by Beth Alvarez
Kytenia moved to his side and offered a hand.
He shook his head, tried to rise, and bit off a curse. He drew up one clawed and scaly foot to inspect the bleeding cuts.
Chuckling quietly, Rikka knelt beside him. “Twice in one day? I'm starting to think you're dangerous to yourself,” she murmured as she rested a hand against his leg. What she meant by that, Firal didn’t know.
Kytenia touched his other leg and the two of them worked together to mend his injuries. Shards of glass pushed free of his feet and sprinkled the ground before him as his flesh repaired itself. From the looks of things, he was the only one hurt. A small blessing, but nothing compared to the new problems the morning had spawned.
“Envesi is alone in my palace.” Firal’s heart sank as the words left her mouth. She’d been the only thing standing between that woman and the people of Ilmenhith. Without her there, what would stop Envesi from assuming control? Firal had lost the temple only the day before. How could the loss of the entire island be so close behind?
“But you’re alive,” Anaide said with a shudder. “That’s better than we can say for any of the loyal Masters from the temple, I’m sure.”
“Alive and nowhere near the island! What good does it do me to be here? I don’t even know where we are!” Tears filled her eyes and Firal blinked hard. Her family was on the island, far from where she could help them. Her people were suddenly leaderless, her palace controlled by the only living person she could say she despised. For the third time in her life, everything had fallen apart in a moment, and at the core of it was the same man.
“Somewhere safe,” Rune said, his weary voice grating on Firal's nerves. He accepted a hand from Kytenia and Garam and leveraged himself to his feet. Despite the healing, he still grimaced. He tried to straighten, but it was clear he was weakened and exhausted. If he really had opened a Gate for every person present, it was no wonder.
Cold anger stirred in Firal's chest. He'd only just told them he was powerless. How could a man with no magic work such a feat?
Rune picked up his sword from the grass and turned to scan the clearing. The scabbard was gone, left behind in the throne room in Ilmenhith. He made a low sound of displeasure in his throat and rested the flat of the blade on his shoulder.
She eyed him dubiously as he turned eastward and started walking. Pain often lingered after healing, and he walked with a pronounced limp. “Where are you going?”
“Just come on,” he said.
The others followed, even Asula and Kella, apparently having been shaken from their stupor.
Firal’s eyes narrowed. She stood alone in the grass for a long time, the rest of the party shrinking into the horizon as they ventured toward who knew what. Swallowing her pride, she moved after them.
The wood was mature but well-kept, obviously manicured. Little scrub grew beneath the trees and even the grasses were not high enough to make walking difficult, for which Firal was grateful. Her blue silk gown was impractical for anything but mincing around the palace, and moving over hillocks of grass and wildflowers required her to hitch her skirts almost to her knees. Kytenia and Rikka fell back to help her, but even with their assistance, Firal lagged behind the rest of the group.
By the time they reached a hard-packed dirt avenue, sweat made her ebony curls cling to her face and the back of her neck. Uncaring whether or not her dress survived, she dropped her skirts and breathed in relief. The rutted trails carved by carriage wheels and marred by hoof prints were just wide enough to walk single-file in either track. Rikka walked ahead of her, but Kytenia picked her way through the grasses by Firal's side. Deep worry marked Kytenia's face, her eyes distant with whatever troubling thoughts occupied her mind. Unlike her friend, Firal tried not to think at all.
Once they were on the road, it didn’t take long for their destination to come into sight. Sprawling gardens surrounded a towering manor of pale stone. Ivy and clematis vines clustered with purple flowers crawled up its face, framing dark, diamond-paned windows to lend them a sleepy look. Despite the pleasant weather, the arched double doors at the front of the house were closed. Firal might have thought the house empty if not for the smoke drifting from one of the brick chimneys to coil lazily into the azure sky.
Something tingled at the edge of her senses as they approached, making her frown.
“Mages,” Kytenia whispered beside her, frowning as well.
“You know this place?” Ordin peered up at the house, uneasy.
“No, I thought dumping us in a strange place would help keep us from being found,” Rune replied sarcastically.
The captain scowled.
“We need to contact our allies and work out a plan as soon as possible,” Rune continued, shifting the sword against his shoulder and looking up at the house. “There should be enough room for us to stay here while we figure things out.”
“And you think these people will be willing to host us?” Ordin pressed, his hand clenching the hilt of his sword. He had good reason to worry, Firal realized; with them outside of Elenhiise, away from the rest of the guard, he became single-handedly responsible for her well-being.
“I hope,” Rune replied.
Garam said nothing, but chuckled.
They moved past the trees and into the edge of the garden, where a sweet fragrance drifted on the breeze. A face appeared in the window as they approached, but vanished before Firal got more than a glimpse. Before they’d gone a dozen paces more, one of the carved oak doors opened.
A boy who couldn’t have been older than fifteen bolted down the steps. He stumbled when he hit the ground and righted himself in the blink of an eye. “You’re back!” he cried, throwing himself into Rune’s chest to wrap him in a hug.
Rune staggered back a step before he found better footing and clapped the youth on the back.
The mages exchanged startled looks, but it wasn’t until Firal crept closer that she saw what caused them.
The boy was barefoot. The claws on his three-toed, olive-scaled feet pushed into the dirt as he pressed into the hug with all his might.
Firal’s stomach turned over, a sudden, nauseating wave of displeasure making heat rise in her ears. She drew a breath and straightened as she pushed down the white-hot ball of anger in her chest. It cooled to ice in her belly and left her limbs chilled.
A second figure appeared in the doorway, white skirts swirling as she hurried down the steps. Anaide let out a cry and Firal looked again. Her mouth fell open when she realized who it was.
“Brant’s mercy,” Alira gasped, hurrying across the garden and reaching over the boy to cup Rune’s face in her hands. The woman’s eyes filled with happy tears, pure relief on her face. “You’re alive!”
“For the moment,” Rune said, brushing her hands away. He turned toward the group behind him and hesitated.
Alira turned toward them, too, her brows darting upward in surprise. “Anaide? And who—”
“This is Archmage Kytenia of Kirban Temple,” Garam offered. He stepped forward and motioned to each of the people in the party. “Rikka, Master of Wind; Temar, Master of Ilmenhith, and her two mages; Ordin Straes, Captain of the Ilmenhith Royal Guard; and Her Majesty, Firal, Queen of Elenhiise.”
At the sound of her name, the boy who stood with Rune straightened. He stared at her with wide, blue, snake-slitted eyes.
Rune planted a hand against the boy’s head and shoved him away. “This is Rhyllyn. Seems you all remember Alira.”
Rhyllyn stumbled back, rubbing his neck. “She’s the queen?”
Rune shot him a warning look.
“What’s happened? Why are they here?” Alira paused and turned back to Rune with a puzzled frown. “Why are you here?” Her eyes traveled to the crown that still rode on his brow.
“Don’t tell her a thing!” Anaide snapped. “You weren’t there, boy, but the rest of us know what sent her here. We’d best run, before she tattles to the very person we’re hiding from.” Though she glowered, the Master of
Water hid behind the other mages. Firal felt like hiding, herself, but she stayed where she was and let the others talk.
“Alira is a trusted part of the Triad’s council,” Garam said, crossing his arms. “Considering you were jumping at Envesi’s shadow just this morning, I think we have more reason to trust her than you.”
Anaide made a quiet hissing sound and scowled in frustration. The other mages said nothing, but Kytenia and Temar exchanged troubled frowns.
Garam turned to Alira and went on as if nothing had transpired. “The temple was taken yesterday. The palace in Ilmenhith was, essentially, taken just now. It’s a miracle we made it out.” He gave Rune a sidewise glance, the corners of his mouth pulling down. He scratched the corners of his grayed beard as if the want to frown were an itch.
“Essentially,” Rune agreed in a murmur. “I’m sure Envesi will have herself on the throne by sundown.”
Alira’s face darkened. “The witch. She should have burned with Melora. I should have figured it would only be a matter of time before she tried something like this.”
“But there were mages in the palace.” Rhyllyn hovered at Alira’s side, his gaze wandering to the cluster of mages as he spoke. “How did she manage to beat all of you?”
“We should go inside,” Rune said before anyone else could speak, starting toward the manor on his own.
“You expect me to stay in that woman’s house?” Anaide cried, leveling a gnarled finger with Alira.
Ignoring her, Alira joined Garam and rested her hand on his arm in a diplomatic offer of assistance. He didn’t reject her, and together they followed Rune toward the doors. Rhyllyn lingered behind, peering curiously at Firal.
She stared back, her face a stony mask despite the ill feeling the sight of him gave her.
The boy chanced a smile, then sprinted to the house.
“Do you wish to go in, Majesty?” Ordin asked beside her, his voice low.
Firal looked down at her dress and worried her lower lip with her teeth. She didn’t. She didn’t want to see what sort of life an exile had forged. She didn’t want to see the teenage boy who wore Rune’s scales and snakelike eyes, or the way his presence painted a clear picture of a life without her. It was jarring, awkward, and after a moment, she felt the heat of shame rising into her cheeks.
Was this how he felt? Stepping into Ilmenhith and finding a family built without him there?
“I would like to refresh myself,” she said at last. Regardless of what she wanted, she had few options to choose from. “I am in need of a drink, perhaps food as well. We’ll decide what to do after we’ve had a chance to rest.” She picked up her skirts and attempted to look regal as she made her way toward the house. The mages clustered around her, providing a ragtag entourage, but at least it showed she was still in charge of something.
The interior of the manor startled her and, from the way Kytenia turned to look at her, she knew she wasn’t alone.
Open staircases stood to either side of the entryway, leading to a railed space above that looked to be a parlor. A larger sitting room waited just ahead on the main floor, through an arching doorway that spanned the space between the stairways. The architecture was fine and showed hints of Ilmenhian influence, but that wasn't unusual. It was the color of things that surprised her.
Blue and silver banners hung from the railings, and the fine, dark wood furniture in the large sitting area was finished with blue upholstery. The furnishings were obviously made by craftsmen from Elenhiise.
It was as if someone had taken a slice of Ilmenhith and deposited it into this foreign place, and the familiarity made her heart ache.
Rune sighed as he made his way into the wide room before them and leaned his sword against the arm of one couch. “Another week, another adventure, eh, Garam?”
“Seems we were just here,” the older man said. “Never thought we'd both be back here alive.”
“I have to admit I wasn't sure of it, either.” The smile Rune gave him was mirthless, but Garam still seemed amused.
“I suppose we'll be grateful,” Garam said. “As grateful as I can be, that is. A few more years keeping your scaly backside alive might send me to an early grave.”
Rune snorted and claimed a seat.
Alira escorted Garam to one of the couches and helped him sit. “Rhyllyn, would you fetch water and wine for our visitors?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the boy murmured, giving Rune one wistful glance before he hurried out through a small door at the back of the room.
Firal crept into the comfortable-looking sitting room and took a seat on one of the couches. She sank deeper into the cushion than she expected. Nervously, she smoothed her skirts and folded her hands in her lap. She tried to look queenly, but her dress was torn and dirty, her hair disheveled, and she’d not worn her crown to the council meeting that morning, thinking it unnecessary for something so private. She regretted that choice. Of the two of them, Rune looked far more noble. His silver-embroidered coat seemed pristine, for all that he'd fought a free mage and tumbled in the dirt, and there was something to his bearing that made her feel as if she should shrink.
She hated it. No one had made her feel small after she'd taken the throne. She'd grown used to respect and deference, yet the power he exuded with the crown on his brow made it clear he was the sort of man who was meant to rule. And he had been, she reminded herself as Kytenia and Rikka sat alongside her. He'd been raised in the palace, not her. Once, Ilmenhith had expected him to be crowned king.
Ordin shifted on his feet beside her. He'd elected to remain standing beside Firal's couch. Even in the company of friends, he didn’t relax. Firal couldn’t imagine they were in worse danger here than in Ilmenhith, but he still stood with his blade’s hilt in his sword hand, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.
It wasn’t until Firal turned to see where Temar had settled that she realized it was Anaide he watched, not their host. The woman cowered behind the couch and Temar, Asula, and Kella stood over her as if guarding a prisoner. Strange that neither paid any mind to Alira across the room, who was once exiled for treason. Then again, treason had been the reason behind Rune’s death sentence, and he had just saved them all.
Too often in her life, it seemed the line between enemy and ally became blurred.
“You’ve done it again, haven’t you?” Alira hastened to the couch where Rune sat alone.
He slumped in his seat, one scaly hand over his eyes. Firal had seen him after their landing, but hadn’t noticed until that moment how profoundly unwell he looked.
Alira sat beside him, pressed one hand to his cheek and rested the other on his shoulder. He barely twitched as the woman delved into his energy with her own. Gifted in healing as Firal was, her senses prickled with awareness of the deep inspection the other woman performed.
“How many times must we have this conversation?” Alira murmured. “You know you can’t keep doing this. You’ll kill yourself.”
“And yet every time I almost kill myself, I can reach a little farther and do a little more afterward.” He pushed her hands away.
“Well, the seal’s still there,” Alira said. “Just the same as ever. But your body's in a terrible state. Whatever you did, you'd best be mindful you don’t do it again.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem,” Rune replied dryly. “I don’t know what it was in the first place.”
Rhyllyn shuffled into the parlor with a tray of cups. Alira hurried to take it from him and set it on the low table. “You sit and speak with our guests,” she said as she straightened and patted the young man's shoulder. “I’ll fetch the drinks.”
“Whiskey,” Rune said.
“I’m sure that’s the last thing you need,” Alira intoned as she swept out of the room.
Rune growled and sank back into his couch.
The corners of Firal's mouth quirked. She shouldn't delight at him getting any sort of comeuppance, but Alira's answer came with such practiced ease that it seemed a respons
e he got often. Firal's threads of resentment had grown brittle in his presence. It was easier for her to be angry if she focused on his shortcomings.
Rikka cleared her throat. “This is a lovely home, Rhyllyn.”
The boy's head jerked up in surprise at being addressed, but he responded with a pleasant smile. “The nicest place I’ve ever lived, though I enjoyed the mage embassy, too. I’m just glad I won’t have to live here alone.” He tiptoed across the room to sit beside Garam on the couch nearest the entryway.
“Don’t count on that just yet,” Rune said, giving Firal a withering stare. “It’s harder for them to get a noose around my neck in the Triad, but not impossible.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Alira bustled back in with two pitchers, the corners of her mouth twisted with amusement. “You haven’t seen the chaos your arrest started in the Royal City. Wine, Your Majesty? Or water?” She held up a pitcher and looked to Firal for an answer.
“Water, please.” Firal didn’t even blink when Ordin stepped forward. He took the fine silver cup from Alira's hand and tasted the drink before he passed it to Firal.
Rune lifted a brow at the display. “You trust me so little?”
“I am a queen.” She raised the cup to her lips and met his gaze over the rim. “I'm at risk everywhere, it seems.” Even in her own palace. Dismay stole up on her and quenched what little fire she had left.
“I wouldn’t offer you refuge in my own home and then have you poisoned.” His tone was flat and unamused.
Kytenia coughed into her own cup and lowered her eyes.
“Your home? How does a fugitive come to lordship in an allied country?” Anaide asked, her lips peeled back in mockery of a smile.
Rune shrugged and took a cup from Alira without looking at it. “Save a king’s life a few times and you’d be surprised what opportunities open up to you.” He took a sip and scowled into his cup. Evidently, he didn't appreciate the lack of alcohol.
“How noble.” Anaide sneered.
“If not for him, Elenhiise wouldn’t be our ally,” Garam said. “If he hadn’t been present when the proposal for contact was made, it would have been dismissed. The Triad owes a great deal to our trade agreements with the island. Vicamros I—our previous king—never forgot that.”
