by Lucy Hounsom
‘Evidently not,’ Medavle said, spreading his hands. ‘The child was by then a young woman, probably around your age. She watched her parents die from the window of her home and heard the Lleuyelin order her own death. They dispatched two riders to finish her, but they didn’t return.’
‘The girl killed them?’
Medavle nodded. ‘She had inherited her father’s power at the moment of his death. It’s said she became one of the greatest and most feared Starborn that ever lived, half dragon as she was. She walked Acre alone and didn’t emulate her father’s mistake.’
‘You tried to achieve the same outcome with me,’ Kyndra said after a moment, her unease at the story turning to anger. ‘You used my mother.’
‘I wanted to see whether a Starborn really could sire another Starborn,’ Medavle said honestly. ‘When Wielders mate, there is no guarantee that their offspring will share their affinity – that’s the main reason why most choose not to. But Starborn, it seems, are different.’
‘So my life was just an experiment to you,’ Kyndra said bitterly. She looked up at the Yadin. ‘You wanted a Starborn to reverse what Kierik had done. Killing him wasn’t vengeance enough.’
Medavle was silent.
‘What about my mother?’ she asked, clenching her fists. ‘You didn’t give her a choice!’
‘She had a choice,’ Medavle said, dark eyes penetrating. ‘What she did, she did of her own free will.’
Disgust curdled her outrage. ‘She would never have—’
‘You cannot say what she would or would not have done,’ the Yadin said loudly. Then he lowered his voice. ‘Kierik didn’t hurt her. I made sure of that.’
Suddenly the whole subject was too much. Kyndra couldn’t bring herself to think of her mother with Kierik, couldn’t imagine a scenario in which they had met. Whenever she’d asked about her father, Reena’s eyes had clouded with a strange, bittersweet memory, the truth of which Kyndra would never know. She looked back down at the pack and wondered how she would ever understand.
‘It would only be for a moment.’
‘My answer is no.’
‘I’m leaving soon. Please let me see him.’
‘There’s nothing to see. His face is bandaged. And he already has a visitor.’
Kyndra stood outside Janus’ quarters, arguing with the gold-robed Wielder who guarded the door. Wrinkles ringed the woman’s stubborn mouth and Kyndra felt a flutter of respect. Facing down a Starborn or not, the Wielder stood with arms folded, blocking the way. ‘I won’t disturb him,’ Kyndra said. ‘I only wanted to say goodbye.’
The woman’s face wavered. ‘He still hasn’t woken,’ she said dismissively. ‘He probably won’t hear you.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ Kyndra pressed her advantage. ‘Please. You can watch me.’
The Wielder pursed her lips. ‘Two minutes,’ she said finally, ‘and I will be watching.’
‘Thank you,’ Kyndra said. The woman gave her a look, but opened the door. Kyndra recognized the round-faced girl who sat in a chair beside Janus. Her name was Ranine and she’d visited Janus every day for the last month.
Ranine looked round at Kyndra’s entrance, but didn’t speak. Kyndra nodded at her and the novice turned back to the still figure in the bed. Janus was unrecognizable. Only his head, neck and shoulders showed above the coverlet. All were heavily bandaged and Kyndra saw nothing of his face. One golden curl escaped close to his ear and she stared at it, conflicted. The sadness she had felt a month ago returned to her alongside the hurt of Janus’ betrayal.
The young man’s shallow breathing barely stirred the blanket. Did he deserve this fate? Kyndra asked herself, gazing at the face she couldn’t see. That morning on the plateau had changed them both forever. She glanced at the mirror above the bed. From this distance, the constellations in her skin could barely be seen. They were flesh-coloured, but glinted in light. One mark was slightly darker than the rest – a souvenir of Sigel. That was the star she’d used to destroy Kierik’s bindings. Kyndra knew that the more she touched them, the more the stars would mark her.
‘Goodbye, Janus,’ she whispered to the inert body in the bed. ‘I’m sorry.’
Later, Kyndra stood outside the gates of Naris, watching the sky deepen into afternoon. She was surrounded by Medavle, Nediah and Kait, hooded against the bright sunlight, and the three novices. All were dressed for travel except Gareth, who stood sullenly, the sleeve of his robe pulled down over one hand. Horses brought carefully across the makeshift bridge from Murta stood ready in the courtyard nearby, their reins held by another young novice.
‘I can’t believe I’m not coming with you,’ Gareth said for the umpteenth time, fiddling irritably with his sleeve. The other was pushed right back to his elbow in the summer heat.
‘Master Brégenne says she needs you,’ Irilin reminded him yet again. ‘How many other Wielders do you know from Ümvast?’
‘Just because I was born there, doesn’t mean they won’t bury an axe in my skull as soon as look at me,’ Gareth retorted. He tried to scratch unobtrusively at his right forearm, and Kyndra saw the glint of metal.
‘Well, you didn’t leave yourself much choice, idiot,’ Irilin hissed. ‘You’re lucky that only Master Brégenne knows about that gauntlet and that she found a perfect excuse to take you with her when she leaves the citadel.’
‘It could have been me,’ Shika said in his velvet voice. ‘I was this close to slipping it on, but then Gareth had it off me.’ He smirked. ‘I am so glad he did. That gauntlet might be handy in a night-fight, but I like to take my armour off afterwards.’
‘I didn’t know it wasn’t going to come off again!’ Gareth said loudly and then looked around in case anyone had heard. ‘And it itches like crazy.’
‘I’m sure Master Brégenne will find a way to remove it,’ Shika said breezily, but the humour was beginning to fade from his face.
‘Don’t know why they’re letting you two go,’ Gareth muttered. ‘You’re not even in the Superiate.’
‘We’re going because we want to help Kyndra,’ Irilin said and Kyndra winced. She’d tried to talk the novices out of coming with her as many times as Gareth had complained about the stuck gauntlet. But Irilin was determined to stop Kyndra venturing into the unknown with only Nediah to protect her – she didn’t trust Medavle or Kait. And then Shika had insisted he needed to come to protect Irilin. The irony of the situation was not lost on Kyndra: why should a Starborn need a half-trained novice as protection? But I don’t want this power, she thought vehemently, and I won’t use it.
A month ago, all three novices had stood beside her and watched as the pyre consumed the bodies of Kierik and Anohin, up on the plateau within sight of Acre. They’d listened to Medavle’s deep voice, as he spoke words of parting in the spiky Acrean tongue and in the language of Mariar. Kyndra had marvelled at the Yadin’s composure, at the respect he showed to people who had caused him such pain in life. When the flames began to lick over Anohin’s white garments, a single tear had rolled down his cheek.
Now Kyndra turned to Irilin and Shika. ‘You realize we could be walking into a war, don’t you?’
Instead of falling back on his usual sarcasm, Shika nodded. ‘We’ve made our choice, Kyndra, and we’re happy with it.’
‘I don’t think Alandred is,’ Kyndra replied wryly.
The Master of Novices had made it clear that both Irilin and Shika – if they left –would forfeit their right to further instruction in Naris. ‘I have no control over masters or Starborn or members of the Nerian,’ Alandred had lectured them sternly, ‘but as Master of Novices, you two are my charges. If you choose to leave now, you will not be permitted to return to your studies.’ He’d given Shika and Irilin a look that Kyndra knew well. ‘Past laws would have kept you here whether you willed it or not.’ The look said plainly that he wished those laws still held. ‘But no longer. We face new challenges.’ His eyes had flickered briefly to Kyndra before fixing once again upon th
e novices. ‘Remember, you are still only at Inferiate level. You have many years of study ahead of you before you’ll be ready to face the threat this girl has forced upon the world.’
Kyndra clenched her fists at the memory. As if she’d had any real choice.
Nediah approached her. ‘Messengers have left for Market Primus and Mariar’s largest kingdoms with news of Acre. Until we know what we face, the defence of our home must be our first consideration.’
‘That’s good,’ Kyndra said awkwardly. She wasn’t at all comfortable being the leader of their group. Medavle would make a better choice, as the Yadin had lived in Acre. He knew the world and the history of the empire that had once ruled it.
Kyndra shivered in the sunlight. Whenever she thought of the Sartyans, foreboding built up in her chest. Some of it was Kierik, she realized. She might not want them, but she had his memories of the empire and she recoiled at the horrors he’d witnessed. She’d had so little time to think before reuniting Rairam with Acre, and she’d had very little choice, if she wanted to stop the Breaking from destroying more lives.
Nobody knew what was out there. Even if the empire no longer ruled, there would be others to contend with, those who might seek to harm Rairam and its people. She looked down at her hands and then wished she hadn’t. Where the fingernails of Wielders were either silver or gold, hers were now black. They looked rotten.
‘I hope you weren’t thinking of leaving without saying goodbye.’
Kyndra turned at the voice. Brégenne walked carefully down the entrance hall, one hand on the wall for guidance. The sunlight flooding up to the wide double doors gleamed in her hair. ‘You are like a blaze of starlight,’ she told Kyndra, white eyes fixed on her face. ‘Even at noon.’
Kyndra swallowed. ‘Are you sure you won’t come?’
Brégenne left the shelter of the doors and moved outside. ‘There’s work to do here. Naris has hidden itself for too long.’ She paused and the thin, high clouds blew their shadows across her face. ‘It is time we left secrecy behind.’
Kyndra nodded. Brégenne, she saw, now wore silver robes slashed with red. She and another Wielder, Veeta, had agreed to serve on the Council beside Gend – the only surviving member of the previous Council. A victim of the Madness, Gend had been one of a handful of Wielders that Nediah had finally managed to cure. Despite his recovery, the tall man was not unchanged. Kyndra had sat in on their first meetings and noticed that Gend now spoke more often, though a shadow lingered in his eyes.
Although it was good to see Brégenne on the Council, it was a shame that Naris wasn’t ready to go back to the more democratic days of the Sentheon. At least Brégenne had ordered the Deep sealed and the Nerian given their own space in the upper citadel. Naris had suffered heavy losses and – in the uncertain future that loomed – needed all the able Wielders it could get. Naris’s residents had protested, of course – centuries of prejudice were not easily erased and both sides had lost friends in the Long Night, as the evening of the Breaking had come to be called. The Nerian still wore their black bands and moved around the citadel listless and hollow-eyed. Kierik had been everything to them and now he was dead.
Kyndra looked at Brégenne and remembered the cold sorceress who had torn her away on the night of the Breaking in Brenwym. Another life, she thought, another person. She left the others and walked over to the blind woman, offering her hand. Brégenne took it without hesitation and held it, as Kyndra looked into the white eyes that once had so unnerved her. ‘Goodbye, Brégenne,’ she said quietly.
‘Farewell for now, Kyndra Vale,’ Brégenne said and smiled. ‘I knew I was right about you.’
Kyndra heard footsteps behind her and turned. Nediah stood there, grim-faced. Kyndra nodded at Brégenne and returned to the others, but all were in earshot of the pair. Nediah stared at Brégenne, his eyes unfathomable and Kait watched him narrowly.
‘I have a gift for you,’ Nediah said, ‘and I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long.’
Perhaps Brégenne heard something in those words to frighten her, for she took a step back. ‘Nediah,’ she began, but in one swift movement, the Wielder took her head in his hands. Golden light welled between them.
Brégenne gasped. ‘No!’ She tried to pull free of his grip. ‘Nediah, please!’
Such was the tumult of horror and hope in her voice that Kyndra nearly rushed to her side. Nediah lowered his forehead to Brégenne’s. His lips moved, but the words were too soft to hear. Then he raised his head and closed his eyes. His face tightened in concentration.
‘No!’ Brégenne cried. ‘Nediah, they tried, they tried. Not again, please not again. Let me go!’
Her words had no effect on Nediah, who gritted his teeth and pulled down energy from the hot sun. His hands grew incandescent, hiding Brégenne in their light. She screamed, and though Nediah looked stricken, still he didn’t let her go.
Brégenne screamed again and then the light around her face diminished. Nediah released her and she fell to her knees, chest heaving. Nediah took a step back, staggered and almost fell too. When he straightened wearily, Kyndra noticed his hands trembling. Brégenne’s were pressed against the black stone, her eyes screwed shut.
‘Look at me,’ Nediah said, but Brégenne didn’t move.
‘Look at me,’ he repeated.
Head still bent, Brégenne’s eyelids fluttered. Pain flashed across her face and puckered the thin skin beneath her eyes. She blinked quickly, tears flowing over her cheeks.
It seemed an age passed before she looked up and, as she did so, Medavle swore under his breath. Kait let out a low gasp and astonishment lit the faces of the three novices. Kyndra stared at Brégenne.
She looked back with storm-grey, slightly bloodshot eyes. Her gaze swung to each of them, to her own hands, the sky, to the volcanic stone beneath her knees and to the smoke curling up from distant Murta. Her breath came fast. Finally, she moved her gaze to Nediah and her face was changed, softened, as if her tears were washing away some long-held hurt.
He had watched her with an unreadable expression, but when their eyes met, his face crumpled and he turned away. ‘Come,’ he said to the others, gaze hard and brittle, ‘we ought to be going.’
Wielders emerged from the doors behind Brégenne, who still knelt on the ground. Some gathered around her and there were shocked exclamations and questions babbled into her ears. Brégenne ignored them all. Her eyes did not leave Nediah.
Kyndra’s horse stamped impatiently and she patted it, grimacing at the memory of her journey to Naris with Brégenne and Nediah – she wasn’t looking forward to whole days spent in the saddle again.
She put a foot in the stirrup and swung up unsteadily. Her horse was a great black stallion – really too big for her – and she wondered drily whether Medavle had chosen it. She glanced at the others. All sat atop their horses except Shika, who looked like he was on his third attempt at mounting. Gareth laughed as the slim young man scrabbled gracelessly into the saddle, but his laugh carried a nervous edge. As Shika eyed the animal beneath him with distrust, Gareth said gruffly, ‘Don’t get yourself killed, Shik.’
Shika gave him a brief smile and, once he was settled, leaned down and grasped his friend’s gauntleted arm. Their eyes met. ‘And don’t you do anything I wouldn’t,’ he said.
They were waiting on her, Kyndra realized. She took a last look at the dark mountain that had forever altered her life. The many faces of Naris looked back and she felt the weight of their implacable scrutiny. Drawing in a lungful of summer air, she wheeled her horse around to face the chasm. Its black reaches warned her that the journey had barely begun.
The six horses crossed the bridge and broke into a canter. They would need to head north to circle the citadel and its chasm before they could turn west into the old world. Strange ambassadors, Brégenne thought, watching them go.
She ignored the hands touching her shoulders and the voices asking their questions over and over again. With the eyes he had restore
d to her, she watched Nediah leave. Only when he was out of sight did the squall in her chest burst free.
‘Leave me alone!’ she screamed and the hands flew off her. She screamed again, wordless now, each cry ripping through the remnants of the person she had been. She screamed at what Nediah had done to her, at his gift – the most beautiful and terrible she had ever been given. She cried at his leaving and that she had forced him to do so.
When her throat was raw, the madness subsided and she found herself alone at the gates of Naris. The wind brought her honeysuckle and the sun beat hot on her hair. Her eyes stung and watered with the novelty of light. She stared at the blue sky and felt a great tide rising in her. She saw the trees waving below in the town, verdant green – and when a cloud passed above them, they darkened into forest, the colour of his eyes.
Brégenne rose stiffly, tears and light still misting her gaze. Beneath the shade of her hand, she saw a dark speck winging out of Mariar’s lands to the east. It soared towards the citadel and over, a black hawk, carried high on the thermals.
She was about to return to the citadel when a shriek split the air and Brégenne craned her neck to look. Above her head, two birds now tore at each other, wings slapping the sky. One was the black hawk. She watched it lurch, as it screeched in pain and began to fall. Torn wings flapping uselessly, it crashed to earth and lay still, only feet from the chasm.
The other bird followed it down in wide, lazy circles and Brégenne caught her breath. It was huge, its wingspan twice that of the hawk’s. With a curved, serrated beak, it tore open its meal and began to feed. When Brégenne took a few steps closer, it raised its head and regarded her with malevolent yellow pupils.
She retreated as the bird ripped off another dangling mouthful, and in a few short minutes, the hawk was gone. Blood and feathers smeared the stone. The butcher raised its head, shrieked at the sky and, with a parting glance for Brégenne, it took off. The wind from its passage reached her where she stood and carried a smell of fetid meat.
