Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Details
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
About the Author
Breakfire's Glass
THE ZHAKIEVE CHRONICLES 2
A.M. Valenza
Finally back in Zhakieva with her demon-siblings in tow, Darkrow Katerini wants only to spend the rest of Lonely Winter resting in the capital. Instead, however, the Blue Emperor sends her on an insane mission: climb the formidable Svarinard mountain range in the height of Lonely Winter and bring back the missing Darkrow of Zhakieva.
As if circumstances weren't bad enough, Katerini is partnered with the Blue Emperor's heir, the strange and infuriating Darkrow Nikolai, who seems more interested in spinning away his magic recklessly than in the actual mission.
Book Details
Breakfire's Glass
The Zhakieve Chronicles 2
By A.M. Valenza
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Addison Moore
Cover designed by Aisha Akeju
This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition March 2016
Copyright © 2016 by A.M. Valenza
Printed in the United States of America
Digital ISBN 9781620047200
Print ISBN 9781620047217
For those few patient ones who weathered my anger through the years: Thank you, I'm trying, and I'm sorry.
Chapter One
The Palace of Pale Stars was a monument to Winter. The heavenly towers pierced the sky and flashed like sword-steel, their icy domes pressing relentlessly into the heavy clouds. The Palace's grey stone gleamed silver in the white daylight and glimmered like stars at night. One by one, as the sun set and the moon orbed, every candle, lamp, and chandelier was given a shiver of breathy flame, flickering once and then bursting into whorling blue fire. Those ghostly flames emitted a creeping heat, sending glowing ice-blue embers into the frigid night wind but never extinguishing. Slowly erupting outwards from the Palace, the streets lit with their own quiet fires, and the city of Zhakieva, capital of the Empire of Zhakieve, became engulfed by haunting blue light. The sight was as beautiful as it was ghastly.
During the throes of Lonely Winter, wandering Darkrow arrived from every corner of Zhakieve, cloaked in sleek black fur, and swept up the streets to the Palace of Pale Stars. They came silently, blurring shadows exploding into liquid shapes on the edges of the city, or seeping darkness bleeding through the streets into the forms of hooded figures. With no other place to call home, the wandering Darkrow settled into Zhakieva for Lonely Winter. Only the bravest, strongest, and most reckless traveled during the season. The Queen of Cold was relentless, her ice storms able to pierce through magic, and her son Quiet Death was quick to strike the foolhardy down.
And yet she had traveled twice, clear across Zhakieve and back, during Lonely Winter.
Katerini curled her thin hands, gloved in black, around her black hood to pull it forward, and the stomp of her black boots was muffled by her heavy black cloak. People bowed as she walked the narrow street towards the Palace of Pale Stars, then cowered when they caught sight of the two silent shadows behind her. Darkrow Porfiry and Vasiliy. Gorchev, her family name. They looked like her too. Long, lean limbs, bony and sickly slender. Sharp faces, pinched lips and straight noses, round eyes. Creamy white-blonde hair. When the three of them stood together, they looked like siblings.
Except, of course, Porfiry and Vasiliy were not human. They were demons, summoned from the stars by her idiot father. Their skin and lips were white as snow, Porfiry's eyes lightless black and Vasiliy's eyes bright blue. Their teeth were as wolves' and their fingers reminded Katerini of glaives, too long and knifelike. Katerini was pale-skinned with light blue eyes, yes, but her eyes did not glow or ripple strangely and her teeth were flat. She was human. Her cheeks flushed with color, her lips tinged a pale pink, and her fingers were long but rounded. Her foolish father may have tried to craft them to human likeness, to look like a family, to look like her, but to Katerini they were unmistakably demons.
She gritted her teeth as she crossed onto Palace grounds. Her father, Darkrow Clyish Gorchev. Killed and eaten by her filthy demon-siblings because he had no foresight, only lofty ideas. For Zhakieve, he had said, and for her. He had wanted them to be a beautiful, terrifying family of Darkrow, fashioned to protect the Empire. An empire which would soon reopen its borders to the world. A noble idea, she conceded, crafting stars into Darkrow. But half-baked. He'd had the strength to summon them, nothing else. Not to bind them and hold them to his will. Yet bind them he did, his fatal mistake, because a demon would not honor a binding to a being of lesser strength. And her father had summoned two demons, not one. They had consumed him, destroying the binding.
Katerini had found them in the cellar, naked and slick with blood, her father's bones crunching between their teeth. She hated them deeply, but did not blame them for her father's mistake. They had acted according to their nature, star-written into cold skin, unfathomable to her human mind. To hate them for their nature was stupid. No, she hated them for what came after—that they insisted upon honoring her father, whom they admired for some inexplicable reason, by becoming Darkrow and acting as her siblings. Pretending they were her family, her younger brothers. Demons, thousands of years old, deferring to her decisions like it was her right. She scoffed. Ridiculous. She couldn't even stand to look at them.
She passed under the towering white entranceway to the Palace of Pale Stars, unsurprised to see swaths of black scattered in groups across the entrance hall. Crisp, speckled glass from twinkling chandeliers refracted the cloaked figures into smoky columns of ash. Her fellow Darkrow turned to look at the new arrivals and Katerini barely avoided cringing. This was not like her usual visits to the Palace, when she returned home from wandering like the rest of them. There was no tired, triumphant pride thrumming through her bones. She was not returning to work in the glass shops or sip tea in one of the Palace's many nooks. Nor was it the beginning of Lonely Winter, no, it was damn near the height and she had no doubt the rumors had spread.
Sent by the Blue Emperor to fetch her demon siblings, who had gone missing on an assignment in the Queen of Cold's Wastelands, like she was bringing home two naughty brats. Shameful, and the other Darkrow had no idea the extent of the situation. What she had discovered when she had found Porfiry and Vasiliy—her lips tightened into a thin line. The Blue Emperor would be informed soon, then the news would spread. She nodded at the Darkrow, their looks of surprise breaking into hesitant smiles. Their eyes flicked to Porfiry and Vasiliy behind her, and the smiles faltered.
"Darkrow Katerini!" a cheery voice called. Katerini repressed a groan as a lanky, older Darkrow broke away from one of the groups and strode her way. He had a toothy grin and floppy brown hair, which was stuffed under a knitted hat that clashed horribly with their black uniform. "Darkrow Porfiry, Vasiliy, so good to see the three of you!"
"Darkrow Evgen," Katerini replied long-sufferingly as he beamed at her. She knew he meant every word. Evgeny Evgen of Solistad, a schoolteacher of young children and possibly the most absent-minded person in Zhakieve. He could move mountains, conjure blizzards, call down famine
, even summon—Katerini watched him bounce on his heels, the hat's little bells jingling rhythmically. Well, he was very sincere. If she wasn't careful, he reminded her of her father. "How unusual for you to be at the Palace of Pale Stars."
"Evgeny, Darkrow Katerini, Evgeny! I asked for a small retreat and His Most Illustrious Majesty Ilya Irini invited me to Zhakieva for the season!" he said excitedly. The bells jingled harder. "Why, the Palace is so beautiful, I wish I could bring Anya, Genya, oh and little Masha—she would love it! Masha is very interested in glass, and so is…"
His head bobbed up and down beneath her nose and Katerini narrowed her eyes. Evgen only came up to her shoulder, roughly the same height as Porfiry, and neither was short. She and Vasiliy were simply too tall. She watched as he babbled about his beloved students, unwilling to interject because Evgen was nice, if scatterbrained. Porfiry and Vasiliy shifted behind her.
They were saved when another Darkrow arrived in the entrance hall and approached them swiftly. She was short, regal, her thick black hair pulled tight into a bun and wire-frame glasses perched delicately on her nose. Aleksandra Yorva. Distant kin of the Gorchev line. Her slight, curvy frame was engulfed by her uniform, the furs thicker and gear meant for hard travel mirroring Katerini's own. A fellow wanderer. Katerini liked her. She was quiet, quick-witted, perhaps a bit gloomy, and contained a vast knowledge of magic. As expected, she had a thick tome tucked under one arm. Aleksandra was never seen without at least one book.
"Darkrow Evgeny, Katerini," she greeted. She inclined her head to Porfiry and Vasiliy. "Darkrow Porfiry and Vasiliy." Porfiry and Vasiliy moved to stand next to Katerini, bowing their heads. Aleksandra had small, flat almond eyes which closed when she smiled, something she rarely did, and her lips were plump and rosy. Those lips were strained around the edges as she said, "I hope you are well."
"And you," Katerini replied. Evgen was vibrating in place, ready for the formalities to be over. "Though you seem distracted."
Aleksandra leveled her with a firm, though not unfriendly, gaze. "A rather distressing matter has been brought to my attention."
Katerini blinked. So did Porfiry and Vasiliy. Even Evgen paused.
"Distressing?" he inquired, suddenly an elder Darkrow. "From His Most Glorious Imperial Majesty? Will he announce this problem?"
Aleksandra pressed her lips together. She stared at them, then focused on Katerini. "He wants the matter quiet for now. Only relevant persons are to know—I was not meant to be one of them. I have been sworn to silence, unfortunately. My regrets," she said, inclining her head.
Evgen sighed. "Ah, well." The bells on his hat jingled, and his face lit in glee. "Ah! Aleksandra, you are well read. Perhaps you know of a legend regarding two ravens—"
She held up a hand and Evgen vibrated in place again. Nodding at Katerini, she said with a wry look, "The Blue Emperor awaits you."
Katerini doubted the Blue Emperor even knew they were in Zhakieva, but she recognized help when she saw it. "Thank you, Aleksandra." She bowed and swept past them, Porfiry and Vasiliy close behind her. Evgen's burst of enthusiastic chatter faded as the three of them entered the quiet arcade leading to the Blue Emperor's chambers.
Her boots, muffled by her cloak, clicked on the gleaming white stone. Porfiry and Vasiliy, as usual, made no sound other than the gentle brushing of air. She sneered and glanced to the side. Glass windows like wide, unblinking eyes offered her an uninterrupted view of Lonely Winter. A set of doors leading out to a peristyle rattled as the Queen of Cold asked to be let in, over and over. Katerini looked to the other side of the arcade, at tightly closed doors dedicated to empty parlors, studies, conference chambers. At night, the hall doubled in size, the ghastly blue flames stretching it into shadows.
The cold lingered, as always, and she pulled down the hood of her uniform, giving distracted nods to those in the arcade, scattered servants or Darkrow. Their warm greetings did nothing to ease the disquiet lurking in her veins. She wanted to be left alone, to curl into shadow and gnaw on her fingers, to think. The twin presences of Porfiry and Vasiliy sat on her shoulders like toads. She didn't want to face Ilya. She wouldn't know what to say or where to start. Why should she be the one to explain their grievances, why should she be the one—
She stopped. Behind her, Porfiry and Vasiliy stopped as well. She glanced to the side, then walked into an empty parlor. They followed behind her and the doors slammed shut with a flick of her finger. They looked at her expectantly. The dull, phantom pain in her stomach became sharp at the sight of them. She hunched, the folds of her cloak sweeping over her. She must have looked like a dying bird, too skinny and pale, her sheets of creamy hair having lost their shine. She could see the impatience in their eyes, the anxiety and irritation boiling underneath their cold white features.
"Enough!" she snapped. They blinked. "How dare you both—that filthy city, and you both lying—" She bit her lip hard, dragging in her temper. She brought her clenched fist out of her cloak, uncurling one long finger at them. "My body isn't made of spells and stars. I am exhausted. Swear to me you will tell the truth when we report to Ilya because I will not speak for you."
They regarded her impassively. "We swear," Porfiry said. Vasiliy almost never spoke. "Calm yourself. We have no intentions of lying to the Blue Emperor."
"Oh? You don't?" She sneered. "Swear again, this time with magic—and in your precious Alexey's name."
Porfiry snarled, his black eyes rippling. "Never!" he hissed.
"Never," Vasiliy whispered, reaching out to place a hand on Porfiry's shoulder. "Not with magic."
"Then we are at an impasse," she replied. "And you have proven to me you won't tell the truth to Ilya. You plan to violate your oath as a Darkrow? That oath is bound in magic as well, and I dare say it would take a toll on you two, demons or not." They said nothing and she laughed condescendingly. "Swear, you fools, to me. I doubt there is much worse I can do to your precious Alexey than I already have." Her sneer faltered as her vision flashed with red, ears filled with screaming both human and inhuman.
She jerked when she felt a slithering, scorching magic touch hers, the boiling rawness of it sliding along her glass-like power. She gritted her teeth against the pain as Porfiry and Vasiliy said in unison, "We swear to you, Katerini Gorchev, we will tell the truth of the events to the Blue Emperor—in Alexey's name."
Then the burning magic was gone and Katerini sagged. They glared at her fiercely, openly resentful. Good. She sneered as she walked past them, the doors nearly blowing off their hinges as she exited the room. Everyone in the arcade jumped and stared as the three of them emerged from the parlor. Katerini ignored them and walked straight to the end of the arcade, where silver doors waited. She pounded on them with a fist.
No guards stood outside the Blue Emperor's chambers because none were needed, not with Darkrow swarming the city. Darkrow were the most powerful and talented wielders of magic in Zhakieve. The moment a person showed the markings of enormous power or unusual talent in the magic arts, they were taken into the service of Zhakieve and trained to be the best, entirely self-sufficient, small empires unto themselves. Then, if they survived and flourished, they swore an unbreakable oath to the Blue Emperor to serve Zhakieve for the rest of their lives. They were silent guardians, in positions like any others—baker, spy, weaver, anything—until they were called upon for help. They were second only to the Blue Emperor, were his eyes and ears, his judgment and justice, and he knew their every movement.
If he paid attention.
Katerini waited impatiently, but the doors showed no sign of opening. She rolled her eyes and threw them open, revealing a hollow great chamber. White pillars sprouted from cold marble floors in circular patterns, the windows heavily curtained with flashing silver brocades, and an enormous fireplace housed silent blue flames which did little to dismiss the chill. The room felt close, like a coffin. Katerini looked to the center of the room. On a lonely dais, the Blue Emperor lounged.
Ilya Iri
ni, the Blue Emperor of Zhakieve, was the most beautiful person Katerini knew. He was also the frailest. Wild blue-black hair curled against the sickly white of his skin, framing his dark blue eyes and pale pink lips. His delicate, bony frame was lost in the robe he wore, pooling around his body and legs in the red and gold blooms of chrysanthemums. His limbs were slender, soft, luxurious. His bare feet peeked out from beneath the robe, toes curling and uncurling, and the silk material slipped off his shoulders. Stunning. Her eyes fastened on the curve of his neck.
Thick whorls of smoke drifted upwards from the sticks of incense burning on his small escritoire, Ilya nibbling on the end of a dip pen. He leaned an elbow against the desk's dark surface. His glasses, the frames silver leaves, were lying on top of a thick stack of papers. His vision had been perfect before the illness came, striking down his parents and leaving him enfeebled. They had played together, Ilya and Katerini, when they were children. Clyish, an inventor of strangely useful oddities, had been close to the Imperial family, especially the Empress. But, as her powers had grown and shielded her from malady, Katerini had watched Ilya pale under the weight of sickness. His mind was strong, however, even if his body wasn't. He had taken the throne tightly in hand after his parents died, despite his youth, despite the whispers.
Katerini strode past the doors, letting them shut quietly, her eyes sweeping the room as Porfiry and Vasiliy came to stand beside her. A glowing blue the color of ice flashed in the corner of her eye and she glanced at the fireplace. The flames flickered silently. They were in private, no one else in the room. "Ilya," she greeted, discarding formality.
Ilya jerked from his reverie and stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. Then he broke into a stunning smile, dropping his pen and clapping his hands together. "Katerini! Porfiry, Vasiliy! You've returned!" Porfiry and Vasiliy inclined their heads. "We were so worried, Katerini, I was so very worried! You all vanished from the map and—" He paused, tilting his head to the side. He took in their appearances and his smile faded. "Something is amiss. Explain."
Breakfire's Glass Page 1
