by K. A. Linde
She laughed softly and then coughed as if that hurt too bad. “Thank you for that. I don’t particularly feel beautiful.” She looked down at her ruined arm. “Helly said it would be like this forever.”
Cyrene nodded. “She told us.”
“It’s fine,” Avoca said evenly without emotion. “I’ll live, and that’s what matters. I’ll just have a half-dead arm forever. Worth it in the end.”
Cyrene frowned at the empty sound of her voice. She would recover, and ruined arm or not, she would still be better off. But it would take time before she was a hundred percent again.
“I didn’t get to say thank you,” Cyrene whispered. “If it hadn’t been for you, then I would be dead.”
Avoca smiled sadly. “And it broke the bond.”
Cyrene nodded. “I miss it.”
“Me, too, but the blood debt is paid,” Avoca said with a sigh of relief. “A life for a life.”
“You’ll always be my sister.”
“As you will be mine.”
Ahlvie frowned. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news at a time like this, but…Orden is dead.”
“No,” Dean murmured in horror.
“What?” Avoca gasped. Then she coughed violently around the word.
Cyrene had no words. She just stared at Ahlvie in disbelief. In some sense, she had never worried about Orden. He had always seemed more like an impenetrable father figure than anything. He’d always known exactly what to do and how to navigate a situation. He had been fearsome with a blade and could track better than almost anyone. It seemed impossible that he could be gone.
“Wara,” Ahlvie got out. “I heard it from Gwynora. Apparently, Wara was the one who had killed her father. Wara went after Orden and ran him through, and then Gwynora slayed the Braj. It happened so fast.”
Cyrene shook her head. She couldn’t speak. As if her vocal cords were frozen. As if her tear ducts were frozen. As if she were frozen.
She had no idea what to say or do or how to process this. She’d lost so much over the last two years. So many people she loved and cared about. She felt broken. Like she couldn’t do anything to mourn this person she loved so deeply.
She’d never again hear him call her girl or see him tip his wide-brimmed hat at her. She’d never see his barreling form negotiate a better rate or slip money into a person’s hand for information. She’d never again get to hear him say that he was proud of her.
One more person Malysa had stolen.
Without a word, she walked out of the tent.
She could hear Dean following her, but he didn’t try to interfere. He’d been surrounded by enough atrocities to know when to remain silent in the face of something this horrible.
She slipped into Dean’s tent since hers was currently occupied by Kael. His cot beckoned. She didn’t even bother to slip out of her filthy, blood-splattered clothes. Just sank down into the bed and stared blankly at the tent wall.
A second later, Dean was there. He reached down and gently tugged her boots off. One after the other. Next came her fighting leathers. First, her mangled pants and then the destroyed top. He was careful with her injured shoulder. He chucked them into the corner before pulling one of his freshly laundered shirts over her head. Then he pulled all of her dark hair up into a knot on the top of her head and carefully wiped the grime away from her face and neck and hands with a rag and a bowl of water. By the time he finished, the basin was filthy.
He didn’t tell her it would be all right. Or try to tell her to be grateful that they’d won and that it was all over. That she should be happy that they’d come out victorious on the other side.
Because, while that was all true, it would do nothing to bring Orden back.
Dean just tipped her back into the cot, wrapped his arms around her, kissed her brow, and whispered, “Go to sleep, my Bloodbreaker. Your fight is over for today.”
The next morning, Cyrene awoke with a clear head.
The depression after finding out about Orden hadn’t gone away, but sleep had done her good. Her magic was finally regenerating, and with it came blessed relief as her shoulder began to knit itself back together.
She rolled over in the cot to find it empty. But Dean was still there, waiting for her.
“Thought you might sleep all day,” he said with a smile.
“How long was I out?”
“The sun has already risen. A solid twelve hours at least.”
Cyrene rubbed her eyes, shocked that her body had let her sleep that long. “There’s so much to do. You should have woken me.”
“No, you needed the sleep. The army will wait for you.”
Dean passed her a plate of bread and cheese. She scarfed it all down like she was starving. And perhaps she was if her magic had been diminished that much.
She gently touched his face. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“I love you,” he said, fitting his lips to hers. “And I have been where you were last night.”
“One day you’ll tell me?”
He nodded easily. “One day.”
That was enough for now.
She retreated and exited the tent, only to run smack dab into a very impassioned Brigette Ellison.
“There you are!” Brigette croaked. “What is this that I hear about you holding the king of Byern prisoner?”
Cyrene’s eyes rounded. She glanced around at who might have heard Brigette’s announcement. Then she grabbed Brigette by the upper arm and shoved her into the tent. Dean’s eyebrows rose when he saw his sister.
“Could you keep it down?” Cyrene growled.
“So, it’s true?” Brigette asked. “The king lives.”
“Brigette!” Dean cried. “That is not public knowledge yet, and we would like to keep it that way.”
“Why?”
“Because we believe that someone will try to kill him,” Cyrene told her.
“Good,” she snarled. “Drag him out from his hidey-hole right now and cut his throat in front of the entire camp. It’s the least that he deserves.”
“That is not happening,” Cyrene told her.
“He has killed thousands! My people! You cannot keep us from him.”
“I can, and I will,” Cyrene said, straightening. “I am the commander of this army, and Kael is my prisoner. He will have a trial and be sentenced for his crimes.”
“That’s absurd. He does not deserve that much courtesy.”
“I know that people in Eleysia believe that,” Cyrene shot back. “You never gave Maelia a trial and cut her head off in the same day.”
“She had my parents’ blood on her hands,” Brigette spat.
“Kael has blood on his hands. Your people, my people, and my others,” Cyrene said. “But, if I kill him here and now, it will accomplish nothing. It will not bring justice to this war. The people who support him will see it as an injustice and not as a final moment to what they have all endured. They need to see him publicly tried for his crimes. It must be legal, Brigette. Or else this will all start again.”
Brigette shook her head. “You’re mad. You’re all mad.”
“See reason,” Dean said gently. “And not the deaths of our sisters.”
Brigette flinched from him. “Fine. A trial then. But he’d better perish there!”
Cyrene was certain that he would. Brigette flew from the tent, still mumbling about insanity. Cyrene had to hold her gumption though. They needed this trial. They needed the people to see a fair due process. And not another murder. Because then, how would they be any better than Malysa?
Dean touched her shoulder. “I will talk to her.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m…I’m going to go help where I can.”
Cyrene wandered the camp, doing all that she could. Saying kind words and thank-yous to the soldiers. Eyeing the rounded-up soldiers who had surrendered and determining who should be pardoned. She helped calculate death tolls, which was the most depressing of the lot. And the most painful, cleansing blo
od magic.
There were still a dozen blood-magic users who had survived. After weeks of regularly feeding off of blood magic, all of them were fiending for another hit. One of them had even attacked one of her soldiers to try to kill him and steal his energy. They had been confined and were being watched day and night since no one knew what to do with them.
Cyrene went to Vera, and they spent the next several hours working together to save the ones they could. Two of them died in the cleansing. And one went mad, babbling incoherently. The rest looked dazed and uncertain about anything that had happened to them. She had to leave them with guards and put Gwynora in charge of determining what to do with the lot.
Then she and Vera wandered back up the cobbled stone steps toward the castle. It was still burning. A full day later, and whatever explosions that had brought the Nit Decus castle down still burned just as hot.
They sent water seekers to the castle to use the Keylani River to douse the flames, but it was slow-moving.
“I have an idea,” Cyrene said. “If you’ll help me.”
Vera saw the glimmer in her eyes and laughed. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever see that rash look cross your face again. You’ve been walking around all day like your head was in the clouds.”
“It’ll take some time to recover. I don’t expect it to happen overnight.”
“You’ll never recover,” Vera said. “Not really. You will just reach a new normal without them.”
Cyrene could see that. And Vera of all people should know. “How are you holding up? I know we’re all celebrating Malysa’s death, but…she was still your sister.”
“I mourned her so long ago,” Vera said. “But killing her was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. And I don’t know if I’ll ever recover either.”
“Let’s help them finish the job,” Cyrene said. “Together.”
Vera took her hand, and a moment later, they were linked. Cyrene was amazed by the vastness of Vera’s magic. She could feel it because of the diamond, but it was something altogether different to link with a god. Even a demigod, as Vera had confided in her. Cyrene had no idea what the difference was. But, if there were some that were stronger than Vera, Cyrene was terrified and hoped they never, ever found Emporia.
As one, they called the clouds to them. Big, heavy rain clouds, like the ones that she had created for Malysa. But this was different. These had a purpose.
They both breathed in deeply at the connection with the weather. A rare talent they had both been given. That in fact Vera had passed down to Cyrene through many generations.
And then the rain clouds emptied onto Byern. The castle sizzled, and steam rose from its shattered facade as the water droplets finished off the work the Tyghan water seekers had been doing. The water seekers all ran for cover at their first sight of rain. Cyrene hadn’t realized how terrified they would be when water came out of the sky, and she had to rush up to reassure them that it was natural. Well, sort of.
Then out of the rubble of the castle, a lone figure emerged.
Cyrene gasped. Kael had reassured her that no one else was left inside. They’d all been evacuated. He’d wanted to make sure that no one who hadn’t volunteered for the army got hurt. Malysa had thought it was a useless effort since she was certain they would win, but Cyrene was glad that he’d done it.
She rushed up to the figure, who was hunched forward and covered in debris. “Hello there,” she called. “Are you well? Do you need a healer?”
The man brushed his hand at her. “I need a good meal. I had to dig myself out of there, and I’m just an old man.”
Cyrene’s eyes widened. “Master Barca?”
He glanced up at her. “Cyrene?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
She glanced behind him, expecting to see Rhea rushing up after him. But he was alone. And his face fell.
“She tricked me. I was going to light the fuse,” Barca said.
“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Cyrene said as Vera came up to her side.
“Rhea…my darling Rhea, she said that you needed my genius, and she lit the fuse.”
Cyrene shook her head. “I don’t…”
“She’s gone,” Barca said. “Stayed behind and locked me out.”
“Gone,” Cyrene intoned. A dull ringing filled her ears.
Barca nodded. “She lit the bombs.”
Cyrene understood then. Understood fully. Rhea had stood at her side the morning of the battle. She had told Cyrene that she loved her, knowing what she was going to do. Then she had used her last brilliant creation to bring down the castle. To end the war and all her suffering.
A hole opened up in the ground before her and swallowed her up.
She dropped hard to her knees.
Saw a flash of black.
Felt her hands scrape against the hard ground.
Her oldest friend. The one who had always believed in her. Who had always been there. The person she would have gone to the ends of the earth and back for.
She was gone.
And somehow, Cyrene had to still go on.
75
The Doma Court
Cyrene slowly rose to her feet again. Vera and Barca had tried to steady her, but she had pushed them off. Everyone had lost someone. Everyone. But she knew what Rhea would want her to do. She knew because she’d had nineteen years with Rhea to learn her every thought. Her every beautiful, brilliant idea in her brain.
And Cyrene knew then how to build anew.
She hadn’t let herself think beyond the war. Beyond that, she wanted to have a place where magical users and humans lived together in harmony. A Fen for the entire world. To right the wrongs that had been done in Byern for so long.
It had been Rhea though, years and years before this moment, who put the idea in Cyrene’s head. Rhea had wanted a place for everyone to be able to get the training that Affiliates were afforded. That there shouldn’t be a system to put you into classes to learn. That just the thirst for knowledge should be enough.
And that was how you created a new world. A better world.
You fed the hungry.
Those hungry for knowledge.
Like Cyrene had been. Like Rhea had been.
No matter where that knowledge took them. It was better to feed the flame than let it go out. And she had the means to do it now.
In Rhea’s honor.
Cyrene took a deep breath. “I need to convene a meeting.”
Vera looked at her curiously. “For what?”
“I’ll need you and Barca there. Everyone to be there. Anyone who felt called to lead.”
Then she stepped away from the pair and the crumpled building and toward a new tomorrow.
It took hours to separate all the generals and leaders from the aftermath of the battle. There was still so much to do. Cyrene felt selfish, extricating them their duties, but this had to be done. The only place big enough to hold them all was before the portal door, which Cyrene now stood before.
She recognized nearly everyone in attendance. All of her generals were in place. Plus, their second-in-command. And so on and so forth. Altogether, there were about fifty people in attendance. Forty more than typically came to her war council meetings, but more leaders had shown up, so that made sense. And this was good. She needed everyone for this to work.
“Thank you for coming,” Cyrene said as everyone finally quieted down. “I know that we are all very busy right now. And that we have so much else to do, but I gathered you all here today to start a new court in Byern.”
“A court?” someone yelled from the back line.
She arched an eyebrow. “Yes, we need to discuss leadership of Byern.”
“Why don’t you just take it?”
Cyrene followed the familiar voice and saw Alura standing at attention. Her midnight-black skin shimmered in the dying light. Her bronze armor was set tight against her skin, and she looked more like a goddess than ever.
A few others raised their vo
ices in support.
“I appreciate the offer,” Cyrene said, “but it’s not exactly what I had in mind. I believe having one person rule this land has caused quite a lot of the problems here. And I would like to avoid that in the future.” She held her hands out. “I propose a new Doma court. A group of five people elected here today to help guide the country in its time of difficulty.”
Voices rose up loud as everyone spoke over the next to try to explain about how that wasn’t how things were done.
“I know this isn’t normal. But I believe it will be a guiding point, and then we can determine if it isn’t working later,” she said. “I would like it to be equal—one human, Doma, Leif, and dragon. Then, one other to lead and manage the court. That way, everyone is accounted for, and no one feels as if their voice or the voice of their people isn’t heard.”
“It sounds like a fine idea,” Vera said with a broad smile.
“Excellent!” Barca barked from the corner.
Soon, others joined in, exclaiming the idea.
One person called out, “There are so many more humans than dragons or Leifs. How will our voices be heard equally to them?”
“You have a fair point, but I am hoping that, one day, there will be just as many Leifs or dragons in Emporia. They deserve to have their own voice, too.”
Specifics were hammered out over the next hour before Cyrene was allowed to ask for volunteers to be nominated for the position. They had to be voted on by the whole and not just their individual unit, which took even more negotiations, but eventually, they were in agreement. People stepped forward, votes were cast, and with a sigh of relief, Cyrene had her new court.
A human—Aubron.
A Doma—Gwynora.
A Leif—Avoca.
A dragon—Sarielle.
And, finally, a leader.
Cyrene had unanimously been voted into that position.
It felt altogether different to be chosen rather than to be placed in it. And she graciously accepted the honor.
Her new Doma court took up positions beside her, showcasing all new solidarity and authority. It was nothing like the days of old and yet so similar. The diamond hung at her throat. She had her court. But they were working toward a whole new future.
