by Jenny McKane
But what had happened to Skyresh? She tried to remember, but it was as if the lingering drug of the spell was hovering over her mind still.
She couldn’t afford to focus on that at the moment. She had a job to do. Probably the most important job of the rebellion.
The wheels of the carriage stopped.
The journey was over. They had arrived at the Palace.
***
“Lay her there. I will inform Agnor.”
They dumped her on a table so hard that she had to stop herself crying in pain.
“Hang on,” said one of the men. “I thought I saw one of her eyelids twitch.”
“It happens,” said the other man in a bored voice. “I once saw a dead man sit up on a battlefield. Come on, let’s do this, and then we can have a drink. I’m just about to keel over.”
They retreated, closing the door to the room with a loud bang.
She was alone. Was it safe to finally come out of the spell?
She fought to open her eyes. It was as if her eyelids were stuck together with glue. Finally, she managed to open them. Everything was blurry, and she had to blink several times to clear her vision.
She sat up slowly. She could feel her heart struggling to return to a regular rhythm after the spell. It would take her a few minutes to regain her strength, for the blood to start flowing through her veins again so that she could move quickly.
She glanced around the room, her head spinning. She didn’t recognize it. She had been in the Palace twice before. The last time, she had been searching for information on where Skyresh was being held. That was when Everard had appeared, claiming that he was there to help her, and then he betrayed her to the Jarle.
So many memories. But she didn’t have time for any of them. She had to orientate herself and quickly complete her mission.
Her final mission if all went well.
She stood up, leaning against the table for support. Another minute. She had to get out of this room and find Agnor.
Yes, she was feeling better. She walked to the door and tried the doorknob. It yielded to her touch with a soft click. Her heart lurched and finally resumed its proper pace.
She stepped out into a long corridor. There wasn’t anyone around.
She knew where she was. She was in the lower level, where the staff worked. Everard had led her through this section, when they had been fleeing the Palace. She had to get to the upper level. She had to find Agnor’s rooms, where he resided and practiced his magic.
She climbed the narrow staircase quickly. Once, she saw a guard in the distance, but he was preoccupied, talking to someone in a room.
All of it was to her advantage. There were fewer guards at the Palace. Most had obviously been seconded to fight the rebels. She flitted through the corridors with ease. Her most pressing worry was that the guardians who had taken her here would return to the room that she had been left in and discover that she had risen from the dead.
She stopped suddenly, staring back at a door. Something was telling her that it was important. She could be wrong, of course, but she remembered what Mother Asta had told her about trusting her first instincts.
She turned back, walking towards it. Before she opened it, she withdrew the dagger she had hidden, just in case.
She turned the handle and opened the door.
It was a large room, furnished elaborately. Tall windows fell to the floor with flowing curtains touching the ground. It appeared to be empty.
She walked slowly in, considering.
“Well, well. If it isn’t the Rebel Queen herself.”
She spun around, dagger raised. Her heart thudded violently.
It was Agnor. The ruler. The oppressor. The man who had caused the death and imprisonment of hundreds of thousands of innocent people. The man who had played with history, claiming that the Jarle had ruled this realm forever. The man who had ordered the killing of her family, and all the Anasta warriors. The man who had driven the animals into the Outlying Zone.
It was him. At last.
Hate filled her breast, threatening to overwhelm her.
He walked slowly towards her, smiling.
“I must congratulate you,” he said, shaking his head. “Just when I think I have you, you always manage to turn it around. A spell to pretend you are dead to gain access to the Palace? Ingenious!”
She glared at him. “I don’t want your congratulations, Agnor. Your approval means nothing to me.”
His smile widened. “Oh, come now, Avalon, that’s hardly sporting, is it? We are both leaders, after all, engaged in a battle for supremacy. It is always good to admire the tactics of your enemy. It shows that you don’t underestimate them.”
She circled him slowly. She remembered this about him now. How he used charm and talk to get you offside, but his eyes were always so cold that they sent shivers through her.
“Enough,” she said slowly. “You are defeated, Agnor. The High Wall is in ruins. Our army presses against the city, and it is only a matter of time before we infiltrate it. Your show of magic is the last-ditch effort of a ruler about to be toppled from his throne.”
He laughed, throwing his head back. “You are asking for my surrender? Is that it? If you are so confident, Queen Avalon, then why did you pretend to be dead to come and assassinate me? Surely, you should be leading your troops, marching into the city?” He paused. “No? Because you can’t. That’s why. Your ragtag army is cooling its heels on the outskirts of the city. They cannot enter it. And soon, they will be overrun entirely.”
“Bluster,” she said, still circling him, her dagger raised. “I know that the magic you have used to construct this force is not permanent. It has been woven too quickly, a knee jerk defense response. We will overcome it, believe me. And then the city will be ours. The whole realm will be ours, Agnor.”
She saw a flash of confirmation in his eyes, quickly masked. It was true then, just as she had suspected. The magic had not been stabilized properly. If she could find the source of the power used to construct it, she should be able to reverse it, and she sensed it was the work of the sorceress, who had impersonated her.
“You know, I do admire you in a strange way,” she said slowly. Where should she lunge when the time come? She raked her eyes over him, searching for the weakest spot. “Thinking to send that sorceress into the Far North, pretending to be me. Undermining me. It almost worked, you know.”
He smiled, again. “Yes, Disella did well…for a time. But she is young and volatile. Her mother wouldn’t have made the mistakes that she did. You remember her mother? The Black Witch in the Outlying Zone, whom you killed?”
Avalon’s eyes widened. “She is the daughter of the witch?”
“It’s just a word, Avalon,” he said calmly. “A name that was given to her. She was just a sorceress, the same as you are. Once, she was a young warrior with fire in her belly, just like you. She reminded me of another young warrior woman whom I once knew. What was her name again?”
“What are you talking about?” she said, staring at him.
“This warrior woman was a great queen,” he said, smiling, as if he were reminiscing. “We met when I came into Masgata on a reconnaissance mission. In disguise, of course, before the invasion. She didn’t know who I really was, or what was about to happen.”
Avalon kept circling him, perplexed. Where was this line of talk leading to? She knew he was trying to side track her, as always.
He spun around, facing her. “Yes. Her name was Aliza. She was very beautiful. She had long, flowing brown hair, just like yours. Large dark eyes. A fierce warrior queen.” He coughed. “I suppose I shouldn’t be coy. We had a dalliance, Aliza and me. A love affair, which produced a baby girl, but I had left Masgata before I knew of the child’s existence.”
A bad feeling was surging in Avalon’s chest. Aliza had been the name of her own mother. Mother Asta had told her, and many of the people had spoken about her with Avalon.
“She wrote to me,”
he continued calmly. “She wanted me to come back to Masgata, for her and the child. She still didn’t know what was about to happen, or who I really was. Nor did she know that I wasn’t free to commit to her, even if I wanted to. I was already married, you see, to Ginevra—and we had a daughter of our own.”
Avalon’s heart had started to thump wildly in her chest, and she had the sudden sensation that she was about to be sick.
Agnor paused. She could see the pleasure in his eyes, as he watched her digesting what he had just said.
“Have you connected the dots yet?” he said. “Yes, Avalon, it is true. Aliza was your mother, which I am afraid then makes me your…father.”
“No,” she said calmly, shaking her head. “I don’t believe you. You are lying, as always, to side track me. Distract me. You cannot be my father!”
“No?” he said, staring at her. “Then who was your father, Avalon? Does he ever appear beside you in these visions that you have, suggesting he has crossed over to the other side, along with your mother and grandmother? Do any of the old Anasta Mothers know?”
Avalon’s eyes widened. “Just because no one knows who my father was, does not mean that he is you! You are lying! He could be anyone…” she trailed off limply.
She had asked Mother Asta, of course. Years ago now. But the old woman had only said that Queen Aliza, her mother, had been raising her daughter alone. The identity of the baby’s father hadn’t been known. This was not unusual though for the Anasta queens. They were strong warrior women, who were not afraid to be sole parents if they so desired.
“I have always known who you were,” he said. “I told them to spare you when they found you with your grandmother as a baby. I gave you to one of my top ministers to raise, as his wife couldn’t have children of her own. A token, if you will.” He shrugged. “But the fact remains, you are my daughter, Avalon. What do you have to say about that?”
She felt like she was going to be sick again. The thought that this…this…monster could be her biological father was so repugnant to her, she almost swooned. The thought that her own blood was tainted with his darkness.
“I watched your progress with interest,” he said slowly. “It was obvious from the start that you had warrior blood. They couldn’t breed it out of you, but that was alright because it was being channeled in the right direction. In my service.”
“You were going to kill me,” she spat at him. “You sent me to that camp.”
“Of course,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “You had been corrupted. You had to come back into line, Avalon. It was only what any father would have done for his daughter, you know.”
She glared at him. She had thought that she could not loathe him more than she already did, but it seemed that she could. She had no idea if he told the truth, and she didn’t care. She hated him more now.
“You are a sorceress of great skill,” he said softly. “Passed on from your mother, but also from me. You have both bloodlines. Imagine what we could do, together, if you came back to our side. With our joint powers, we could invade any realm that we wanted!”
So, that’s where he was leading. She should have known. The Black Witch had tried a similar thing with her, the Black Witch who had been his wife. It said a lot about this man, that he was estranged from his own wife, who he sent to live in a remote tower in the middle of nowhere. And what of the daughter that he claimed that they had?
Her blood suddenly ran cold. Suddenly, she remembered what Everard had told her, when they had been imprisoned in the safe house. About the sorceress.
She claims to be Agnor’s daughter.
Was it true? Was the sorceress who had impersonated her Agnor’s daughter? But if what he claimed was true, that he was her father, then the sorceress must be her…sister. A sister, whose mother she had killed.
Her head had started to spin. She lowered the dagger, a fraction. Suddenly, Agnor swooped on her, grabbing the dagger from her head. The next thing she knew, he had pinned her arms behind her back and was holding the dagger to her throat.
“I knew it would work,” he chuckled into her ear. “You are so sentimental, Avalon. It is a weakness.”
“So it was all a lie then?” she breathed. The blade was hard against her throat.
“No, it is true,” he replied. “I am your father, but I am afraid that I am not sentimental like you. All is fair in love and war, as they say. And unless you are my ally, you remain my enemy – whatever the bloodline. So, I am afraid, dear Avalon, that your time is up.”
He pressed the blade tighter against her throat.
“Take your hands off her.”
The voice was so unexpected, he almost dropped the dagger. Avalon gasped. Where had it come from?
A woman stepped into the room. She had long, black hair and grey eyes, which were fixated on the scene in front of her.
“Get out, Disella,” he hissed, tightening his grip on Avalon. “How did you even get in here? You more than anyone should know who it is I am holding. You only wore her face recently.”
Disella’s grey eyes filled with tears. “I heard everything, Father. About your dalliance with her mother, while my own mother and I waited for you. You were married!”
Agnor sighed. “Disella, this is all irrelevant,” he barked. “A story to distract her! I am not her father. How could you think so? I would never have betrayed your mother.”
“Really?” asked Disella, slowly approaching them. “Why did you banish us from Agnoria if you loved us so much? And why did you separate my mother and I, making her live in that awful place, weaving your spells, while I cried myself to sleep at night?”
He rolled his eyes in frustration. “Disella, it was all strategy! We all must make sacrifices for the realm. Your mother knew that her powers were needed in the Outlying Zone. You would have been a distraction to her. That is why I separated you both.”
“I know that you are lying about her mother,” Disella said, her eyes glittering. “I remember Mother crying when I was little. When I asked her why, she told me that you didn’t love her. That you had a love affair with one of the queens.” She took a deep breath. “She hated you for it. And it was why you were more than happy to banish us from Agnoria.”
Agnor paled. “You are getting muddled, Disella. And it is beside the point. The rebel army is at our gates, and their queen is here! Right now! The queen whom you have worked so hard to undermine.”
Disella walked up to them both slowly. Her face was inches away from Avalon’s. Her grey eyes raked over Avalon’s face, as if she were searching for something.
“So,” Disella said, staring her straight in the eyes. “My sister.”
Agnor gasped. “Disella! This woman killed your mother, do not forget.”
Disella nodded slowly. “Yes, she did. It has been what has spurred me on all this time. The desire to crush her to a pulp for what she has done. You see, I thought that she had taken Mother away from me for good. That she was the reason that I would never see her again.” She continued staring hard at Avalon. “But it was all distraction, as you are so fond of saying, Father. Because I would never have seen Mother again anyway. You had made very sure of that. You had imprisoned us both for your own purposes. We were just slaves to you.”
“Disella,” said Agnor, carefully inching back, clutching Avalon. “Our purpose has always been clear, and now we must kill the Rebel Queen to preserve the realm and protect our power.”
Avalon stared at the woman, whose eyes were glimmering slightly with tears. She knew that she was a sorceress, who had impersonated her and caused untold harm to her people. She knew that she served the dark magic, just as her mother had done, but suddenly none of that mattered.
This was her sister.
She could sense the struggle within Disella. She had been raised as a puppet for the regime, and it was obvious by how she was talking that she resented it. Was she inherently evil, or had she been indoctrinated with it, and could now make a clear choice?
> “Disella,” she said.
The woman gazed at her. “You are so beautiful, Avalon. Far more beautiful than I. It was interesting, being you, and seeing how I was treated. The people love you…but I am sure you know that.”
Avalon swallowed slowly. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” she said. “We are sisters. We could rule alongside each other, if that is what you want. You can make a choice, Disella. Just because you have been reared with the dark magic does not mean that you cannot come to the Goddess of Light.”
Disella smiled wryly. “You think that I am capable of redemption? That my soul is not permanently stained by the evil that I have been made to practice?”
“Yes,” cried Avalon. “I do. I believe in you. You can do it, Disella.”
“Enough!” roared Agnor, pressing the blade so hard into Avalon’s neck that a trickle of blood started to course down her skin. “Disella, you need to leave. Now.”
Disella smiled. “Of course, Father. I live only to do your bidding.”
The woman started to walk towards the door with her head down. She steadfastly refused to meet Avalon’s eye.
Avalon’s heart sank. She should have known that it wasn’t possible. That Disella was too far gone. The woman would not help her, even though they were sisters, even though she despised her father and resented his control over her life. Avalon was about to die. She knew that now. At least, she had tried; she could die knowing that she had done everything that she could to defeat him.
She closed her eyes, visualizing the Goddess before her.
Disella put her hand on the doorknob.
Agnor raised the dagger, ready to strike.
The dagger suddenly flew out of Agnor’s hand, ricocheting through the air and landing with a sharp clang on the floor behind them.
He couldn’t believe it. For a moment, he stood there, simply looking at his hand where the dagger had been. Then he turned incredulous eyes onto Disella.
“What are you doing?” he screeched.
