by Jamie Foley
“Chieftess.” Soaring Heron stopped as a crowd, including her doppelgänger in full regalia, a handmaiden, and four guards came up behind him. “Would you please explain what sort of deceptive charade is going on?”
Brooke hoped she’d managed to contain her cringe. She glanced at her people, who bowed low behind him without a word. She dismissed them with a wave.
“Wait.” Soaring Heron pointed at Brooke’s double with his lip curled in disgust. “I understand that you maintain this façade for cowardly ‘security purposes.’ But this one actually tried to convince me that she was you. Multiple times. In Darkwood, we cut out the tongues of liars.”
“Then you’d have to cut out my tongue, too. Good thing we aren’t in Darkwood.” Brooke nodded at her doppelgänger, whose face paint accentuated her expression of terror. She bowed again and disappeared behind the guards.
Brooke smirked. “I wondered if you’d recognize me without my paints.”
Please let this work, she prayed as her pulse slammed through her skull.
A playful fire ignited in Soaring Heron’s eyes. Light from a glow-shroom torch on the wall accentuated the flowing tattoos across his bare chest. “Her body isn’t as . . . athletic as yours.” He came close enough to look down on her. All the way down. “What game are you playing?”
Brooke’s trepidation soured into nausea. His attractiveness couldn’t be denied, but it held little pull on her for a reason she couldn’t define.
She considered her words carefully. Unfortunately, the truth might be the best option . . . If he caught her being deceptive again, it could cause international problems.
“You must swear to secrecy.”
Heron drew a knife and cut his third finger without hesitation. He held both out to her.
Brooke did the same, cursing herself for forgetting the Darkwood oath tradition. She shook his hand, mingling their blood as she lowered her voice. “One of our elders is a prophet. He foresaw my death if I do not leave the city before sundown.”
Soaring Heron’s brows knit together. “Who would dare? I’ll kill them.”
“He doesn’t know, but I must obey. I was lucky to survive the last assassination attempt.”
The prince’s red-orange eyes shifted behind her to pierce Lysander. “Let me guess: an Emberhawk?”
Brooke glanced back at Lysander, who looked like a statue carved from marble.
She sidestepped to remain between them. “Lysander saved my life.”
Soaring Heron tilted his head back, but he wasn’t tall enough to look down on Lysander. “What’s he doing here? I heard he’s disabled.”
Brooke frowned, hoping Lysander hadn’t lip-read that. “He’s going to accompany me on a diplomatic mission to the Emberhawk lands. Hopefully things will be safer when I return.”
“You must be joking,” Soaring Heron said. “Please tell me you’re not going to interfere with the sibling squabbles of a foreign monarchy.”
It sounded so much worse when he put it that way. Brooke looked down at her hand and squeezed the bleeding cut together. “Coriander is the rightful—”
Soaring Heron huffed a laugh. “That’s none of your concern!”
“I agree.” Brooke sighed as an azure mask appeared and offered her a bandage. She took it, and he vanished the next instant. “However, that was also part of the prophecy. I have no choice.”
Soaring Heron ran a hand through his long hair, narrowly avoiding the spikes of his crown as he muttered something about religion. “It would be exceedingly ill-timed and dangerous.”
“Agreed.”
He put his hands on his hips and glared at Lysander. “Perhaps I could have a talk with your prophet.”
“I’m sorry,” Brooke said. “I don’t want to go, truly. But I’ll be back within a fortnight. In the meantime, I’ll ensure you’re given the finest accommodations.”
Soaring Heron snorted. “Not during a time like this. Your people would loathe me straight from the start.” He motioned to an iron-jawed guard behind him with more angular tattoos. He whispered something before turning back to Brooke. “We haven’t unpacked yet. My guard and I will accompany you.”
Brooke’s stomach clenched. “Like you said, it’s dangerous—”
“All the more reason you need me to protect you.”
She bit down on a flash of panic. “Please, Soaring Heron. If anything happened to you, it would be a political nightmare.”
“And the same can’t be said for you? Meddling with the government of another nation can be considered an act of war, you know.” He tilted his head as the dark, playful smirk returned. “Call me Heron.”
Brooke stepped closer to him and lowered her voice. “Please. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”
He pulled her into a warm embrace and kissed her before she realized what was happening. Her heart pounded, but her blood lacked the zing that had coursed through her when her second fiancé had kissed her. The one who’d died in a hunting accident. The one who’d strengthened rumors of her curse.
The curse that Heron, her third fiancé, was now subjected to.
Brooke forced herself not to pull away, aware that she must have felt stiff and cold in his arms. But she couldn’t have enjoyed it if she’d tried.
Lysander’s presence lingered behind her. The Emberhawk’s aether simmered with negative emotions. Anger on the surface, but below, something . . . colder.
Heron finally released her. “I came here to be with you. You’ll be mine soon, and I’ll never leave you again.”
Brooke plastered a smile on her face. “All right, if it’s just the two of you. I’ll leave one of my guards behind.” She tied the bandage around her finger and cinched it tight. “We must leave within the hour. Discreetly.”
Ryon never thought he’d have an office. Tapestries and taxidermies adorned the wooden walls. The metal crest of the Katrosi chieftain sat on his desk, beside the Tribal Alliance crest, waiting to stamp yet another decree. He kept the wax hot and the stamps cool with Phoera, grateful for the distraction from the papers his assistant kept piled high.
Apparently he had an assistant now.
But the glamor of becoming Brooke’s advisor had faded far more quickly than he’d imagined. The people were outside, constructing a halfway house in the midday sun. Distributing relief supplies. Tending to burn victims. But he sat here, signing and stamping papers behind a desk as if he were someone of import.
Ryon rubbed his eyelids before he could finish reading the next request for treasury funds to restore a historic monument in the trade district. Before the end of Jadenvive’s restoration, he’d have about as much life left as the treasury would have rupero.
He couldn’t stop wondering about the man who’d sat in his chair only weeks before. How he’d coped with the stress of the job. How he’d decided which requests were important enough to send to Brooke. How he’d determined how many funds to allocate to each request.
How he’d died in Zamara’s fire.
“Sir!”
The door opened before Ryon gave permission. His assistant rushed in with his head ducked as if the stuffed trace cat would return to life and gnaw on his head.
“Excuse me, sir. This is urgent.” He held out a folded piece of parchment stained with ink blots. “It’s meant for the Malaano princess, but the chieftess should see it first. But I can’t find her.”
Ryon raised an eyebrow at him as he took it. The lotus blossom seal was broken. “Who’s it from?”
“One of the princess’s bodyguards, or so the courier believes. He stressed secrecy.”
“Who broke the seal, then?” Ryon asked as he opened it.
“The azure masks screen everything that goes to the chieftess during times of heightened security, sir.”
Ryon grunted his acknowledgement and read the Malaano script:
To Her Highness Princess Vylia, or to her guardian Sousuke,
I hope with everything in my being that you both have awakened, heal
thy and safe, as you receive this. Unfortunately I bear grave news.
Word of your death spread faster than I could travel. Along the road, every tongue spoke of war. In Navarro, the troops seemed restless and on high alert. And in MyEyah, I heard that the emperor executed the families of his daughter’s bodyguards.
I haven’t confirmed it myself, but surely some escaped. We will find them, Sousuke. House Rhu could not have been fully eliminated. And that snake Aoko was surely working for the emperor—he couldn’t have killed his family for doing his own bidding. But then, it seems he betrayed us all.
I was too late. I’m sorry.
Your Highness, forgive me, but it seems clear to me now that your father intended from the beginning of your mission to use you as a sacrificial pawn. Your death was to be his excuse for declaring war on the tribes. And now that I’ve committed treason for saying so, I urge you to hide yourself away. If you have survived (Lillian let it be so), and the emperor learns of it, there could be other assassins sent after you. Once it became clear to me that we were manipulated and outplayed, and when I learned they’d already murdered our families, I decided not to tell anyone you survived the fire, for your safety.
I’ve made contact with the Lotusfall. They have connections to more than one powerful house; they are the only ones who can keep you safe now. The people tire of bloodshed, and if you still draw breath, Your Highness, you could be the key to ending your father’s reign, if that is what you wish.
Regardless, my vow to protect you remains unbroken. You will make an excellent empress one day. Lillian let it be soon.
Trust no one.
Burn this letter. I’ll make contact as soon as I can.
Hiro
Ryon’s mouth felt dry as he squinted at the handwriting. He’d never heard of the “Lotusfall”—that should be how the Malaano characters sounded.
He stood up from his desk, sending his chair screeching across the wood floor. “Why can’t you find Brooke?”
“I . . . Her double is meeting with the public today. She’s not in her chambers or the Grove of the Ancients. The azures won’t tell me anything. I’m not sure where else to—”
A knock interrupted him. Once again, the door opened without Ryon’s permission.
Brooke entered with a hood deep enough to cover her face entirely, but Ryon recognized her anyway. Lysander stood in the hallway behind her.
“I must speak with you in private.” Brooke turned a dark gaze on the courier. “Quickly.”
The courier bowed and left, and Lysander took his place in Ryon’s office. The door shut behind him.
“Good timing.” Ryon held out the letter for her to take. “What’s with the getup?”
Brooke ignored it. “I’m leaving for the Emberhawk Sovereignty with Lysander, Dimbae, Nariellyn, and Prince Soaring Heron and his guard. Secretly.”
Ryon blinked at her. “What?”
“The Elder of Aether had a vision. I must leave before nightfall.” She glanced at the window behind his desk. “I trust you to handle things while I’m gone. Hopefully no more than a week.”
Ryon felt like he’d gone to watch a drama-play but somehow missed the first half of the story. “What are you going to do? You don’t really mean to leave me in ch—”
“We will put Cori on the throne,” Lysander said.
A flare of hope sped Ryon’s heart before his head caught up with it. “You’d need an army to remove Illiana.” He signed as he spoke, even though Lysander apparently didn’t need it.
“Coriander has loyal men, but hopefully it won’t come to that,” Brooke said. “You can do this. The elders handle matters of justice and disputes. You have the authority to handle everything else, but if you need me, just stall until I get back.” She pulled an arm from her cloak and slipped a signet from her finger. “Here.”
Ryon stared down at it, unmoving. “Brooke, seriously, you have a great face for dice, but this isn’t funny.”
“It’s not a joke. You knew when you accepted the position of advisor that you’d be third in line of authority. Or tenth if you count the elders.”
“I’m supposed to be third behind a vice! And I think you’re forgetting that my experience in this job is approximately five seconds. And that I’m not qualified in the first pl—”
“We’re about to have a vice,” Brooke interrupted. “Ulysses will accept my offer within the next couple of days.”
Ryon watched her serious expression in disbelief. She looked exhausted, as if a buffalo-sized leech were stealing her life away. And her brain.
“How are you going to receive his oath if you’re not here?”
“My double can do it.”
“Brooke!”
She couldn’t be serious. This whole thing was beyond stupid. He’d served her for years, prizing her intellect above all.
The poison must have gone to her head.
Brooke sighed. “Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want to do this, trust me. I don’t have a choice.” She set her signet ring on his desk. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Ryon remembered the letter in his hand. He held it out limply. “At least look at this before you run off. It’s kind of important.”
Brooke took it. Her eyes flicked over the ink. “Have the azure masks guard the princess in my absence.” She handed the parchment back to him. “The healers have them on bedrest, so they won’t be going anywhere until I return.”
Ryon stared down at the paper and considered the consequences of resigning.
Brooke’s hand weighed on his shoulder. “Things are crazy right now. It’s hard—I understand that better than anyone else. But you can do this.”
“I’m just a scout,” Ryon whispered. “Choose someone else. Anyone else.”
“I don’t trust anyone else.” Brooke straightened, but he refused to meet her gaze. “You swore an oath to me, Idryon of Quin’Zamar, and I hold you to it.”
Anger sliced through Ryon, and he snapped a glare down at her. “I am Ryon of Jadenvive.”
“Prove it.”
He clenched his jaw. “You are a professional manipulator,” he growled, then turned his glare on his cousin. “Don’t let anything happen to her,” he signed.
Lysander nodded.
“I’ll bring some chocolate back for the orphans.” The corner of Brooke’s lip curled into a smirk as her face disappeared into the shadow of her hood. “Just remember that my absence is a secret. Only the elders, azures, and the kitchen staff know.” She took a step back toward the door. “Aeo leywa ai shea.”
Ryon released a hot sigh as he bowed. “Aeo leywa ai shea.”
Ryon pulled his lenses down and squinted at the messenger, but the new perspective didn’t help the report make any more sense. “What kind of anomaly?”
“Definitely a Phoeran light distortion, sir.” The young man paused to catch his breath. “It’s just abnormally large. And it’s slowly moving east to west.”
Ryon tapped his fingers on his desk as he considered the news. Of course something weird like this would happen right after Brooke left.
He’d have a hard time forgiving her for leaving him with this mess.
“It’s moving toward Jadenvive?” Ryon asked. “From the direction of the Malano border?”
“Yes, sir,” the messenger said. “Sorry for not clarifying, sir. I ran here as fast as I could.”
Ryon wished the guy wouldn’t call him “sir.” He’d been a scout, too, less than a month ago. The same rank.
“But you have no idea what it actually is?” Ryon asked.
“I have ideas, sir, but it’s not my place to say.” The messenger stood straight and avoided eye contact, as if Ryon were a king or something. “Since the apparent danger is potentially beyond my ability to handle alone, sir, I thought it best to return and report in before investigating further.”
“You made the right choice.” Ryon stood and his back ached for a stretch. He removed the half-cape that identified him as t
he chief’s advisor and tossed it on top of the mound of papers on his desk. “Would you like to go back there?”
The young man’s brows knitted together as he watched Ryon move to the corner and strap his belt on, adjust his machete sheath, and grab his bow.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ll grab a few pale masks, and you can lead us to where you saw this . . . anomaly.” Ryon pulled his mask on and tied the ribbon behind his head, savoring the familiar scent of pine and the linseed oil that sealed it.
“You’re going, sir?”
A chance to get out of this cramped office? To escape the job he didn’t want, at least temporarily? To return to the scents and sights and sounds of the forest? Of course he was going.
Ryon scribbled a note with charcoal, then remembered that Brooke always complained about his handwriting and that Phoeran was Kira’s second language. He flipped the parchment over and started again.
Balemba,
Scout reported an anomaly of light-magic approaching from the east. Going to check it out. Back soon.
He hesitated, knowing how worried she’d be if she happened to see this note before he returned.
Dinner at Het’saya? Just me and you this time.
Ryon
Ryon’s heart soared. He hadn’t realized how much he hated cities until he’d made it past the gates. Well, he could never hate Jadenvive—maybe he just loved the wild that much more.
The fresh breeze that smelled of recent rain. The crooning of distant birds and clicking of insects. The tree lizard that titled its head at him from beside the path, jutting out its neck in a colorful display.
Being alone was the only improvement Ryon could imagine. Or swapping out the men who followed him with Kira. At least they didn’t talk much.
The young scout stopped ahead. He whipped his head back over his shoulder to look at Ryon, his face painted with fear.
Then he disappeared.
Ryon gestured to the men behind him and followed suit, cloaking himself in darkness. He allowed light to touch his eyes only and quietly dashed to the tree line, where his floating eyes might be mistaken for those of a curious animal hiding in the brush.
