Sisters of Sword and Song

by Rebecca Ross

  Halcyon strained to follow her around a knot of rocks, hidden from view. But her lungs were weeping, and her body was trembling. Cosima’s care had given her back a tiny portion of her strength, but it was not enough to sustain running and fighting. How easily Macarius had overpowered her at the quarry, Halcyon remembered. He had waited, unseen, for Cosima to depart, and then he had struck, dragging Halcyon from her cell. She had given the mage a cut to his face, hoping it would catch his eye. But she had been too weak to put up a proper fight, to sink the blade into his throat.

  This was all her fault. Macarius had mind-swept her again, and in her exhaustion, she had not been able to shield the mission. He had gleaned it with glee, taking her and Beryl to the mountain only to discover the door was already open. Macarius, coward that he was, decided to wait and see who emerged.

  Halcyon crouched beside Evadne in the shadow of the rocks, struggling to breathe, tucking her hands into her chest to hide how they shook.

  She felt like a stranger in her own body.

  But then there was a flash of something familiar before her. Evadne held Halcyon’s kopis in her palm, waiting for her sister to claim it.

  “Eva, I—”

  “Take it, Hal,” Evadne ordered, and Halcyon obeyed.

  Her scythe seemed to sigh in pleasure the moment she wrapped her fingers about its hilt. The blade remembered her, and she did not dwell on how Macarius had wrenched the commander’s kopis from her hand. She would not let him disarm her again.

  Evadne unsheathed the sword at her back. Halcyon wanted to smile, to see her little sister wielding a sword. An image she would never have imagined she would encounter.

  They waited in the shadow of the rock, breaths far too loud, blades shivering light in their hands.

  And then they heard footsteps. Graceful, poised on the shale. It had to be Beryl.

  Evadne and Halcyon did not move, waiting for her to come around the rocks and find them. But it never happened. The footsteps retreated, and Evadne sagged in relief. But Halcyon knew better.

  “She is playing with us, Eva,” she whispered. “We need to move.”

  Evadne met Halcyon’s gaze. She looked exhausted; how long had she and Damon been in the mountain’s heart? But Evadne nodded and shifted to a crouch, moving away from the shadows to study the plunge of landscape before them.

  Halcyon heard the spell first. A sharp enchantment that whirred in the air like an arrow.

  It struck Evadne, and Halcyon shouted, all of her combat training forgotten as she watched her little sister fall facedown on the shale, limp, sword clattering uselessly beside her.

  No, no, no, no, no.

  She lumbered to her feet, only to trip and fall like her bones were melting. And here came Macarius, strolling down the incline as if he were taking a pleasure walk. His cheek was scabbed from her cut—it would scar, no matter what healing salves he slathered on it—and his clothes were shredded from his magical duel with Damon. But his eyes were gleaming in victory, and he gave Halcyon a cruel smile.

  Beryl followed close behind, staring at Evadne’s prone, unmoving body.

  “It truly has been a pleasure, Halcyon,” Macarius said. He snapped his fingers, and Beryl walked to Evadne, stealing Acantha’s crown from her lifeless arms.

  Halcyon’s chest heaved; spit swarmed through her teeth as she moaned, angry that she could not fight, agonized that her sister was lying on the ground. Had he killed her?

  “Beryl, please,” Halcyon whispered, and Beryl hesitated for a beat. “You do not have to go with him. You can join us. There is nothing for you in the future he plans. Has he told you what has been promised to him if he hands that crown over to Selene?”

  The scribe hesitated, betraying her confliction.

  “Common people like you and me will be forced into labor, to work for the mages,” Halcyon said. “They will take away our rights, our voices, and Macarius will have no need of you when he finds himself living in the luxury of the palace as the queen’s hand, with all of the relics in his possession. He will have you killed, Beryl, for knowing too much—”

  “Enough!” Macarius cried, furious. “She lies, Beryl. Remember the reward I have promised you?”

  Beryl resumed her walk to him. She came to a stand behind him, and when he held his palm up, she hung Acantha’s crown on his fingers.

  It was all over.

  Halcyon wanted to kill him. She vowed she would, soon, and she began to crawl to Evadne.

  She heard his spell, the same one he had shot at her little sister. It struck her like a fist in her ribs, and Halcyon went down. On her belly, she could hardly breathe, she could hardly move. Her blood thickened, pumping slower and slower, but she willed herself to reach Evadne.

  She touched her sister’s cold fingers just before her body froze.

  But her mind was still present. She still saw from her eyes. The storm broke, an aftershock of the magical duel. Rain began to fall, beading on her face, spilling into her lashes.

  And she watched Macarius and Beryl leave them helpless and exposed on Mount Euthymius, taking the resplendent crown with them.

  The Third Scroll

  A Ring Made of Fire

  XXV

  Evadne

  Evadne listened to the storm and felt Halcyon’s fingers on hers and watched the darkness arrive like ink spilling across papyrus. How long would she be frozen here? Would Ivina send her phantoms again, once night fell?

  She thought of Damon, of Halcyon, of Macarius, of the crown. Her mind lived in a loop, reenacting the disaster over and over.

  She heard footsteps crunching, sliding on the shale toward her. It was Damon, and her heart warmed in relief, to know he was still alive. He knelt beside her, his clothes torn, small lacerations bright on his face. He caressed her cheek, her hair. His hand smelled of earth, and his voice was rough as he spoke the reversal to Macarius’s charm.

  “Evadne,” he whispered. The frost melted, and Evadne moved her arms, pushing herself up to look at Halcyon.

  Halcyon was frail, like the wind could snap her in two. Her dark hair was slowly growing back, but her eyes were glazed in pain, her lips cracked with scabs.

  It took everything within Evadne not to weep as she stroked her sister’s hollow cheek, as she watched Damon liberate her from Macarius’s snare.

  Halcyon flinched, blinked. Her gaze found Evadne, as if it was all she wanted to see, and Evadne eased her up to sit on the wet shale.

  “We cannot stay here,” said Damon. His gaze remained on Halcyon, mournful, disbelieving. And angry. Coals stirred in his spirit; Evadne could see it in his eyes when he returned his gaze to her. He was furious to see Halcyon so broken and feeble. He was furious Macarius had defeated them, stolen from them, dragged Halcyon around with a kopis to her throat.

  That fury was electrifying.

  Evadne let it catch and spark within her, and when she looked at her sister, she saw the fire smolder in Halcyon, too.

  The three of them knelt in the rain, unified.

  Evadne recovered her sword and her sister’s kopis while Damon stood and helped Halcyon rise. He looped her left arm over his shoulder, Evadne did the same with her right, and they bore Halcyon’s slim weight between them, helping her walk.

  “The grotto, Damon?” Halcyon whispered.

  “Yes, we left the horses there,” Damon replied, finding the path he and Evadne had originally taken.

  They did not speak again after that, saving their strength to pick through the brush and scale the slopes. The rain fell and the darkness was thick by the time they found the grotto. The horses whickered in greeting, and Evadne had never seen a more inviting sight.

  She and Damon eased Halcyon down to a dry segment of the stone floor. He was quick to rummage through their packs, drawing forth clean tunics and their bedrolls, their provisions. He brought it all to Evadne, silently setting it into her hands before he returned to the rain, granting them privacy.

  Evadne could scarcely see i
n the darkness. She found an ember stone and breathed upon it. A small flame danced on the rock, its light just enough to allow her to behold her sister.

  Gently, Evadne began to undress her.

  She saw how thin Halcyon had become, the bandages for her back still wrapped about her chest. She saw the bruises made from chains and hard hands. She saw the dirt and the nicks on her hands, the blue branching of veins beneath her lackluster skin.

  She saw the ravaging evidence of the poison that had all but eaten Halcyon from the inside out, and Evadne wanted to shake them both awake, as if this were all some nightmare.

  But the waking never came.

  Halcyon was dying, and Evadne could not heal her, could not stop it, could not save her.

  She brought Damon’s spare tunic over Halcyon’s head, easing her arms through the sleeves. Evadne was sorting through the food, hiding her tears as she sought something soft for Halcyon to eat, when her sister finally spoke.

  “You did not recognize me, did you, Eva?”

  Evadne’s throat closed. She wanted to say, I recognized you. I would know you anywhere, even if your soul was in another body. But she could not lie to Halcyon. She reached for the water flask and whispered, “No, not at first.” She brought the flask to Halcyon’s lips, and her sister swallowed only a mouthful of water before spluttering.

  “I hardly recognize myself, either,” Halcyon said with a cough and a smile, as if she wanted to ease Evadne’s dismay. “It will be all right. I just need some time to heal.”

  “Yes,” Evadne agreed, her heart lifting at the thought even as her tears fell.

  She helped Halcyon drink a few more sips before she disrobed from her own sodden tunic. The flame was almost extinguished on the ember stone, but Evadne could see a mottled bruise beginning to form on her shoulder. A painful reminder that she knew nothing about flying. Gingerly, she drew the clean garments over her body. She and Halcyon were eating fruit by the time Damon returned. There was not a fresh tunic for him to change into, but he did not seem to care. He tended to their horses and then built a fire from the wood they had packed.

  Evadne was too weary to ask if the fire was a foolish choice, if it would draw Ivina to them. She shifted to the warmth with a groan, holding her hands to the flames before she made Halcyon a bed beside it.

  Her sister crawled into the bedroll with a sigh of gratitude, the light illuminating her haggardness. Evadne tucked the blanket and shawl about her, watching her sister fall asleep. She counted her breaths, took note of how shallow and raspy they were. She feared the moment when they might cease altogether, and Evadne wrestled with her thoughts, trying to remain hopeful.

  She felt Damon watching her from across the fire, and she lifted her gaze to meet his.

  “Where do you think Macarius will scurry away to?” she asked.

  “He will go to Mithra, to give my aunt the crown,” Damon replied heavily. “Without it, we have no way to break the enchantment on the queen. Selene has the upper hand now.”

  Again, that sense of despair crept over her.

  Evadne was exhausted. All she wanted was to curl up beside Halcyon beneath the blanket, like they had done when they were girls, and sleep for days.

  “I am sorry, Evadne.”

  “What for?”

  He stared at the fire, as if he could not bear to look at her. “I am sorry that I could not defeat Macarius. If we had not just come through the mountain . . . if I had not been so tired, I would have killed him. What he has done to your sister . . .”

  “It is not your fault, Damon.” She thought of how Macarius possessed deeper magic than him. The fact that Damon had been able to fight at all after singing the entire time in the mountain was extraordinary to her.

  “It is,” Damon insisted. “He should not have gotten away.”

  Evadne traced the edge of Halcyon’s blanket with her fingertips, imagining justice for her sister.

  “What do you want to do, Evadne?” he asked.

  She was quiet, sorting through her heart, her worries. But then a path forged itself in her mind. And she knew it was the right choice.

  “I want to take my sister home. To Isaura.”

  “How many days will that take from here?”

  “I think I can make it in three.”

  “You can take both of the horses,” he said, accepting the water flask when Evadne handed it to him. “One for you and one for your sister.”

  “But what of you?”

  “I will be fine.”

  “But where will you go? Back to Mithra?”

  Damon drank. A beard was beginning to shadow his face, and his eyes caught the firelight when he looked at her again. “No. To Abacus. To my father.”

  They fell silent, the fire dancing between them.

  “You should get some sleep,” he said. “I will keep watch.”

  And she wanted to say that he needed rest, too. More than her.

  But Evadne sank to the ground. She curled up beside her sister, listened to her breaths, and fell into a dreamless slumber.

  Dawn arrived, foggy and warm, the wind having borne the rain to the east. Evadne woke before Halcyon and quietly worked to prepare the horses and pack the provisions with Damon.

  “When you camp tonight,” Damon spoke in a low voice, rushing his hand over one of the horses’ manes, “I want you to burn a fire. Keep your sword near, as well as a long branch that you can wield as a torch.”

  Evadne felt her fears stir. “Do you think Ivina will come after me?”

  “I do not know. But it would ease my mind to know that you are prepared if she does.”

  Evadne nodded, words caught in her throat. She was afraid, although she did not want to be. She closed her eyes until she felt Damon’s caress in her hair, gentle as a spring breeze.

  “You will make it home safely,” he whispered.

  She breathed in that promise, felt its wings unfold and beat within her chest. As if a part of her had awakened, come to life.

  She leaned into him for a moment, until she felt overwhelmed by the feelings he roused in her. Evadne stepped back, watching his hand ease away, the silver flashing on his finger.

  She turned and knelt beside Halcyon, waking her sister. Evadne had hoped that Halcyon would look better come morning, but her face was still bloodless, her eyes still glazed, her movements still arduous. Yes, they needed to get home. As swiftly as they could.

  The three of them ate a small repast, and then Damon helped Halcyon mount her horse.

  Evadne climbed into her saddle, waiting to speak to Damon before they departed. He walked to her side and whispered a phrase to her in God Tongue, low and sweet, the words radiant. And then he let her go, the distance growing between them. Evadne had heard him clearly, but she did not translate his words, did not swallow them until she and Halcyon had ridden to the southwest and Damon had departed on foot to the southeast.

  I will come for you soon.

  XXVI

  Halcyon

  Halcyon did her best to keep up with Evadne’s harried pace. She did not know why they had separated from Damon; she did not care, as long as she was with her sister. But her head was throbbing, and every breath she took felt like she was drawing a saw over wet wood. Splintered and damp and painful. And then she realized where they were going, that the mountains remained to their right.

  Evadne was taking her home.

  She longed for Isaura, to see her parents. She longed to sleep in her childhood bed and savor Aunt Lydia’s stew and braid Maia’s hair and listen to Lysander’s whines and soak in Uncle Nico’s stories.

  But . . . she could not imagine them wanting the same of her. She was a stranger, a criminal. She had humiliated them.

  Mount Euthymius was still visible when Evadne stopped to make camp for the night. She helped Halcyon down from the saddle, and Halcyon shakily set out a meal while her little sister tended to the horses and made a fire and gathered two long branches from a dead tree. They were camping on a hig
h ridge, a promontory that jutted into a deep ravine. Halcyon knew exactly why Evadne had chosen this place. It was strategic. It afforded them clear vantage points, and there was only one way to access it. If Ivina decided to send their fears to them, the phantoms would have to approach from the mouth of their promontory, a narrow strip of land.

  “Do you think we are too exposed here?” Halcyon carefully asked. “And I am fine without a fire tonight, Eva. We can keep each other warm.”

  Evadne hesitated a beat but continued to set kindling in the fire. “The fire is our only defense against Ivina. Her phantoms cannot withstand it.”

  Halcyon nodded, submitting to Evadne’s decision. But she took note of how steep the walls of the ridge were. It would be a deadly drop to the ravine below should one of them misstep.

  Evadne did not seem to mind the height, finally settling beside Halcyon. They sat with their backs to the ravine, their faces to Euthymius, the fire blazing at their feet.

  Despite her desire to regain her strength, Halcyon struggled to eat the flatbread and fruit Evadne set before her. She knew her sister was watching everything, even when she seemed not to. Evadne took note of her breaths, her motions, what she ate, how much she drank. And Halcyon wanted to tell her not to worry, but what a lie that would be. Her hands still trembled, and she knew she needed more of the antidote. She sensed the poison lingering in her stomach and her lungs, haunting her blood.

  To distract herself from the inevitable, Halcyon thought of all the things she wanted to ask her little sister: How had she come to be Damon’s scribe? What was it like? Had Straton taken good care of her? When had Evadne been brought into the mission? Had Macarius tried to use Haleva against her? How had she known it was false? What had it been like in the heart of Euthymius?

  “Eva . . .” Halcyon began, but her voice died. She did not have the strength to ask all of her wonders.

  “Sleep, Hal,” Evadne whispered. “I will guard our camp.”

  “I can keep watch,” Halcyon insisted. But eventually, she began to ease down to the blankets, her feet facing the mountain. “Will you wake me if they come, Eva?”