by Effie Calvin
Reality faded in and out, but she was aware someone was holding a waterskin to her mouth. She drank without thinking, but the wine was strange and bitter like it was tainted with something…a poison?
But what would be the point of waiting for her to wake up just to poison her when they could just as easily have killed her in her sleep?
Her vision cleared somewhat, and she realized someone was kneeling in front of her. It was one of the servants from the garden, except she wasn’t wearing a peasant’s dress anymore. She was dressed in light leather armor, and her hair was pinned in a coiled braid.
“What happened?” Vitaliya mumbled. They were in the middle of a forest, and two horses had been tied to a tree not far from where she sat. She tried to move, but her hands and ankles were bound by rope.
“Be quiet,” ordered the woman, and Vitaliya considered screaming just to spite her. But she was already growing drowsy again, so drowsy she thought screaming would be more trouble than it was worth.
She had to think of a way to escape, to get back to Ioanna, and to warn her that her camp had been infiltrated…
But it was so difficult to think when she was so tired.
Vitaliya closed her eyes and resolved to come up with a better plan after she’d rested.
Vitaliya opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. She was on a cold floor, in a box—a cell, she realized. The sort that prisoners were sent to. The back wall was made from plain stone while the other three were iron bars. She tried to get up, but the world shifted as though she were on board a ship.
Vitaliya managed to stagger over to the door’s bars, which was sealed with a heavy, ugly lock. Surrounding her were more cells identical to her own, all empty.
Vitaliya took a few deep breaths and tried to assess what had happened to her. The attack on Nassai was clearly meant to be a diversion, so she could be kidnapped. But why her and not Ioanna, who was so much more valuable?
Or perhaps Ioanna was already dead, killed by whatever goddess had been sent.
No. That was impossible. There were hundreds of paladins at Nassai. No chaos goddess would be able to get within arm’s reach of Ioanna, let alone kill her.
Somewhere nearby, but beyond her line of vision, a door opened. As footsteps approached, Vitaliya realized she might not want to see whoever was coming, and she backed away from the door. A moment later a figure rounded the corner, and Vitaliya saw it was Netheia.
The last few months must have been difficult for the princess because she had a haggard, haunted look in her eyes. Vitaliya would have been expecting her to be pristine and finely dressed so near to the day of her coronation, but she wore a dress that was stained and torn as though she hadn’t changed in many days—and had been spending a great deal of her time sparring. There were dark circles under her eyes, made darker still by her pale, sickly complexion.
“Netheia,” said Vitaliya, unable to stop herself. “What happened to you?”
Netheia did not reply. Instead, she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and unlocked Vitaliya’s cell. It occurred to her to try to run, to bolt past Netheia and try to make it to wherever the exit was…but before she could take a step, the door swung shut behind Netheia.
“I was sure you’d have run back home,” said Netheia. “Anyone with sense would have.”
“This…” Vitaliya’s throat was dry, and she coughed a few times to try to clear it. “It’s just a misunderstanding. There’s been a mistake.”
“There’s no mistake. You tried to warn Ioanna I was coming for her, you fled to my grandmother’s estate with her, and you’ve been traveling around the north gathering up an army with her for the last two months!”
“That’s not true. I was, I was kidnapped! She forced me to go along with her! She has a powerful blessing! I couldn’t get away from her!”
Netheia hesitated, and for a moment Vitaliya thought she might have believed the lie. Then her eyes went distant, and she frowned a little as though listening to a voice that only she could hear.
“You’re lying,” she spat. “And you’re not even good at it. I almost hope she doesn’t come for you, just so I can kill you.”
“Well, good news, then,” said Vitaliya. “She’s not coming, and I don’t know why you ever thought she might. She’d never put one life above the rest of the empire.”
“Above her crown, you mean!”
“No,” said Vitaliya. “Above your sad, crumbling empire with dying fields and starving children and veterans forced into banditry. Maybe you should get out of your palace more often because from what I’ve seen, nobody with any sense would want to rule a country like this!”
Netheia struck her across the face. The blow didn’t seem like one that should have hurt too badly, but from Netheia it was enough to knock her to the floor. Vitaliya landed on her hands, and pain shot through her arms.
“Maybe I should just kill you now,” Netheia said. “If she’s not coming to turn herself in, maybe I should just get it over with.”
“Wait,” said Vitaliya, pushing herself back up. “Wait. Listen—you don’t know what I’ve seen. Nobody in Xyuluthe knows how bad it is, or if they do, they’ve kept it a secret. Xytae is falling apart. Your people are starving because you sent all the farmers to Masim and all the priests of Eyvindr to the Imperial Fields. It won’t matter if you become empress because Xytae won’t last more than a few years before—” Her words ended in a shout as Netheia kicked her in the stomach, and she doubled over in pain.
Netheia’s hand gripped a handful of her hair and dragged her upward again. Vitaliya tried to pull away, but Netheia was absurdly strong. She slammed her fist into Vitaliya’s face—once, twice, three times—and her vision blurred. Vitaliya put up her hands to protect herself, but Netheia barely seemed to notice as she drove her knee into Vitaliya’s ribs.
This was what Netheia had meant by killing her now, Vitaliya realized. There would be no quiet, dignified execution. Just the blood rage. And a war with Vesolda would surely follow once the news reached home.
And her father would never know she did not hate him.
“That’s enough,” said a new voice. It was not particularly loud, or forceful, but Netheia froze immediately. Though her eyes were streaming with tears, and one was swelling to the point that she could barely see, Vitaliya could make out the shape of a woman standing just inside the cell—though she had not heard anyone enter.
Netheia released Vitaliya’s hair, though there was still quite a bit of it left behind in her hand as Vitaliya slumped to the ground.
“Ioanna isn’t coming,” said Netheia bitterly. “I should have known. It was a ridiculous idea from the start.”
“No,” said the other woman, her tone cool and dispassionate. “For this one, she will order her army to surrender.”
Vitaliya studied the strange woman. She was tall with long, messy hair, and the only ornamentation she wore was the smear of red paint across her eyes. She was dressed in plain, battle-damaged leather armor—an odd choice given there was no shortage of intact armor in the city—and carried a sword at her side.
“Ioanna doesn’t think like that,” objected Netheia. “It’s not how she is. She won’t put one person above her whole army.”
The red lady—for there was indeed something intangible about her that Vitaliya could only describe as “red”—did not reply. She only stared at Vitaliya, one side of her mouth curling into a smile that seemed more predatory than pleased. “Do not kill her. Do you understand me? Ioanna will accept your terms but not if you’ve only a corpse to trade.”
Netheia looked about as skeptical as Vitaliya felt, but the red lady paid her no mind. Instead, she crouched down so she was at eye level with Vitaliya, her brow furrowing as though Vitaliya was a puzzle she could not quite work out.
“Almost too perfect,” she murmured. Her eyes were so dark, so cold. “Who moved you here? Dayluue? But why?”
Vitaliya glanced over at Netheia, wondering if she had any ide
a what the other woman was talking about. But Netheia just stood there, stone-faced and awkward. The red lady tapped her fingernails on the stone floor, considering.
“You don’t know, do you?” she asked.
Vitaliya could not tell if the lady was mocking her or not, but she shook her head—only to regret it as the entire room tilted dramatically. “Know what?” she rasped, swallowing a few times to keep her stomach under control.
“Why you’re here.”
Vitaliya recalled her conversation with Aelia, and the rage-inducing suggestion that Vitaliya’s father had met his future bride only because someone had wanted Vitaliya to go to Xytae. She had a feeling the red lady was talking about that. “I don’t know. I’m not important. It, it might have already been done. When Ioanna and I escaped, when Netheia came to arrest her—she didn’t know what to do. If I hadn’t been there, she might not have made it out of the city.”
And that was truly Vitaliya’s only guess. She’d hoped by now she’d have a little more clarity, but the lack of any sort of answer on the subject led her to believe she’d served her only purpose months ago.
In that case, she should have gone back to Vesolda as soon as she’d had the opportunity.
Tears sprang to her eyes at the realization that, if this woman was correct, she would be the cause of Ioanna’s downfall. The red lady made a disdainful face.
“That can’t be it,” she said scornfully. “That’s nothing. Anyone might have done that. A servant, a priest…nobody moves a princess to the site of a civil war without a very, very good reason. And you—you’re nothing but a weakness, a vulnerability to exploit. Dayluue is meant to be on Iolar’s side, but she only gave Ioanna a new weakness when she called you here, and I want to know why.”
“Maybe she’s not on Ioanna’s side, then,” said Vitaliya emptily. “Maybe she’s on yours.”
The expression that came over the red lady’s face was difficult to describe. At first, it resembled confusion, but then it gave way to scorn and disgust, which was followed by dark, ugly fury.
“You stupid, worthless insect.” The red lady’s voice was as cool and level as ever, but Vitaliya could sense something about the suggestion had shaken the woman. She rose to her feet and walked out of the cell, leaving Vitaliya there on the floor. “It hardly matters, I suppose. It’s nearly finished.” She paused to acknowledge Netheia only briefly. “Do not kill her. She will be worthless to us if she’s dead.”
The woman left, and Netheia followed her. Alone once again, Vitaliya lay her head on the cold ground and tried to find a position that did not send pain shooting through her body.
If only the floor were dirt, not stone. She doubted there’d be any seeds for her to coax life from, and if there were, they’d hardly be of any use, but at least she could listen to the world’s heartbeat and allow it to soothe her.
She thought, again, of her father. She did not hate him; she never had. She loved him just as she loved her mother, and now she deeply regretted she’d never written to him to say she was safe, and sooner or later he’d learn what had happened to her.
She only hoped he did not think she’d died hating him.
Perhaps she’d be allowed to visit him in a dream from Iestil and tell him so.
Though only marginally successful in finding a comfortable position, eventually she managed to drift off to sleep.
She dreamed she was in the sun, her head rested in Ioanna’s lap and the scent of fresh flowers in the air. But when Ioanna leaned down to kiss her, Vitaliya realized she was someone else, someone different…
“Don’t worry,” said not-Ioanna. “It’s nearly finished. It’s nearly finished.”
Chapter Fifteen
IOANNA
As they made their way through the camp, Knight-Commander Livius explained the situation at Nassai in great detail—the resources they had, how many people had joined, and how long Ioanna could realistically afford to feed them for.
“How soon can we leave for Xyuluthe?” asked Ioanna as they walked. “If Netheia knows we’re gathering, then we can expect she’s already issued an order for troops to return from Masim. I don’t want to waste a single day.”
“I’ve received word from the Empress Mother Irianthe that an order was issued several days ago,” said Livius. “But she tells me it will be weeks before the nearest of them make it back.”
“Then we should move out immediately,” said Ioanna. “We’re only using up supplies by sitting here and risking infiltration by spies or saboteurs.”
“I agree, but we’ve been training those who have no experience in combat. A few more days would benefit everyone.”
Ioanna frowned. “I don’t want to send anyone away, but I don’t like the idea of farmers fighting the city guards. Even if we can get them proper equipment, they’re at a disadvantage. Could we feasibly leave them here?”
“We don’t know what will happen in the capital,” Livius reminded her. “We need every bit of support we can get. But we will see to it those who have never fought before are not stationed near the front.”
Ioanna gazed out across the camp. Everyone was watching her, and she was sure they’d approach her if she hadn’t been ringed by paladins. Ioanna did not know whether she wanted to invite them to approach her or not. They deserved her gratitude for risking everything to support her. But her confidence wavered as she recalled how the nobles back home always sneered when she spoke up. Perhaps it would be better to remain silent, rather than risk saying something foolish and making everyone regret coming.
She smiled briefly at the gathered soldiers, trying to meet as many of their gazes as she could, trying to convey without words that she valued each of them and understood what they stood to lose. Fortunately, Livius was talking again, giving her an excuse to remain silent. She could not wait to see the expression on Netheia’s face when she rode back into the city with an army. She could just imagine herself on a warhorse, sword in hand, running down every noble who had ever sneered at her approach—
No!
Ioanna shook herself. Where had that come from? It was the most uncharacteristic daydream she’d ever had in her life! She did not want to hurt Netheia or any of the court. Yes, talking sense into them was probably a childish fantasy, but she had no desire to kill them, especially not by her own hand.
Besides, she hardly knew how to use a sword.
“Crown Princess?” asked Livius, and Ioanna realized she hadn’t been paying attention. “Are you all right?”
“I think so,” murmured Ioanna, but now he had a hand to his sword. “Do you sense something?”
He did not reply, but he did not need to. The expression on his face was answer enough. Ioanna had just enough time to wonder which chaos god was foolish enough to attack an encampment of several hundred paladins before rage washed over her.
How dare Netheia drive her from her home? How dare Netheia try to rob her of her birthright? How dare their parents deceive her into believing her blessing was shameful, rob her of a proper childhood, bring her into such a tainted world—
Ioanna ripped herself out of thrall, landing on her knees in the process. She had felt Cytha’s hold on her, heard the thoughts that were not her own, but they’d been so antithetical to who she was that they could only hold her for a moment.
“Get her out of here!” Livius barked at one of the other paladins. The nearest one took her by the arm and began to pull her in the direction of the villa. Ioanna was not certain whether to cooperate with him or join in the fight against Cytha.
But Cytha had not manifested yet, or if she had, she was hiding somewhere unseen. Maybe she would not manifest at all? She hadn’t when Vitaliya was in thrall all those weeks ago.
Then, distantly, Ioanna saw one of her would-be soldiers pick up a sword and stab one of his companions through the chest.
Livius saw it too, but other paladins were nearer and reached him first. Within minutes, they held him by the arms, and Ioanna saw one draw his o
wn sword.
“Don’t kill him!” Ioanna cried. “He’s in thrall!”
Belatedly, Ioanna realized she might be incorrect. The man might just be a spy. But what sort of spy would kill exactly one man in plain view of everyone? She decided she could question him later. For now, she would accept the risk if it meant saving his life.
Something tightened around Ioanna’s arm, and she looked up into the face of the paladin who had been ordered to take her away. She expected him to tell her they needed to leave, but instead he looked at her very strangely and said, “It’s your fault we were cast out of Xytae.”
Ioanna did not think. She called her magic to her free hand and blasted the man back, knocking him off his feet and sending him flying in the opposite direction.
“I’m sorry!” she cried after him.
Aelia had not been beside Ioanna a moment ago, but now she was. “She’s manifesting,” the goddess murmured. “Once she does, I can guide you to her.”
Ioanna scanned the camp again. Everyone she saw had a sword in their hand, but that only made her heart sink.
“Come on!” Aelia cried. “Let’s finish this! You know I hate waiting for things!”
All was silence for a moment longer. Then mist began to gather in front of them, shaping into a woman. When it was done, Cytha stood there before them, looking just as she had when they’d faced her back in Oredia.
“What are you doing?” asked Aelia incredulously. “You can’t be this desperate.”
Cytha’s eyes went from Aelia to Ioanna. Though her body showed no signs of exhaustion, something about her gave Ioanna the impression she was very, very tired. Ioanna waited for her to attack, but she did not. She only stared at them as though she’d just woken up and could not recall why she’d come here.
“Cytha?” prompted Aelia. “Come on. Are you going to call me a traitor, or do I have to do it for you?”
