by Elle Cross
Each one called me queen. Each one had offered to serve me in my court. And I had politely acknowledged each offer and refused to claim them. To do so would have been ludicrous. They were powerful enough to serve other queens. Like my mother. After all, why go for a defective copy when you could get the original?
I did my best teacher-voice to chide them for being here. "Now, you know I am supposed to face my challenger alone?"
West, my self-proclaimed Advisor and know-it-all, spoke up. "We may not walk out onto the Killing Circle’s field while the summons is open, but we can surely escort our queen up to the pavilion." He offered me his arm. I automatically placed my hand on top of it and allowed myself to be led to the aforementioned pavilion.
Too soon, we walked through the ornamental pavilion that attached the manor house to the training fields, my mother’s preferred site for these impromptu duels as it was already set up for spectators. The stands were filled with courtiers seated by their respective houses.
My bodyguards wished me luck, each dropping me a chaste kiss on my cheek or knuckles before moving off to the Queen's Pavilion that had the perfect view of the training fields below. Enver was the only one left, and he cupped my face in both his hands. "You will be magnificent out there, my queen." He drew me in to kiss my forehead.
I didn't know what possessed me, but I pulled him down to devour his lips. Desperate to taste every last bit of him, I dug my fingers into his hair, clinging to him like he was the answer to all of my unspoken wishes. He lifted me up and crushed me against his body in answer to my need.
A searing pain lanced in my head, and I broke apart from him with a curse. The summons to appear at the Killing Circle came at the worst time.
He chuckled at my reaction, nuzzling my neck. A curious warmth sparked in my belly at his actions. "Finish with your challenger quickly, my love, so that afterward, I can burn him and his entire House down for this interruption." I wanted to believe that he was mostly kidding, but the way the ebon-black of his rising power bled into his eyes made me reconsider.
I merely nodded in answer, not trusting my voice. I stepped away from the circle of his arms and he let me. With one final caress over my cheek, he walked away to join my other bodyguards in the pavilion.
Did he even notice what he called me just then?
My love.
Did that mean…
I took a step toward him, my curiosity piqued, but then the summons called me again. This time, it was a twisting in my gut that I couldn't ignore. Damned challenger. Whoever it was this time, I would actually glory in bloodying up a bit.
The Killing Circle called for blood. I would answer it with death.
The night sky was an unbroken stretch of stark blackness. No moon. No stars. The Fold called these nights Prophecy Nights in honor of the Oracles.
It was fitting, since the Oracles told me that tonight would be the perfect night for me to die. The glyphs that marked the border of the circle glowed blue and purple. My favorite colors.
Two seats faced each other on opposite ends of the Killing Circle. No challenger ever sat on these seats. Why? No one knew. The precedent was lost to history and part of tradition. I stayed in the shadows, facing the raised platform of the Queen’s Pavilion, waiting until I was called to stand ceremoniously behind my seat.
Thana, the Queen of Nightmares and Death, my mother, stood in front, her red dress spilling seductively over her body to pool at her feet so that she looked like she bathed in blood. The black sheen of her raven-wing cape swallowed up the firelight from the surrounding torches. She looked formidable, her heart-shaped face belied her bloodthirstiness. Her power was such that she could flail someone’s skin off, and yet have that same person apologize for breathing the same air as she.
My sister, Morana, Queen of Winter and Blood stood to her right. She was in her more subdued persona of a willowy maiden. Her snowy white skin and hair, considered the height of beauty in the Fold, set off her bloodstained lips. I met her gaze, and she smiled at me, slowly showcasing her glistening fangs. Her garnet eyes burned brightly, a sign that her bloodlust was rising.
Perhaps she was not as subdued tonight as I’d thought.
My men stood to my mother’s left side, eager for the challenge to start.
My mother held up her hands, and a hush blanketed the night. “Good meet, my lovely Nightmare Court.” Her lush voice promised such secrets and decadence.
She allowed for the requisite greeting to be spoken back to her before the hush descended again and she could continue. “Tonight, we have a special treat to usher in the Darkest Night. We have a challenger. Lord Iden from House Renard.”
Polite applause sounded for the scion of House Renard as he took his place behind the opposing chair. Iden was the Lord of Smoke and Sleep, a winning combination for a man of his mercurial temperament. Because of his uncanny ability to shift with the changing tides of politics, he was barely trusted by the rest of the court, least of all my mother.
“Lord Iden has challenged Karina, our undefeated Lady Brightling.”
The applause for me as I stepped up to my seat hid the simmering lust for violence and surge of power that would be released during a duel. Even my mother hungered for the spillover of power, her cranberry eyes deepening into flecks of obsidian in answer to her rising call.
I wished I had a chance to talk to her before this moment. I had wanted to, but spent too long grieving old wounds and finalizing plans with the Oracles. And then too soon, the Killing Circle called to me.
With a lingering gaze, I pushed what love I had to give toward her.
I love you. Please forgive me.
The massive crow that was perched on her scepter flapped its wings, the cold winds misting over to me. Perhaps that was her way of telling me that she heard me. I could only hope.
“The duel is to first blood, and as such does not require seconds. If however you wish to have seconds, you may name them now.” It was a formality, one that most skipped since most duels ended at first blood. I might not be immune to being challenged, but no one wished to attract the Queen’s wrath by calling for a duel to the death with one of her daughters.
Lord Iden’s high nasal voice rang out across the field. “I call upon Lord Arlo of House Renard to be my second.”
As the roan-colored Lord stepped forth, there was a general titter of excitement. Why would a duel to first blood need a second?
I wondered that myself. I wanted to roll my eyes at Lord Iden’s pretention, but remembered that I stood in full view of the court. Well, if he was going to call upon a second, it would only be fitting to call upon mine. “I call upon Prince Enver of House Eris as my second.”
No one was surprised. In fact, it was like they waited for me to call him, angling closer for a better view. The Prince of Darklight was a spectacle for the court to behold. He had a face made for war—his cheekbones slashed high on his face, full lips both sensuous and grim, piercing eyes that cut sharper than swords.
Even in full battle armor, he moved with lethal grace as he vaulted down from the pavilion. Blue and black lightning crackled around him at every step, the aura of his power made manifest.
He knew how to make an impression with the court.
His gaze drilled into me as he approached, rooting me to where I stood. The blue of his eyes were barely sapphire pinpricks, drowning in the ebon black sclera that signaled the rise of his power. He reached my side, bowing before me. “I serve, my queen.”
He said it softly, but it carried throughout the court.
My heart beat savagely in answer.
I acknowledged his address with a nod, and raised my gaze toward my mother. If she was offended by his words, she didn’t show it.
“Well now, don’t they make a striking pair,” my mother said with a sly smile, her lush voice shading the phrase with too much meaning. The court twittered in response while I swallowed my groan.
I really wished she hadn’t said that. The kiss I sh
ared with Enver bloomed in my mind’s eye, and I had to acknowledge the realization that Enver loved me. Not as a loyal courtier loved his queen, but as a man loved a woman.
He took my mother’s comments in stride, though I refused to look at him to gauge his reaction. Enver would want to talk after this duel about our unfinished conversation. Our entire relationship was an unfinished conversation.
And now my mother had gone and said what she had said. She probably knew what had happened between Enver and me, anyway. She knew everything.
The rest of my bodyguard that remained on the Queen’s Pavilion beside her grinned at her remarks. Of course they’d find my mother’s words funny. These men chose to follow me for some strange reason. Each of them were from powerful houses. Each of them were an instrument of great power. They could have pledged to anyone. Heck, to my mother they were that powerful.
Instead, they had pledged openly to me.
A Brightling.
Someone who took her power from the light, a light that didn’t exist in the land of darkness that was the Fold. Just the thought made me tired, adding to that feeling of being scraped raw.
It didn't matter anymore. Tonight would be the night. The darkest night, as the Oracles prophesied.
Too bad the challenge had to come from Lord Iden. It was kind of insulting to be challenged by him in the first place, but to allow myself to fall to him?
Then again, the idea of him being torn apart after I was gone kind of made me feel better.
The glyphs that ringed the Killing Circle surged with power, demanding that its call for blood be answered. We both walked across the threshold. One, a Lord of Smoke and Sleep, the other, a Brightling, carrying sword and spells.
Once we were both inside the circle, the glyphs acknowledged us, and would only open again once it got its measure of blood.
Smoke and song rose from Lord Iden, growing thick and heavy like a fog bank.
I drew my sword, the ring of steel echoing in the air.
The anticipation heightened. A disembodied voice that sounded like a snake slithering through dried leaves suffused the air. “Begin.”
It should have been easy. Even as I held Lord Iden back with just my sword and spells, I felt stronger. As if I could do this all night.
He, on the other hand, breathed heavily.
The court openly cheered, chanting for blood. My mother clapped in time to their cries of blood, blood, blood! Enver stalked the circle, his sole focus and attention on me.
A shiver of prophecy thrilled up my back, like cold fingers walking down my spine.
It was the time for decisions like the Oracles proclaimed. Time for me to make my choice.
Lord Iden held up his hand, a desperate bid to get past my shields. All of my challengers had done that. They had used up one final burst of power, that left them winded and defenseless, while my shields would soak it all in as I rushed them with my sword to draw blood.
It would have been my move tonight—could still be my move—but my choice was made.
Despite myself, I glanced over at Enver, and met his gaze full-on. That was nearly my undoing.
He knew something was wrong.
I dropped my shields.
Enver pivoted his weight toward me.
Heat engulfed me, scorching my body.
Enver rushed the circle in a streak of darklight. The wards had dropped, the glyphs’ call for blood satisfied.
But it was too late. I was no longer there. The echo of his inhuman battle cry reached my ears before it fell away. I floated out of my body in a rush of smoke and ether, past the circle, past the darkness of the Fold.
And in a blink, solid ground rushed up toward me until I found myself sprawled over loamy earth. I wiped the soot from my eyes, and stood, flexing the feeling back in my hands.
Turning back, I could no longer see where I had come from, only a blot of darkness on a far horizon, before even that, too, winked away from my sight.
Faint gray light on the horizon in front of me bloomed, capturing my attention. The light warmed to a pink before it became a dazzling red. The word dawn floated into my mind. This was what I was witnessing. The dawn of a new day filled with light, its red fingers reaching toward me across the plains.
Hungry for this awakening light, I walked toward it.
Karina
Three years later…
I MISSED MY SECOND train of the evening.
I didn’t notice until it was well out of sight. The screech of wheels pierced through the white noise playing in my headphones, the sound fading away as it rounded the tunnel out of sight.
Great.
I had let the ghost distract me.
It stood directly under the station plaza name. A black and purple blot that was more an idea of a figure with its inky outline in stark contrast against the grimy white tile. Across from it was the broken-down stand of the subway map and benches where the homeless lay for the evening.
Prime area for standing out, which was exactly its point. It was there to be seen, and waited to be acknowledged. And like a good little minion, it would wait an eternity until it was.
You are not there, ghost. Ignore, ignore, ignore.
I bumped up the volume on my headphones. The hush of static rolled over me, the white noise soothing as if it surrounded me in my very own force field.
I was not in the mood to let myself be drawn into another ghost’s drama. Not today.
Work had already been long and draining. Too many lost causes and cold cases. Not enough resources. Same old, same old.
Some days, I liked to think that the work I did for New York’s Major Crimes division made a difference. I wasn’t a first responder, detective, lawyer, or anything like that. No, my official title was Analyst, and it was as tedious as it sounded. Heaps upon mountains atop oceans of data came through on any given case. And it was my job to filter through it all and determine the signal in the noise.
Even though I may be sifting through yet another piece of evidence or cataloging just another scrap of clue, I let myself believe that one day, it could become a linchpin in a case. That, it would somehow be worth it.
I owed it to myself and countless others to do this.
But today was one of those hard days.
I normally received all kinds of case files to transcribe and document for courtroom proceedings or general medical histories. Today, in a nondescript and plain-as-can-be manila folder, hid a gruesome murder of a little girl.
I had closed that folder so fast, but the damage had been done. Crime scene photos, images, blood…all pulled against the tight rein I kept over my dormant memories and powers.
It had been a mistake. There should have been a screaming red folder to broadcast the severity of it. I for sure did not need to have files like that sent to me. When the squad leader had seen me frozen like that, she had swept the folder away and asked who the hell had delivered a case file like that to me.
There had been apologies and somehow someone had managed to give me hot cocoa for my fingers, which were so cold, I kept them curled into tight fists. In the end, I had asked to be excused, and left my shift hours before I would normally have clocked out for the evening.
I tried to detach myself from the type of action that would have produced images like that, but it was too much. Brought up too many memories. Awakened too much within me.
A familiar tightness constricted my chest. Something inside of me clawing to be free.
A cold whisper graced my shoulder, a little weightier than a breath.
It was the ghost.
It didn’t seem to want anything from me, which was a first from a ghost. Usually they had some tip or story they just needed to tell someone. Always a story.
But no, the only thing it did was make me realize that the next train had arrived and I would need to get on it if I wanted to get back to my apartment any time soon.
“Thank you,” I whispered to the spectral form. I didn’t let my thoughts
linger on it for too long, though I dropped a coin in its direction. The exchange would give him a quick jolt of energy. Maybe, it would be inspired to move on from the subway to find its final rest.
I slipped through the subway train doors before they closed and found an empty seat.
The ghost followed me as well. It became more distinct, as if I could see more specific details about it. Like the fact that it was a he, and he looked really funny standing there, staring straight ahead while holding a pole. He even swayed when the train pushed off from the station.
He must have been one of the newly dead. They still retained a kind of muscle memory for such things. I started to wonder about what else it would have been doing were he alive, but that line of thinking led to more complications. As in, gave the ghosts more heft and energy. More power.
And, spectral ghosts imbued with living strength would be a strong clue that a Brightling was nearby. As I was the only Brightling in recent history, it might make others suspicious and want to investigate further. Which would be inconvenient for me since I had faked my death in order to leave the Fold.
I shivered in my jacket, always cold when I thought of my once-home. Always numb. Always the center of too much attention. Always challenged to some fatal fight or duel.
I had survived them all. Lived to tell many tales, and been praised among my mother’s Nightmare Court, where winning was the only thing that mattered.
An ingénue, most said. Their darling firebrand.
I wanted none of it. None of the daily fear, praise, attention, rank, or kills. It had become too much, so I finally gave them what they wanted: I died. Or let them think I did.
It paid to be a beloved apprentice to the Oracles. They were the key to letting the entire court believe that I had died.
Well, all but my mother, of course. It would not do to have the Queen of Nightmares and Death intentionally upset, so they had told her eventually. Still, she didn’t know where I was exactly. Or the circumstances.
