Heart of Mist

by Helen Scheuerer

  ‘How are we going to explain this?’ Bleak heard Fiore ask the commander.

  ‘I’m working on it,’ he grunted, still not quite himself through the agony.

  Bleak had watched Henri rip the commander apart. In theory, it looked exactly how Bleak imagined brutality to look. The relentlessness of it, adding pain to more pain, slowly and surely, as though there was all the time in the world for suffering. But despite the guilt she felt about her own actions, Henri’s somehow seemed like … justice. All around Bleak, dead, red eyes looked up at her, shock still fixed on their marble-like faces. She spotted the bar stool she’d used as a weapon; clumps of hair and flesh stuck to it. She forced herself to swallow the bile that rose in her throat, and emptied the barrel of ale she’d been holding. She needed to get outside, to breathe in the fresh air and stop stepping over the mangled corpses she’d created. She needed to think of something else.

  ‘I need to talk to you,’ she muttered to Henri as she brushed past her. She headed out onto the porch, and Henri followed. Bleak grabbed a torch and motioned for the warrior to make her way around the side of the inn. There, she pulled Swinton’s map from down the front of her undergarments, the parchment now stained with blotches of blood – whose, she didn’t know.

  ‘What’s this?’ Henri demanded, as Bleak passed her the torch.

  Bleak smoothed the map out on the gravelly ground with her palms, placing a rock on each corner to hold it in place.

  ‘I was hoping you could tell me,’ she said, her voice still unsteady. ‘I saw the commander with it before you rescued me in the Hawthornes. I didn’t really think too much of it until his reaction. He didn’t have it with him in Valia, probably because he knew he’d be searched, but I saw him with it again here, and when he snuck off … I took it.’

  ‘You stole it?’

  ‘That’s hardly the most pressing crime of the evening.’

  ‘Point taken,’ said Henri.

  ‘I thought you might know what these are.’ Bleak pointed to the tiny red Xs.

  Henri’s brow furrowed as her eyes trailed over the map, down towards where Valia lay.

  ‘That’s the Forest of Ghosts,’ she said, pointing to one mark. She moved on to the next. ‘This is where we found you in the Hawthornes. The rest … They’re not any particular landmarks that I know of, nothing special.’

  Henri crouched and squinted at the map. ‘It’s not recent.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This map and its markings are not recent. See how the ink is faded? And the map, it’s still got the old borders of Valia.’ She pointed to a section below Felder’s Bay. ‘This doesn’t exist anymore.’

  ‘So …’

  Henri shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Seems strange to be carrying around an outdated map – it’s at least ten years old.’

  Bleak stared at the map, taking in the markings yet again.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me of this sooner?’ said Henri.

  ‘I only got it a few hours ago.’

  ‘No, but you saw him with it weeks ago. You could have told me.’

  Bleak shrugged. ‘How was I supposed to know who I could trust?’

  Henri nodded. ‘But you trust me now?’

  ‘These days, I make a point of not trusting anyone,’ Bleak said, folding up the map and stuffing it back down her shirt.

  ‘You saved my life today,’ Henri said slowly. ‘I am in your debt.’

  ‘You saved my life in the Hawthornes. I’d say we’re even.’

  Henri studied her, failing to veil her surprise. ‘Not many turn down a life debt from a Valian.’

  ‘Would you rather I lord it over you?’

  Henri grinned. ‘No, I much prefer this attitude.’

  Bleak nodded. ‘Figured as much.’

  Valian and Angovian made their way back to the front of the inn, and the reality of their situation hit Bleak anew. She glanced down at the leather cuff Allehra had given her, and twisted it around her wrist. Henri followed her gaze.

  ‘That should have helped you,’ she said, frowning.

  ‘That’s what I thought. Clearly, it’s useless.’

  Henri reached out and took Bleak’s wrist, turning it over in her hand and studying the intricate markings carved into the leather.

  ‘It makes no sense,’ she said, tugging the small pouch out from the front of her leathers. ‘These worked on you; you couldn’t breach our minds. Why would the cuff not work to help you control your abilities?’

  ‘Perhaps the herbs have weakened.’

  ‘Perhaps …’ But Henri’s knitted brow told Bleak the warrior thought otherwise.

  Fiore emerged from the inn, Swinton’s arm around his shoulder, and the two men clumsily made their way down the steps.

  ‘We need to leave this place,’ Swinton mumbled, his face already a patchwork of bruising.

  No one spoke as they untied their horses from the posts and led them away from the building. Bleak swallowed the lump in her throat, trying not to picture the dozen bodies that lay within. Henri’s expression was unreadable as she threw the torch she was holding into the inn. Flames roared to life, swallowing the fuel-covered furniture and corpses, engulfing the scene of Bleak’s undoing. Black smoke billowed from the windows, escaping into the night’s star-studded sky.

  For the first time in a long time, Bleak felt the hot sting of tears in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let those tears spill. Not here. She brushed the loose hair from her face and straightened, except something didn’t feel right. The world around her blurred and slowed, a coppery taste spreading across her tongue …

  She was small and scared. Fear pounded in her chest, her little legs only able to stretch so far as she was dragged by her wrist through the thick smoke. But it wasn’t smoke. It was mist. The mist. They had to find a way out, and fast – before they all perished.

  ‘Faster, Alarise, we have to hurry,’ her mother’s voice said.

  She was crying, the fat tears sluicing down her face, adrenaline throbbing between her ears, but she worked her legs harder, even though she couldn’t see where she was going. Even though she stumbled over her own feet and whatever else lay beneath them. The mist had rolled into their open windows and seeped through the cracks under the doors of their home. Home. They would never go back there.

  ‘Can we outrun it?’ she heard her mother ask someone. They passed through a pair of elaborate iron gates. One was hanging from its hinges, blood dripping from its spikes. Her mother blocked her view with her body.

  ‘We’re only in the outskirts of it, so it hasn’t taken hold of us yet,’ her father answered. Though she couldn’t see him, she knew he held her mother’s other hand.

  ‘Come now, keep up – we’re going to be alright,’ her mother said, trying to mask the panic in her voice.

  The mist was making her dizzy, and she felt like she was going to be sick. But she swallowed and kept going. She didn’t want to stay in the mist forever.

  ‘Alarise,’ her mother said, ‘Alarise …’

  She felt someone holding her down, and tasted a bitter herb in her mouth. She jerked away, shoving the hands off her.

  ‘Bleak, you’re okay,’ someone said, ‘Bleak …’

  She came back to herself. Alarise … She hadn’t heard that name in well over a decade.

  ‘Bleak,’ Fiore said, staring into her face with concern etched all over his.

  ‘What happened?’ She felt the heat of the blazing inn on her skin.

  ‘You had another fit.’

  She gazed at the burning building. Explosions burst inside, and the alcohol-soaked foundations were groaning, on the verge of collapse. Smoke billowed from all crevasses, the thick grey-and-black clouds climbing up into the cool night air. Bleak watched it, trying not to think about the fact that they weren’t only burning timber and furniture. This was a funeral pyre.

  ‘What happened?’ Fiore said.

  Alarise. Mist dweller. Iron gates …

  Not too fa
r away, Swinton was brooding by the horses but clearly listening, and for the first time, Bleak glanced sideways to Henri, seeking guidance. Henri looked from Swinton to Fiore and subtly shook her head at Bleak. The possibility for trust between the King’s Guard and them was long gone now.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Bleak said, accepting Fiore’s hand and getting to her feet.

  They prepared the horses, adjusting their tack and saddle bags, but Bleak couldn’t keep her gaze from the fire. Its flames licked the thatched roof, which creaked loudly as it caved in, sending sparks and embers flying.

  ‘It won’t always feel like this,’ a rough voice mumbled next to her. Swinton.

  ‘Won’t always feel like this,’ he said again, ‘but you’ll never go back.’

  Bleak nodded silently. She’d guessed that much for herself, but hearing it from him was better than hearing the lies that no doubt Fiore, Bren and maybe even Henri would tell her.

  ‘You’ve killed people,’ she found herself saying.

  ‘Many,’ he said under his breath. ‘It’s easy enough to take a life. The hard part is living with it afterwards.’

  So he’d done terrible things, too. He was staring at the blaze, his dark features not even slightly softened by the glowing light. Dark stubble shadowed his sharp jawline, and cuts and scrapes covered the rest of his face, making him all the more intimidating. Though his voice was gruff, there was a rare note of kindness in it when he spoke again.

  ‘You’ll remember this day for the rest of your life,’ he said, ‘but don’t let it define you.’

  His umber eyes locked onto hers for a moment, before he limped away towards the horses. Bleak turned back to the inferno; goosebumps raised on her arms despite the intense heat of the fire. She took Senior’s length of rope from her pocket, a scrap that held so many memories and kept her sane.

  It was no good to her now. Taking a deep breath, she threw it into the fire, the flames swallowing it whole.

  Chapter 29

  Dash had always hated lessons, memorising history and facts he’d never use. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t being taught something useful, like how to nock an arrow to a bow, or how to start a fire. Now that Olena was leaving, however, he wouldn’t be going to any more lessons, and that thought scared him. Ma always said the best thing to happen to him was an education. The icy bite to the air told Dash that the summer months were coming to an end, and now he would be spending his days mucking out stalls with his hands about to fall off from the cold.

  Envoys had arrived from Battalon. Their claret-and-blue tunics stood out like blood on snow. Over the next few days, the castle was a continual flurry of movement. Fabrics, furniture, books and everything in between were being packed into royal carriages to be taken down to the docks and loaded onto the princess’s ship.

  Olena hadn’t been herself. She hadn’t asked Dash about the sky, about the colours in the gardens; she hadn’t made fun of him getting into trouble with the cook, or even probed him about what had happened with Sir Caleb at the feast. He hadn’t told anyone about his vision. It seemed like a long time ago now, like a bad dream. He pushed it from his mind and thought of Olena again. She was quiet, withdrawn – as though she had accepted her fate and was in mourning.

  One windy afternoon, a few days before she was due to start the journey to Battalon, Olena requested Dash’s company at the cliffs. He wrapped his cloak around him tightly, bracing himself against the sharp gale, making sure he stayed away from the edges. With the thundering sound of Heathton Falls and the wind whipping his ears, he could hardly hear himself think. He spotted Olena. Her regular guards, Thomas and Jonathan, were gone, and instead she had four new guards with the Battalonian crest stitched onto the breast pocket of their uniforms.

  ‘You’re not going to jump, are you?’ he said.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said dryly, ‘why do you think they’re here?’ She nodded to the men surrounding her.

  Dash’s heart sank. He’d never seen his friend so dark before, so hopeless. She closed her eyes and let the gust tangle her hair.

  ‘What are we doing here? I thought you weren’t allowed out of the keep?’

  ‘There have been a few more allowances lately, since they broke the news.’

  ‘Okay …’

  ‘I wanted to feel the breeze. The cold. I wanted to feel something. Apparently, Battalon is quite humid this time of year.’

  Hot tears stung Dash’s eyes, but he blinked them back. Like hell he would cry in front of four royal guards and the princess.

  ‘Why aren’t you fighting?’ he said quietly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Fight. It’s your life, isn’t it?’

  ‘My life?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Oh, Dash, you don’t understand.’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘No, you don’t. I can’t just do whatever I want – I’m a princess. A blind and unwanted one, yes, but a princess nonetheless.’

  ‘You’re not unwanted.’

  Olena’s bottom lip quivered. ‘I know my father never had much love for me, but my mother … I cannot believe she would allow him to do this. Am I such a burden?’

  ‘The queen is fighting for you, Lena.’

  ‘You can’t know that.’

  ‘But I do.’ Dash took a deep breath. Should I tell her? No. Not yet. ‘Princesses should be able to do what they want,’ he said instead.

  ‘Well, they can’t.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. It was the first time Olena spoke to Dash as though he were a child and she were a grown-up.

  ‘It —’

  ‘Let’s not argue, Dash.’

  ‘Can I come with you, then?’ Dash blurted out. He didn’t know what it would mean to leave Ma and Pa behind, but Olena was his best friend. He was her eyes. She needed him.

  She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be appropriate.’

  ‘Why? We’re best friends.’

  ‘I can’t bring the stable master’s son with me to meet my prince.’

  The comment stung. ‘Your prince?’ Dash said.

  ‘Well, that’s what he is …’

  These weren’t Olena’s words. She was slipping away from him. He couldn’t stand it.

  ‘Olena,’ he said.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Do you want to know what happened to me the night I met Sir Caleb?’ He kept his voice low, out of earshot of the guards standing nearby.

  ‘I knew something happened!’ she said, turning to him.

  ‘You have to swear never to tell anyone.’

  ‘Dash, don’t you trust me by now?’

  ‘Yes, but … It could get me into a lot of trouble. Worse than the belting from Pa.’

  ‘What is it? You can tell me.’

  ‘I – I saw something.’

  Olena’s brow furrowed. ‘Saw what?’

  ‘Umm …’ Dash hesitated. He shouldn’t be telling anyone this, let alone the Princess of Ellest, but … Maybe if she knew, maybe she’d fight harder to stay, or take him with her.

  ‘I was … I was on a ship … There was a girl —’

  ‘What girl?’

  ‘I don’t know – I’ve never seen her before.’ Dash glanced at the guards before continuing. ‘I was on the ship with her, out in the middle of the sea. She didn’t know I was there, and,’ he took a breath, ‘we sailed into the mist.’

  ‘What?’

  He nodded. ‘It was really …’ Dash wanted to say scary, but a knight wouldn’t be scared, and he certainly wouldn’t tell a princess he was scared. ‘It was weird,’ he said, ‘all in black and white.’

  Olena’s mouth fell open.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said after a time, unable to bear the silence.

  Olena took a deep breath of the cold air. ‘Have you told anyone else?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Why? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Black and white, you said?�
�

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you were there, but the girl couldn’t see you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said again.

  ‘I think that was a vision. A magic vision. I think … I think you have magic, Dash. That you might be an Ashai.’

  His face flushed. No. He couldn’t have magic. Magic was bad. He’d never be able to be a knight if he had magic.

  ‘I can’t be … that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Nobody in my family is.’

  ‘Sometimes it skips a generation. Or more.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  It was Olena’s turn to blush. ‘I found some books,’ she said.

  ‘Books? But all the books on —’

  ‘Not normal books,’ she cut him off with a frown, ‘books … Books for people like me – for people who can’t see. They were in the old library. Jaxon told me about them. He didn’t know what they were about, of course. And there’s no one in the castle who can read them … except me.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘History books, mainly. But not like the ones Mrs Milner teaches us with. They’re … different.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘They tell a different story.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I … I don’t think I can say any more.’

  ‘You have to, Olena! What’s wrong with me?’

  ‘There is nothing wrong with you.’

  ‘But there is! You just said so. I might have … magic.’ Dash said the last word as though it were the plague itself.

  Olena moved closer to him, pity painted across her face. She smoothed out her blue-and-claret skirts, the colours of Battalon.

  ‘I can’t tell you everything, not now,’ she said, ‘but I’ll tell you this – what we’ve been taught, it’s a lie. There aren’t just four continents. There are – or were – five.’

  ‘Five?!’