by Rebecca Ross
Her hand was bare. Reminding her that she had given the relic to the commander.
“Halcyon,” Damon struggled to speak, and she finally looked closer at him. He was bent over, as if he could not breathe. “Save her.”
Halcyon wanted to blister him with her words. To flay him like a fish. And then she saw the other body, lying in a pool of blood. Selene. With Halcyon’s kopis in her throat.
Halcyon strove to make sense of it.
Evadne had killed Selene. Selene must have stabbed her. Damon . . . Damon was innocent, but he was broken, just like Thales.
And Halcyon could not save her sister.
“Oh, Eva.” She held Evadne, brushed the hair back from her sister’s face.
Time contorted. She did not know how long she sat there, cradling Evadne to her breast, Evadne’s blood streaking her armor. But she suddenly realized they were not alone. Ozias, Thales, and Straton arrived at the Destry. The three men approached her, walking the bloodstained floor.
“Halcyon.”
She met Straton’s gaze as he knelt beside her. Beyond him stood Thales and Uncle Ozias, their faces grieved as they watched her hold Evadne.
The commander removed Magda’s ring from his finger. He held the relic out to Halcyon, his eyes gentle.
“Take the ring, Halcyon.”
But he needed it, too. She looked at his wounded thigh, which the sunstone’s power had begun to mend. His skin was still mottled from the poison. It would take days, possibly weeks of the ring’s power to flush it from his body. Halcyon knew this all too well.
If she took the ring from him, she knew he would die.
“Commander—”
“Put the ring on Evadne’s hand,” he said. “It is all right, Halcyon. This is how it is meant to be.”
She stared at him, tears burning her eyes. He only smiled at her tenderly.
She took the ring and slipped it onto Evadne’s finger.
Instantly, Evadne’s breathing shifted, deepened. A small flush returned to her cheeks, the moon and constellations from the enchanted ceiling dusting her in silver light.
Relieved, Halcyon cradled her close, feeling Ozias move to stand behind her, his hand on her shoulder. They watched as Straton crawled to where his son was writhing on the floor.
The commander touched Damon’s hair gently, drawing him up into an embrace.
“I have you, Son. I have you,” Straton whispered, holding Damon to his heart.
Damon clung to his father, weeping into his neck. The sounds that emerged from him were painful, haunting to hear.
Halcyon knew she would never be able to forget them.
Thales lowered himself to his knees, covering his face. He was the only one who could truly understand the agony Damon was experiencing. And he cried for him, for the young mage who had broken and lost his magic.
And as Evadne’s wounds began to close, Straton’s wounds began to reopen.
Their blood mingled on the black-and-white floor of the Destry. Mingled among glittering shards of gold.
Hold on, Commander, Halcyon wanted to order him. Your son needs you. Your family needs you. Do not go out like this.
And Straton lifted his eyes to hers.
He was in pain, for himself and for his son. But he would hold on. Just long enough, Halcyon knew.
He would hold on.
XXXVI
Halcyon and Evadne
Halcyon followed her uncle through the winding streets of Mithra, Evadne cradled in his arms. She was only vaguely aware of Thales behind her, because her hands and armor were still stained with her sister’s blood. They turned down one street, then another, the Destry soon far behind them. Eventually, Ozias used Kirkos’s relic to glide up a set of stairs to a third-story flat, Halcyon taking two steps at a time to keep up with him.
“Quickly, Halcyon,” Ozias said when they reached his door. He handed her a key, and Halcyon fumbled to open it.
She entered her uncle’s apartment. It was dark and smelled of sandalwood, and she tripped over a chair in her haste to reach the veranda doors, swinging them open to the night. She arranged some cushions on the porch floor, and her uncle eased Evadne down onto them.
Evadne was still unconscious, lost deep in healing sleep. Despite it all, Halcyon wanted to wake her, to see her sister’s eyes and hear her voice.
She brushed a tangle of hair away from Evadne’s face. The moonlight was not as bright as Halcyon wanted, and she yearned for dawn, for a flood of unhindered, bright sunlight to limn her sister. To quicken her healing.
This would be a long night.
“Let me see if my neighbor has some clothes I can borrow for Evadne,” Ozias said, panting. He turned and nearly barreled into Thales, and a string of low murmurs were exchanged between the men.
Halcyon was too preoccupied to listen to them and she sank next to Evadne. Ozias departed, but Thales remained on the veranda, his presence a quiet comfort.
Halcyon listened to the nightingales, to the distant echo of a child crying. She remembered the sounds Damon had released, and her heart beat with sorrow.
“Has he lost his magic for good, Thales?”
Thales was silent, gazing at the sprawl of the city. “Yes, Halcyon. He will never cast magic again.”
She exhaled a long, deep breath. Her eyes were still on Evadne, and she felt ill at the anticipation of having to reveal this to her little sister. Because Halcyon had seen it—the way the air shimmered between Evadne and Damon. The way they looked at each other.
“How long will it take him to heal?” she asked.
“It depends.” Thales did not elaborate, and Halcyon sensed it was a sensitive topic.
Ozias returned with a white tunic draped over his arm. He also brought a sponge and a bowl of water, for Halcyon to wash the blood from Evadne’s body.
The men left her on the veranda, and Halcyon began to undress her sister. She unpinned the bronze wings at her shoulders; she unfastened the golden belt at her waist. She removed the bloodstained chiton and saw the wounds that marred Evadne’s skin. Two stab marks on her abdomen. They were still in the process of closing. The moonlight was not strong enough, Halcyon lamented, praying for a short night. Gently, she cleansed the blood from Evadne’s body and dressed her in the new tunic. It was too big; it swallowed Evadne, and Halcyon felt like weeping.
She lay down beside her sister. And she did not intend to sleep, but slumber soon snared her, and Halcyon drifted into a sequence of bitter dreams.
She woke to her uncle’s hand on her shoulder, gently rousing her.
“Halcyon? Someone is here to see you.”
She sat forward, a crick in her neck. It was still night, and Evadne still slept, incandescent with silver light.
“I will sit with Evadne,” Ozias reassured her, and Halcyon rose stiffly and walked through her uncle’s flat to the open front door.
A girl waited on the threshold. Halcyon had never seen her before, but an amulet was fastened on her arm. One of Straton’s servants.
“Halcyon of Isaura?” she asked.
Halcyon nodded.
“Lord Straton has summoned you to his villa,” the girl said, a quiver in her voice. “He asks that you come as quickly as you can.”
Halcyon hesitated. She wanted to go to the commander. But she wanted to stay. To remain beside her sister.
Torn, she turned to where Thales stood nearby, watching and listening.
“Tell my uncle I will return soon,” she said hoarsely. And she slipped out of the flat before she could change her mind.
The girl ran with Halcyon, struggling to keep up with Halcyon’s long strides. The commander’s villa was not far. Halcyon ran to it with her heart in her throat, with her stomach aching. The gates were open; she ascended the stairs, and the guards wordlessly opened the great bronze doors for her.
She had never been here before, but Xander had often told her about it. In some ways, she felt like she had walked these floors before, in her dreams.
Lyra was waiting for her at the edge of a reflection pool. Wordlessly, she led Halcyon up a flight of marble stairs, down a corridor bend, into Straton and Cosima’s private bedchamber.
At once, Halcyon wanted to flee.
Incense burned. Halcyon recognized the sweet, woody aroma of frankincense, the oil that was burned on the altars of Nikomides. All of the shutters were open to welcome in fresh night air, the white curtains billowing in the gentle breeze. Halcyon came to a reluctant stop beside the wash table, which was covered in jars and pots—herbs and tinctures and salves—and a roll of linen. A basin full of bloody water.
She felt like she was intruding on a private moment. She wanted to retreat until she saw the commander.
Straton was sitting upright in his bed, supported by cushions. Waiting for Halcyon.
His wife stood beside him, her face exhausted, her fair hair lank across her brow. Damon sat on a stool on the other side of the bed, still wearing Acantha’s crown on his brow. His left hand was bandaged; all of his fingers had been reset—Halcyon did not want to imagine the pain of that, having experienced a broken thumb years ago. He held a cup of tonic in his right hand; Halcyon could smell the pungency of it, and she surmised his mother had made him a brew to dull his pain.
“Kingfisher,” Straton said, but his voice sounded wrong. It was weak, frail. “Come closer.”
As soon as Halcyon moved to his bedside, Cosima, Damon, and Lyra all departed the chamber.
Numb, Halcyon took the stool Damon had vacated. She felt the commander looking at her, waiting for her to rouse her courage, to meet his gaze.
Slowly, she did.
She saw the sheen of death in his eyes. The color of life was leaving him, breath by breath. And Halcyon wanted to rage and weep; she did not want him to leave her. She had never been one to pray much, but how tempted she was now to beseech the divines. To heal Straton, to let him live.
“Soon, I will be gone,” Straton said. “And I wanted to see you. To ask something of you.”
Halcyon waited, her throat thick with emotion.
“I want you to be there,” he continued. “To help Narcissa and my other captains. To help them lead the legion.”
“I am not worthy of this,” she whispered.
“You are more than worthy. One day, you will take my place.” He reached for her hand. It was large, scarred, feverish. She could see the veins in his wrist, stained by poison. “Look at me, Kingfisher.”
It took everything within her to hold back her tears, to meet his gaze again.
“I have named you my successor. Narcissa will lead the legion in the meantime, until you have served your time as captain. And then . . . it will be you. It is my desire to see you command the Bronze.”
Her mind was a whirlwind. Her thoughts tangled and chimed, and she could not breathe, to imagine taking his place one day.
“Will you do this, Halcyon of Isaura?”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. She tightened her hold on him. “Yes, Commander. It would be an honor.”
“Good.” He leaned back into his cushions. His strength was almost spent.
“Let me get you something to drink.” Halcyon tried to rise, but he held on to her fingers, keeping her in place.
“There is one more thing I must ask of you, Kingfisher.”
Straton drew in a raspy breath and set his bloodshot gaze on her again. “Damon is wearing Acantha’s crown. But it is time for us to complete the mission. I want you to carry the All-Seeing Crown to the palace and set it upon Queen Nerine’s brow. To break the enchantment.”
It was the final leg of the mission, one that she and Damon and Xander and Straton had forged together. This was the end, what they had dreamt of: to crown the queen with the relic.
“Do it as soon as you can,” the commander said. “For the legion still waits in the field for the gates to open.”
“I swear it will be done, Lord.”
He was languid; he was fading. And Halcyon had still not fully forgiven him for all the wrongs that had been committed against her.
She had believed it would take her moons, maybe even years. But how death changed things. How death sharpened and sobered a soul. She could not imagine a world without Straton. And she knew that she had forgiven him, and the forgiveness had come softly. It had been the moment when she saw him sitting against the wall, when she saw his wound. A wound he had taken for her.
She lifted his hand, held his knuckles against her cheek. She whispered, “The world will darken without you.”
Straton smiled. “And yet I am at peace, to know you will be its light.”
He knew she had forgiven him. She saw it in his eyes, and she let him go.
She stood, battling the urge to run. Cosima entered the room, smoothing the wrinkles from the commander’s blankets, and Halcyon slipped from the chamber. Lyra was waiting for her again in the corridor.
“My brother is in his chambers,” she said, leading Halcyon farther down the hall.
They found Damon sitting in a chair, staring at an empty desk. Arcalos was curled up at his feet, and Acantha’s crown gleamed against his dark hair. His face was strained when he looked at Halcyon. He knew she was coming to take the crown from him. The crown that was preserving his memory.
Lyra fixed another tonic for him, set the cup in his hand. Damon stared at it a moment, reluctant, before draining the liquid. At once, the tension in his body began to fade. It was a brew to usher him into sleep.
“The past five moons,” he said, staring at the desk again. “When I wake from this tonic, I will not remember what has happened the past five moons. From the moment I graduated the Destry until now . . . all of it will be wiped from my mind. When I wake, I will think that it is the day after my graduation.” He met Halcyon’s gaze, and she heard the words he did not say.
He would not remember Xander’s death. He would have to relive the pain of it.
He would not remember all the magic he had created and cast the past five moons.
He would not remember his venture into Mount Euthymius, how the mission he’d planned had come to fruition.
He would not remember his challenge with Selene, a challenge that had rendered his breaking.
He would not remember his father had been mortally wounded.
He would not remember Evadne.
Halcyon did not know what to say. But she saw Damon’s heartbreak, to know that he was about to lose so much from his life.
“Halcyon,” he said, his words beginning to slur, “tell Evadne . . . that I will find my way back to her, as soon as I am able.”
He leaned his head back and drifted unconscious.
Halcyon delayed a moment, staring at his face, at his bandaged hand. She was trembling when she finally took the All-Seeing Crown from his brow.
She ran with the crown, up the winding road to the summit where the queen’s palace rested. None of the guards hindered her; they merely watched Halcyon stride in her bloodstained armor through the palace gardens and up the stairs into the grand hall.
Incense burned from silver bowls. Torches flickered from ornate columns, the light illuminating carven vines and falcons and moons. The floor was so polished it was like the face of water; Halcyon’s reflection shone vividly upon it. At the end of the hall was the golden throne, smoldering like a fallen star. And Queen Nerine sat upon it, frozen in time, her eyes closed.
Enchanted into sleep.
Halcyon paused, gazing upon her queen. When she began to close the distance, a guard finally intercepted her.
“What are you doing?” he barked at her.
“I am . . .” Halcyon halted, but she had no words within her. She was exhausted, broken, bloodied, devastated, hopeful.
“Let her pass,” another guard said, seeing the crown Halcyon carried.
The guards backed away, and Halcyon continued her walk to the throne. She walked for Xander, for the commander, for Ozias. She walked for Damon and Evadne. She walked for
herself, for all that she had done, all she had sacrificed to reach this moment.
She stepped upon the dais. Throughout the haze of the past few hours, she had forgotten that she still carried Nikomides’s Devouring Sword, sheathed on her back. She could take the hilt, draw forth the blade, and the enchantment would break. But Halcyon did not choose the sword this time. She held up Acantha’s crown. The green-and-silver olive leaves shivered in the firelight. They whispered of another era, another time. They whispered of hope and healing.
She set the crown upon Queen Nerine’s brow.
And then quickly, quietly, Halcyon stepped down off the dais and knelt before the queen, her palms turned upward, her heart and mind ready. For the queen needed to know what had occurred, and she would need to look within Halcyon’s past and present to come into that knowledge.
Queen Nerine’s eyes fluttered open. Selene’s enchantment melted away from her, like rime in sun. She was liberated, and she drew in a deep breath, confused until she met Halcyon’s gaze. The two women were silent and still, their gazes united, their thoughts and hearts woven together. One gave; the other received.
And Halcyon did not know how much time passed, but at last, Queen Nerine rose. She wore Ari’s Shawl of Stars, and the diamonds glittered with ancient light when she moved. She stepped off the dais and came to the hoplite.
The queen smiled and cupped Halcyon’s face in her hands.
“Halcyon of Isaura, woman of bronze and courage . . . you have done me a great honor. Your sacrifice will be never be forgotten. Nor will Xander’s and Damon’s, Ozias’s and Lord Straton’s and your sister Evadne’s. Your names will be carved in the palace walls, a testament to all you have done, to all that you are, to all you are destined to become.”
The tears and emotions Halcyon had been suppressing surged forward. It was finished; it was done. And she turned her face into the queen’s hands and finally wept.
When Evadne stirred, there was only one star left in the sky, hanging like a promise as the sun rose. She watched it fade, and she began to remember what had happened. She tried to sit forward, but her wounds ached in protest, and she groaned, lying back on the cushions.
