soothing.

  He doesn’t lift his head as he says, “Are you just going to stand there and watch, or are you going to come inside?”

  I shrug, though he can’t see me. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Turning, he gives me a brilliant smile. I go to him and he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close. I’m not at all concerned that he’s getting dirt on my gown.

  “To what do I owe this nighttime visit?”

  I grin. “I enjoy seeing you work.”

  “Is that so?”

  He pulls me down into his lap and I laugh. His fingers tickle my sides, leaving me breathless. I wriggle away from him and leap to my feet, darting through the smithy. He gives chase and catches me round the middle, lifting me into the air.

  A loud cough at the door makes us freeze. “Ericcen?”

  Turning, we see his father staring down at us. Ericcen flushes. “Father.”

  “Have you finished yet?”

  “Nearly.”

  His father gives us a disapproving look. “Better get to it, then.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Master Ros leaves, I fall to a fit of giggles. Ericcen shushes me, wrapping his arms around me again. I lean into him, breathing in his scent of oil and leather.

  “I’ll be home when I’m finished, my love.”

  I press my forehead to his. “You’d better.”

  Coming-to with a gasp, Anastasia stared at Ericcen. What in the world was that? It was just like the visions she’s had of Ryke Toldens and Gerrard. Could it be some sort of premonition? It was good to know that her premonitions still worked in the Old World, but it was a small comfort. Especially given the way Ericcen was looking at her.

  “Are you alright, Your Highness?”

  Anastasia nodded. “Quite.”

  Turning, she planted the torch in the ground beside the table she’d erected in the center of town. Looking at her lists, she worked to shove the strange vision from her mind. There were no wea
pons to be found, but they had enough food to last their numbers for a decent time. She supposed the fields were what supported the majority of the town when their people had lived there in the past. So there would be no shortage of food. But they needed to find everyone beds.

  Consulting her list, she thought again of William, Chris, Valdon, and her family. Where could they be? She felt too idle, like she wasn’t doing enough to help her people. Sure, setting up supplies was the best thing to do first, but she needed to be proactive.

  She waved at Gerrard and he whistled loudly, calling everyone’s attention. They gathered around her, filled with trepidation and mild panic.

  “Good evening,” she said, her voice sounding hesitant to her own ears. “I know things have been strange, but believe me when I tell you that I am doing everything I can to understand what happened to us, and how we may reverse it. For now, we should make the best of our situation.” She met their guarded gazes. “Find those that you feel comfortable with and pick a dwelling to bed down in for the night. In the morning, we can pick up where we left off today.”

  A young woman in the back of the group raised her hand. “What will we do for protection?”

  “Yeah!” her friend called. “What will we do if we’re attacked?”

  Anastasia felt stupid for not even considering attack. Just because it had been quiet since her arrival didn’t mean it would stay that way. Mentally, she kicked herself. She hadn’t even thought of the Shadows. Would they be unfrozen here in the Old World?

  “We can sleep in shifts,” she said.

  “I can guard first,” Gerrard offered.

  Ericcen nodded. “I will join him.”

  Thores scoffed. “That’s all well and good, but what do we have to defend ourselves with? A melon?”

  “Anything can be fashioned into a weapon if you try hard enough,” said Anastasia.

  A few people around her tittered. Anastasia wondered if Thores was going to prove to be a problem. It was a new feeling for her, facing a subject that didn’t trust her. Which she found ironic, considering Thores had been vying for her hand in marriage. She wondered what had changed so greatly between them for him to consider her a threat. Or, perhaps, he’d always been that way, but was caught up in the excitement of it all?

  Thankfully, others offered to take shifts guarding the city. Anastasia took down their names and shift times, trying to stay as organized as possible. If she’d learned anything from her aunt in the last few months, it was that you could always keep a level head if you had a comprehensive list of tasks to complete. It also helped to calm her nerves.

  Taking her seat at the table, Anastasia watched the people split off and head into their respective homes. Gerrard and Ericcen, with a handful of others Anastasia didn’t know, took up sentry in a half-circle around the city center, guarding the entrance to the residential area. Anastasia stared at their unmoving forms for a moment, letting herself momentarily dwell on William. Not for the first time, she wondered what he was doing, who he was with. Thank the Gods and Angels he hadn’t been grayed out. It would give them time to find out who was framing him with treason.

  She added that to the list of tasks to accomplish. Alongside discovering Joey’s plot, finding her family, and bringing everyone back home.

  As the night wore on, and the guard shifts changed, Anastasia felt her eyes drooping. Surprisingly, she found herself wanting for the large room in the castle, the sound of the wind whistling through the windows, the smell of the water thick in the air. It felt like… home.

  A loud crack sounded through the city center. The guards turned towards the sound, their makeshift weapons—really nothing more than sharpened sticks—aimed at the whirlwind gathering behind them.

  In a flash, a handful of figures appeared where the light had been. They stood in a circle, windblown and clearly disoriented. Anastasia rose, reaching for where her dagger would’ve been sheathed on her thigh, had it come with her to this realm. She swore under her breath wondering why it was that her dagger was always missing. As it was, she grabbed the quill and held it high.

  The torchlight flickered and dimmed as the wind dissipated. Trepidation—and fear from the guards—flooded through Anastasia, but she didn’t move. The figures approached, until the torchlight threw them into sharp relief.

  Anastasia gasped. “Mohan?”

  The man standing before her, with snowy white hair and icy blue eyes, opened his arms wide. He wore a majestic sort of robe in rich blues and silvers and held a gnarled cane. “The one and only, love.”

  Rushing forward, she threw her arms around him. Shock, apprehension, and frustration exploded within Anastasia and she flinched, pulling away from him. The emotions faded, leaving her feeling more like herself. Turning, she took in the others with Mohan. Chris stood behind him, eyes still tightly bound, with rich black swirls spotting his pale skin, and ebony wings stretching from his back. He cradled a baby in his arms, the only natural-looking being among them.

  Anastasia hardly recognized Vlad as he stepped up beside Mohan. His skin was ruddy and bloated, his eyes all-black slits. He carried no shadow, and shrank back from the torchlight, fear radiating off of him. A decent ways away, Ostana stood, arms wrapped around herself as though in great pain. Her brow was a long, thick line above her narrow eyes. Her ears sat low upon her head; her curved, yellowed fingernails dug into the skin of her arm. They barely looked like themselves, and they all seemed keenly aware of that fact as they stood, huddled in the street.

  “How did you get here?” she asked, avoiding the obvious question of what had happened to them.

  Mohan held out his cane; there was a large orb at its crest. “This ugly little thing. Apparently, sorcerers can only do magic using talismans? It’s a whole, long explanation.”

  “Alright.”

  Mohan took Anastasia’s hand and pressed two rings into her palm. Nodding to Ostana and Vlad, he intoned, “They asked for you to hold onto these while… well, while they’re not quite themselves.”

  Anastasia looked down. Ostana’s engagement ring and Vlad’s family ring sat in her palm, glinting in the torchlight. What in the name of the Gods and Angels was going on? What could make them take off these rings? She knew how much the engagement meant to Ostana, and what Vlad’s family meant to him. Clearly, they’d changed just as she and the other Nadmilise had. And from how it looked, it wasn’t for the better. Was this Joey’s plan? To weaken them?

  “Clarell!” she called.

  The nineteen-year-old Bellvie brother trotted over. “Yes, Your Highness?”

  “Have the guards return to their posts. I need to speak with Prince Mohan and the others privately.”

  He bowed once. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Turning, Anastasia led Mohan, Chris, Ostana, and Vlad to the ancient Dinas house, the dwelling she’d temporarily taken while she stayed in the city. It was elegantly decorated, with hand-carved tables, and what had once been overstuffed armchairs. Elaborate sconces held fresh torches, providing light in the smaller parlor.

  Anastasia could picture William here, walking through these patterned walls. It fit him and his family, which she supposed made complete sense, as this was their ancestral home. Vaguely, she wondered what the castle said about her, about her ancestors.

  Mohan led Chris to a chair beside the fire before pulling one over for himself. Ostana and Vlad stood in opposite corners of the house, discomfort and anger radiating from them.

  Mohan looked out the window. “Your Highness?”

  Anastasia shrugged. “As long as I am well, they continue to have me reign.”

  The baby in Chris’s arms squirmed and let out a cry. Instantaneously, Ostana reached for the baby and then recoiled as though she’d been slapped. Vlad reacted similarly. They both gave off an unmistakable feeling of revulsion. What was going on? Instead of asking, however, Anastasia took the baby from Chris’ arms and bounced him until he calmed.

  Suddenly, she realized it was little Aagney.
Why was he not with his mother? Why did it seem like Ostana couldn’t even look at her child?

  Holding Aagney close, Anastasia turned to Mohan. “What is going on?”

  “It seems we are in the Old World.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  “Yes, but not only are we in the world, but we have gained the attributes of our people of the time.”

  Anastasia’s wings ruffled in response, as though agreeing with him. The Nadmilise were empaths and had the wings of the angels. But what did that mean for the sorcerers? The werewolves? The vampires? Obviously, it wasn’t all good.

  Chris drew a hand through his overlong hair. “Your rage is cloying.”

  “Sorry,” Vlad and Ostana simultaneously muttered.

  Anastasia eyed them, confused. “What’s happening here? What is this?”

  “They can hardly be in the same room with each other,” Mohan explained, for Ostana and Vlad seemed utterly incapable of doing so. “Vampires and werewolves are notorious arch enemies in this time. Their instincts are driving them apart.”

  “Gods and Angels,” Anastasia breathed. Looking down at Aagney, realization dawned on her. “He is part of both…”

  Vlad clenched his fists. “I cannot bear to even look at my own son.”

  “We’re monsters,” Ostana sobbed.

  Shock slammed through Anastasia. Chris turned his head in her general direction, apparently picking up on it. Blowing out a breath, she sat at the rotting table, gently rocking Aagney. Serenity flooded him; Anastasia clung to it like a lifeline. Gently, she brought Chris’ hand to the baby, so he could draw from the peacefulness.

  If the werewolves and vampires were this bad, she could only imagine what shape the other realms were in. They needed to find a way to return to their world, as quickly as possible. Despite her inner turmoil regarding Ostana, Anastasia couldn’t bear to see her like this, torn apart from her family. And they hadn’t even stopped to discuss the ramifications of Mohan and the sorcerers’ magic. It would take weeks, months, to get between kingdoms, without Nadmilise wings.

  “I have some food,” she said. “You should stay here for the night and we can revisit this all in the morning.”