The flower fizzled and burned, melting into an amorphous globule of pale stone. And
dying with it, the sphere of lightning receded, dropping Morghiad from its shell. He collapsed onto all-fours, vomited and rolled onto the warm, bare earth. It smelled heavily of mould and dampness. Artemi’s flame still glimmered in his mind, but she was unconscious and distant. He would have to rise to search for her, but after the things he’d experienced, he didn’t know if he could walk another step. He’d seen the rocks swirling about him noiselessly, and heard the blood-curdling screams of a hundred-thousand dying men. He’d bathed in their blood, and been embraced by a sentient city.
Curious sensations had been revealed to him when she’d taken hold of The Heart. Artemi had been everything - far more than just the stones of the built structures. She had been
the air and the earth, warmth and cold, fire and ice, matter and nothingness. It had been a terrible power to Morghiad, something that could so easily have spun out of control. It did not care if men or women were hurt; it did not feel guilt or pain or desire; it merely wanted to exist in whatever form it could. He rolled back onto his hands and knees, swords clattering across his back. Some considerable effort was required to stand and examine the scene around, and what a scene it was. Nothing remained of his capital city but a smooth hill of churned, dark soil. He could sense Artemi at the top of it.
Morghiad scrambled up the rise, tripping and falling as he went. It was deceptively far to the summit, but he moved steadily and persistently. Each footfall brought
him closer to his warrior flame. Blazes, they were going to have children! The thought propelled him faster up the mound, harder up the sliding slope. And then he saw her. She was curled up, naked and apparently sleeping. Golden fibres of her hair played in the soft breeze. Cradled in her bare arms was The Heart of Glass, which glittered innocently in the low sun. Morghiad picked her up, taking care not to touch The Heart as it clinked against his muddied armour, and began the long walk to the refugees.
A scattering of Hirrahan soldiers sat bewildered, scattered across the empty camp of the grasslands. Several of them fled screaming as Morghiad walked past them. “Take this warning back to your country,” Morghiad shouted to them, “Calidell is not
yours or anyone else’s.” And, in truth, it was barely his. He found a discarded red cloak to wrap his queen in, adjusted her position in his arms and pressed forward to the woodland. It was another hour before he reached the Cadrans.
At first he was unsure of what to expect from the displaced people whose homes he’d just destroyed, and they walked toward him when he arrived. Women, men, children and soldiers crowded around, asking after the health of their queen. They seemed... relieved, happy and jubilant. There would be a huge celebration before the morning sun came, though Morghiad was hardly in the mood for it. They led him to his tent - the very same one he’d slept in after marching back from tens of battles. Inside, someone had laid a pile of furs
out for him to sleep on. He wrapped Artemi up among them, and secreted The Heart in a dark corner.
“CanI come in?” It was Silar’s voice.
“Yes.” Morghiad did not move his eyes from Artemi as he removed his ridiculous collection of weapons.
Silar stepped inside the tent and seated himselfupon a cushion opposite the king. “Tallyn is not with you.”
“No.”
He gave a knowing nod. “He approved of you really. He just... he worried.”
“Too many people died for me today: him, all those soldiers of Hirrah. Even their king! Did we really do the right thing?”
Silar nodded. “Yes. We did. Tallyn and one other soldier are our only losses. Out of an
entire bloody city!”
“We murdered two-hundred-thousand soldiers. They were men, too. With families. And the wielders...”
“If it wasn’t them, it would have been us. Artemi would have thrown herselfinto a pit of fire the minute you died, which wouldn’t have been much use to anybody. And then the Wilreans would have marched in to murder every defenceless villager from here to the border. And truly, I have no desire to foresee my own death ever again.” He grimaced in the low light.
Morghiad allowed a small smile to surface. If anyone could outlive even a vanhasielu, it would be Silar. “The people have no homes to sleep in.”
“No. Best to ask our queen about that when she recovers.” He glanced briefly to her sleeping form. “What happened to the city walls – that was really The Heart, and her?”
“It was.”
Silar cursed softly, and then his expression began to change into something more confused. “Who are those three people, Mor? You and Artemi seem to be the only ones who know about them, and I’ve tried and tried to work it out. My mind says they exist... except they do not. And they are important somehow...”
“What do they look like?”
Silar shot a brief expression of annoyance at his friend before attempting to answer. “I’m not sure. Two are male, one is a woman. She has something of Artemi about her, thoughI don’t know what it is. It’s as if
she’s Talia, only she isn’t.”
“Red-haired?” How proud he would be to have a daughter as beautiful as his Artemi, and how much like Toryn he would become once other men noticed her. Would she be a fighter, or a leader or scholar? Or maybe she would stubbornly decide to do whatever was least expected of her. His mind worked with the possibilities.
Silar must have spotted something in his face then, for his dark blue eyes narrowed considerably. “I can’t say what she looks like... But... ah, wait – no, I don’t know.” He shook his head in confusion, and Morghiad was not about to lessen it now. Silar would be the first to know once the king was sure that Artemi could bear their children safely. Visions and foretellings aside, he needed to know exactly
what it was that would save her, well before it happened.
A rambling train of displaced citizens snaked ahead of Carlin, their mood curiously buoyant given their recent experiences. True, the wedding of their king and queen had been an event amusing enough to cheer any homeless man, with its roughly dressed nobles,
mismatched gowns and last-minute flower gathering. The army had become very raucous and very drunk within minutes of its commencement, insisting that the new couple walk under each of their swords for their blessing. By the time the king and queen had reached highest-ranking of the officers, the uniformed men had barely been able to stand. And so, only just recovered from the festivities of the previous celebrations, the Cadrans had quaffed the last reserves of rescued ale and danced until the fields had turned to mud. That had been at the old Gialdinian border. Now they were approaching the thick woodland that enclosed the ruined, white capital.
He wasn’t entirely sure what had possessed them to move from one destroyed city to another, especially when rumour held
that Gialdin was irreparable. But the Calidellians seemed to think that their rulers were capable of achieving the impossible, and Carlin was starting to believe it himself. A short cry from the covered cart next to him interrupted his thoughts, and he went to investigate the mood of his daughter. She was old enough to walk now, and insisted upon getting herself into all sorts of mischief. Her wet nurse still minded her occasionally, but she had young children of her own to worry about. When he peered under the canopy, he saw that his daughter had managed to free herself of her cot once again. How could a toddler possibly know about tail-line knots? “Mirel, you must be the most difficult child a father has ever known!”
She merely grinned at him in the same
manner as her mother had.
He reached inside the cart and picked the girl up, wrapping her in his cloak to keep the wind off.
It didn’t matter that she was a wielder, or that his constant retinue of guards seemed to eye her with genuine terror. She was the only reminder he had of his wife, and the dreams of the family they’d always wanted. She giggled and pointed at one of the near
by soldiers as they trotted down the hill. The soldier only responded with a frown.
Carlin had tolerated more than enough of this. “For Blazes’ sake, Ynder, she’s just a baby! Babies can’t wield. Smile at her now and maybe she’ll be less likely to burn you when she’s older.”
Ynder blinked once, and mustered the
smallest smile Carlin had ever witnessed. Sometimes he wondered why he had ever agreed to come to this country. Few people seemed eager to talk to him, and fewer would venture near his girl. But the soldiers had known more about his daughter’s hidden wielding than he had; they’d offered him answers and a great deal of money. They’d told him of Calidell’s need for Mirel, and Carlin would not deny her a secure future.
The great line of people walked on and into the night before it decided that sleep was needed. Tents were pitched, fires were started and carts unloaded. Carlin took his nowsleeping daughter into their small tent and covered her with the furs he’d packed for the journey. She was only partially covered in dribble and food. No one had ever warned him that children were such dirt-attracting creatures! He kissed her forehead and strode out into the night. The air was cool for the time of year, and his guards huddled around the tent in their cloaks. They were Mirel’s prisonkeepers rather than his own, though they claimed to be there for her protection. Calidellian secrets!
A tall, dark figure came into view, and Carlin immediately recognised it as the king. He offered a respectful bow and stood back to allow him to pass. The jade-eyed man did not pass.
“Is your daughter doing well?”
“Messy... and clever with knots. Otherwise she is sweet and innocent as a blue anodyan.”
The king regarded him for a moment, in that oddly intense manner of his, and did not blink or move. “I would speak to you for a minute, if you have the time.”
“Of course, my lord.”
The tall man led him to an especially shadowy area of the jungle, and took a seat on a mossy stump. Carlin sat down opposite him. “What is it you wish to say to me, sire?”
“I want to know what happened when your daughter was born.”
He very nearly spluttered at the king in response. “Surely you know the workings of such things?”
“Indeed. But the reality is often something entirely different to the expectation, is it not?”
Carlin did not particularly want to speak of this. “But the queen’s father – he w-” “Not him. He’s the last personI can ask.” The king’s implacable features very nearly grimaced.
“I see. Well... everything was as it should have been – except for... you know. They couldn’t tell that Mirel was a wielder, of course. So we didn’t know – I wasn’t ready for her to die like that. Not that she should have, anyway.” The memories were beginning to draw tears from him, but he fought them off. “Anyway... we were excited as anyone would be. And then the time came. Helina was so big...” He couldn’t help but smile at that memory. “...I swear the room would darken when she turned sideways. And when she felt the first movements I was with her. Of course, I did my duty... and it was perfect. It shouldn’t have been, but it was. And then Mirel was
there. Helina took one look at her, smiled and whispered her name. Then she just... she went quiet.”
“She felt no pain?”
Carlin scoffed. “Pain? In childbirth? Are you mad? What sort of sense would that make? My love died with a smile on her face. I’ve heard about the women whose husbands left them. Blazes!” What sort of man would do that?
The king looked thoughtful, and rubbed his stubble with the palm of his hand. “Do you think she knew – that she was dying?”
Now that was something Carlin had spent many a quiet evening thinking on. “No. No, I don’t think she did.”
“That is a small consolation. Now, you have been very honest with me. It is only fair
thatI offer you the same honour. The reason my men brought you back here was not so much to enlist the help of your daughter. It is because she is vanha-sielu...” King Morghiad proceeded to outline the atrocities of the woman known as Mirel, a woman he seemed to believe was the same as Carlin’s daughter.
“Not her! No.” He closed his blue eyes against the shadows. “I would not raise her to be anything like that.”
“It’s nothing to do with you-”
“She is MY daughter!”
The king stood to address him calmly. “And that will not change. But nor will her past. When she remembers it... you cannot prevent that altering who she is. Although, if she is anything like Artemi – she will grow into the person she always was. It’s her nature –
nurture changes some things-”
Carlin had heard enough. “She is Helina’s. Helina was good.”
Pity filled the taller man’s face, sickening pity. “I’m sorry, Carlin.”
But he was already one step ahead. “You idiot! You tell me these things and you expect me to treat her the same? What if everything you say to me now makes me turn her into that... thing?”
The king raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I’d assume not since you’re clearly aware of it. Not all of the future is fated. In truth, I’m starting to wonder if any of it is. I have no desire for her to be as she was, believe me. I will happily offer you any help you need to keep her... good.”
“I do not want it!”
“Then you will leave?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. You and Mirel should be gone before my wife finds ou-” A dark shape moved into their path, its movements sinuous and silent. It gazed at them both with green, oval eyes.
A panther, Carlin realised - a huge and long-toothed panther bristling with black fur. It padded serenely around them, circling.
“I’ve never seen one before,” the king said in a low, fascinated voice. And he wouldn’t see any again if this animal decided it was hungry. “Move back,” he instructed.
Carlin was happy to oblige, and stepped away from the animal very slowly.
The king knelt on the leaf-littered floor then, and held his upturned palm towards the
creature.
“Are you mad? It’ll bite the thing off!” Carlin whispered to the inbred idiot. But the creature stepped towards his hand, sniffed at it and began to rub its velvet face against his fingers. A strange rumbling sound came from its throat as the king stroked it like a pet.
Carlin had seen enough. He backed away at first, and then he ran. He would take Mirel and run - run a thousand miles from this place. His daughter would grow to be a good woman, just as her mother would have wished. He would make sure of it.
Artemi set down her canal pen and gave her husband the slightest of acknowledgements when he returned to their tent. “You make me nervous when you touch warm and furry things.”
“Panther.”
“What?”
“It was a panther. Very friendly one.”
That was unusual. They were supposed to be extinct. “Is it still here?”
“She. And no. I think she just wanted to find out who we were.” Morghiad gave her
one of those impossible smiles, the ones designed to render her unable to argue. But Artemi’s mind worked still. The Jade’an sigil was a leaping panther, and the iconography had been all over Gialdin castle. Perhaps there was more to the family association with the animal than their mark. “You ought to ask permission before touching other pussies.”
He laughed. “You have the mouth of a soldier, my queen.”
“And how do you know what their mouths are like, my king?”
“Well...” He moved to stand very close to her and traced a finger around her lips. “...There was one soldier whose mouth was very excellent indeed.”
She pushed his hand away as she felt his guilt starting to grow again. “Stop. I know
what else you’ve done tonight. You sent him away with her, didn’t you?”
Anger and annoyance flashed through him in an instant. “Silar.”
“He did insist upon
warning me, but I already knew you would do it. I know you well-enough. I didn’t think you would do it so soon though.”
“They’re both innocent, Artemi. The longer we held them, the greater the injustice.”
Morghiad always had to do the right thing, no matter what. She loved that about him, and despaired of it.
“Mirel will return for her vengeance. And when she does... if we have children, they will still be young – defenceless. She will kill them first.”
Morghiad nodded. “Then we will be
prepared. We’ll put them somewhere safe.”
Was there anywhere truly safe from Mirel? Artemi would much rather have had the reassurance of knowing her enemy was harmless.
“The child is innocent. It’s the adult we must imprison,” the king said emphatically. “I learned that from you.”
She very nearly stabbed him with her pen out of sheer annoyance. Mirel was still Mirel, memories or not. Just because she couldn’t remember doing what she did made her no less of a danger. And she would have come to understand her imprisonment eventually. But Morghiad had done the proper thing, surely? It was better to stay in the right to behave with impunity.
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