by M. L. Greye
Sand was everywhere. Endless. As far as he could see. The full moon overhead lit the sand, coloring it bone white. And beneath the moon, head tipped upward toward it, was Emry.
She wore clothes he’d never seen on anyone. A sort of white wrap that went across one shoulder and then around her chest, revealing a band of skin around her stomach. A straight skirt of the same color fell from below her navel to her bare feet, one side having a slit up to the middle of her thigh. Along the slit and hem, black embroidery reached upward – like a frosted window pane. Her hair was on top of her head in a bun, wrapped with a strip of the same cloth she wore. Her eyes were closed, as if she were savoring this moment alone under the moon.
Tonight, she was a young woman. No hint of that whimpering child or terrified teenager. This Emry was an adult. Calm. Assured. Breathtaking. Standing there beneath the moonlight … She was utterly spectacular. Exquisite.
Declan’s feet crunched over the compacted sand – a whisper in the night. But Emry didn’t move until he stopped only a step away. Slowly, she lowered her head from the moon and opened her eyes. His breath caught in his throat.
Emry’s eyes were glowing. Well, no, not glowing – shimmering, sparkling. As if the moon itself was shining through her silver eyes.
Black mist curled out of her – from her skirt. Swirling, glimmering tendrils of darkness. Smoke and starlight – reaching upward, encasing them both.
He watched, transfixed. Part of him wanted to reach out and twirl his fingers through it. But Emry’s eyes were still on him. “Do I scare you?” she whispered, her voice as soft and smooth as the mist.
Her? Scare him?
“Never,” he said with a fervor he felt deep inside of him.
Her full lips twisted upward into a smile, and the smoke wrapped around her hiding her from view. When it faded away a moment later, Emry was gone.
Declan woke a heartbeat later. Emry’s scent – like jasmine and moonlight – clung to the air in his room.
Emry in her odd clothes, with her shining eyes…
He’d always found her pretty – gorgeous. Neither she nor her brother could ever have been deemed plain. Yet, during all his nightmares, he’d never noticed – had always been too distracted to notice – how truly striking she was.
It was wrong to compare, but there in the darkness of his room, his mind drifted to how Quinn was no Emry. Quinn had many good qualities but when he thought of her … She didn’t draw him in the way Emry had done in his dream. He knew his dream wasn’t real. It was just–
A girl in a dream excited him more than the woman he was currently attached to. It shouldn’t have been that way. The thought of how little he actually felt for Quinn kept him from sleep for a long while afterwards.
:::::
It had been two weeks since Night’s Crown. Emry had fallen back into her usual routine. Trez, too. They both trained morning and afternoon. The only real difference was that Emry had seen less and less of Sabine.
The three of them had had lunch together earlier that day, but Sabine had barely stayed for thirty minutes. Making up some excuse about needing to have her hair trimmed. Her hair was longer than Emry’s, and they both had cut the ends of their hair a few days before Night’s Crown. Was Sabine avoiding her?
Of course, Trez – the man that he was – thought nothing of it. Had merely waved goodbye to his sister and gone back to his lamb skewers. Even though she tried not to, the lack of Sabine bothered Emry – leaving her frowning through the rest of the meal.
Now, over two hours later, Emry was still distracted. So much so that when Trez swung his sun blade at her arm, she didn’t quite make it entirely out of the way. His blade burned a line across her bicep.
Emry jumped back with a hiss as the blood began oozing down her arm. It was too deep of a slice to ignore. Usually, they waited to heal small cuts and scrapes until after their practice sessions. They had to take care of larger, deeper ones like this immediately – to avoid scars. Emry was constantly trying to avoid scars so that no one back in Enlennd would discover she’d been training. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do about all her new calluses on her hands. Maybe she’d just wear gloves everywhere.
Trez chuckled and waved a hand toward the Ruby waiting in a nearby chair. Ever since Emry progressed past basic moves a couple months ago, they’d had to keep a Ruby on hand for when she wasn’t fast enough to avoid Trez’s sun blades and the somewhat rare times when he was too slow for her. “You’re not focusing properly.”
She drew back her power from her blades, returning them to empty hilts. “Shouldn’t you be apologizing?”
The Ruby approached her with a leather satchel of medical supplies slung across one of his shoulders. Emry sheathed her hilts on the loose leather belt around her hips that she’d been wearing lately as he gently grasped her injured arm. He began to wipe up the blood with a rag from his bag.
“It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention,” Trezim retorted. They weren’t speaking in Heerth. Ever since they’d begun having a Ruby present, they’d switched to Emry’s native tongue. It allowed them the privacy to speak freely with each other still. Only nobility – and few at that – knew anything other than Heerth.
“Lovely.” Emry held back a wince as the Ruby pressed the cloth to her open flesh.
“Have we talked about these yet?” Trez’s eyes were on the blades in his hands. He had yet to sheath them.
Emry grunted. “We’ve talked about them many, many times.”
“I meant the source of their power.” He lifted his eyes to catch her own.
“Their power comes from you.” She furrowed her eyebrows.
“I’ll take that as a no, then.” Trezim spun the hilts in his hands. “Back to the history – what are the four base eye colors from which all others are derived?”
“Uh…” Emry bit the tip of her tongue. She’d never heard of four base colors before.
Trez grinned smugly, obviously happy to have stumped her with something. “From the North – Gold. From the South – Gray. The West – Silver. The East – Orange. The four bases and the four abilities from which all others branch out. I’m assuming you also don’t know what they represent.”
It wasn’t a question. Emry just glared at him.
“The sun, the moon, the wind, and the flame,” he went on. “The only four types of blades made not from steel.”
“There are blades made of wind?” Emry blinked.
“Made from wind in the same sense that yours are made from shadow,” he replied.
“Trynpyla,” the Ruby offered her a small bow and said in Heerth, “all finished.”
“Thank you,” she responded in kind and rolled her shoulder. Her muscles felt tight. That was the problem with a freshly fixed injury from a Ruby – the tissue was yanked back together fast. The only way to loosen it was to spend time stretching.
“You should rest a moment.” Trez jerked his chin toward the ever-present low table and oversized pillows.
Emry sighed as she sank onto one of the pillows. She raised her newly healed arm above her head, bent it, and then tugged on her elbow with her other hand, stretching it. “Is this what it feels like to be old?"
“How should I know?” Trezim dropped into the chair across from her, laying his now empty hilts in front of him on the table.
“Because you’re closer to it than I am,” she replied sweetly.
He snorted. “I’m only six years older than you.”
Emry whirled, startled. No one knew her exact age – not outside of Cit and her father. It was practically a kingdom secret. For Trez to know–
“Calm down.” Trez raised a hand. “Part of being a wondrous Gold is being able to determine the exact number of sunrises someone has seen. An odd and somewhat useless ability, but one I have nonetheless.”
“So, you know I’m…” she let her voice trail off, hesitant to even say it out loud. The rule to keep her age hidden had been drilled into her thoroughly
.
“Yes.” He nodded. “Although, I’ve never understood this Enlennd practice of withholding the ages of its princesses. Is it for the heir’s safety? If so, that seems unfair for the younger princesses.”
“It’s not for safety.” Emry shook her head and sighed. “Honestly, that would make more sense than the real reason.”
“Which is?”
“The Unweddable Princess.” Emry looked up at the ceiling. It was a ridiculous reason.
“Enlennd had a princess deemed unweddable?” Trez raised a dark eyebrow incredulously. “History remembers her this way? That seems rude.”
“I think you mean stupid,” Emry grunted. “Anyway, the Unweddable Princess lived about two hundred years ago. She was the Crown Princess. For years and years, she refused to marry, and her younger three sisters wished to wed. So, their father hid the ages of the younger ones – completely deleted the dates from existence. It allowed for them all to be married when the offer arose rather than waiting for the older one to go first.”
Trez frowned. “That sounds fairly logical on your ancestor’s part. He ensured that if his eldest never married his line would still continue with his younger daughters.”
“Or he could have just permitted the younger ones to marry first without forcing them to hide their ages,” Emry shot back, tapping her fingers on the top of the table.
“I suppose that would have worked, too,” he said slowly. Emry rolled her eyes and he went on, “Did this poor Unweddable Princess die old and alone?”
“No.” Emry glanced out at the clay rounds. They were like the symbols of her freedom here in Heerth. Did that make Enlennd her cage? She didn’t want to answer that. “Honestly, I’ve always admired her. The princess eventually did marry. To a farmer. A nobody. He was her Knight, became her consort, and later Enlennd’s Champion over Quirl – ending the off and on Century War. No one ever talked ill of her choice again.”
The Unweddable Princess had married for love and as queen had ended the bloodshed of her people. The woman made Emry feel inadequate. There was a true leader – Emry was just a girl learning to swing a sword. Something her father would probably put a stop to immediately if he knew. That thought made her stomach churn. He was content to keep her docile and helpless. But Trez had seen her desire to be more…
She turned back to Trezim only to find him watching her. “Trez,” she said softly, “Why did you offer to bring me to Heerth? To teach me?”
“Because I know what it is to feel like you’re unable to make a difference,” he replied after a moment, his voice wry.
“You?” Emry stared at him. “But you’re so free here.”
“Free to do what? Drink? Swim?” He swept his arm out toward the rounds. “Practice the Turanga all day?”
Emry had noticed his lack of involvement within his own court but had assumed it was his choice. His two elder brothers and even Sabine were given assignments from their father. Why hadn’t he been given something? She frowned. “What would you rather do?”
“I don’t want to be king.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Trezim blew his breath out in a rush, as if prolonging his answer. “I want to be over the military. Not right now, but one day. I want to run it for my brother when he takes the throne.”
“That sounds very attainable for a prince of Heerth who has been trained in swordplay and the Turanga since he was old enough to carry a staff,” Emry replied dryly.
He was shaking his head before she even finished. “That’s the role for the second eldest golden-eyed son. I’m the third, which means I am steward of Heerth’s second largest city, Acoba.”
That was right. Only a Gold could become the king, and only a man. Women didn’t inherit the throne in Heerth. So, even though Sabine was older than Trez, she’d only be considered if she had no male siblings – and only because she was a Gold in the first place. If there were no Gold offspring of the king then the crown fell to the next nearest Gold male kin. That was a Heerth tradition Emry wasn’t particularly fond of.
“I thought you preferred Acoba to Zyntar,” Emry said after a moment. “I didn’t realize you were forced to be here.”
“No, I do prefer Acoba, so that is one nice benefit. I just-” he stopped and sighed, adjusting his tunic vest strap on his shoulder. “In order for me to one day run Heerth’s military, first, one of my elder brothers has to die, and second, I need to have some sort of experience overseeing soldiers. I can’t really do that here.”
“Then why don’t you start your own little army?” She asked with a shrug.
“What?” He blurted.
“Start a small group of soldiers to train,” she repeated. “Or palace guards as you don’t have any here, which seems strange to me, by the way.”
“Every servant in the palace knows the Turanga exceptionally well,” he said with a wave of his hand. “They are the guards.”
“Oh.” Emry had had no idea. “Fine. Soldiers it is then.”
He laughed, a bitter edge to it. “One does not just start an army.”
“One can if one starts small,” she quipped. “Start with five. Then move on to ten. Then go from there.”
Emry’s gaze flitted over the open windows and realized what time it was with a start. The sky had turned pink and orange. It was later than she’d thought. She still needed to shower before the evening soiree she was to attend with Trezim, his sister, and the Acoba nobles.
She pushed herself to her feet and glanced down at Trez. “I’ll repay you tomorrow for slicing open my arm.”
Trez grunted. “Only if you’re not daydreaming again.”
Feeling spiteful, Emry adjusted her eyes so they would be glowing – just to unsettle him – and smiled out one side of her mouth. She grinned at the almost instant discomfort on his face. “See you tonight.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“You don’t want the position?” Commander Jaymes repeated incredulously.
Declan swallowed. No, he didn’t want the promotion the commander was offering. It would take him off of his night shifts. He’d be overseeing the soldiers on the morning shifts. Declan didn’t want to be taken off of the night, but more importantly, he didn’t want to lead anyone. He was perfectly content staying one of the invisible soldiers who slept all day and only emerged at night to work. It was comfortable and easy.
“Thank you for the opportunity, sir, but I’m happy with where I am,” Declan replied as politely as he could.
Jaymes slowly tapped his fingers over his desk – one after the other. “I thought when you returned to the garrison that you were intending on making the life of a warrior your career.”
“It still is my goal, sir.” It was, wasn’t it? He honestly hadn’t thought much of his future during the past ten months.
“Then, do you plan on spending the rest of your working life as a low-level grunt?” Jaymes retorted. “What is it that you want for yourself?”
Declan shifted in his seat. He wasn’t particularly fond of that idea, either. “I prefer the night shift, sir.” He paused. “When an opening arises for leadership over the night shift. I’ll gladly jump at the opportunity."
The commander was eyeing him with a look that suggested he didn’t believe even that would tempt Declan. But he bobbed his head once. “Very well.”
It was as much of a dismissal as Declan would get from the man. “Thank you, sir.” Declan stood and saluted.
Jaymes only grunted before dropping his gaze to the neat stack of papers on the left side of his desk. Declan turned on the faded red and black braided rug beneath him and exited Jaymes’s office. Outside of the Officers’ Quarters, Quinn was waiting for him. She was seated on the wood floor of the porch, leaning back against one of the posts holding up the ceiling, her legs stretched out in front of her. When she saw him exit, she pushed herself up to her feet.
“What did he want?” She asked, falling into step with him as they walked towards the dining hall. It’d been t
heir original destination when Jaymes’s messenger had intercepted them half an hour ago.
“He wanted to give me a promotion.”
Quinn smiled. “That’s great! What will you be doing?”
He frowned at her. “I didn’t take it.”
She stopped moving. “What? Why not?”
“It just wasn’t what I wanted.” He shrugged.
Quinn stared at him. “What do you want, Declan?”
Why was everyone asking him that today? “I like how things are. I don’t really want them to change.”
“But things do change, Declan,” Quinn said slowly. She glanced away from him, out towards the other structures that made up the garrison. “It’s just a part of life.”
With that, she continued forward. Declan probably waited longer than he should have to catch up with her.
:::::
They were at a Turanga Squall. Emry could now go to where there were only two rounds left. All her months of practicing every day for hours and hours had finally paid off. Even though she had yet to enter the Champion’s Round, as she’d deemed that last round in her head, she felt immensely accomplished. She’d even surprised Trez today with how far she’d gotten.
At the moment, she and Trez were sipping water from their ice cups, watching the dancers, as Trez called them. From time to time he’d point out a particularly brilliant move one of them would make, or he’d criticize by telling her what to do instead. For the most part, Emry just nodded as she rubbed her ice cup across her forehead and neck. She was content to listen and observe.
“So, have you decided on how to keep up with your training once you return to Enlennd?” Trez asked suddenly.
Emry shot him a wary look. She’d thought about it but had no idea how to keep training without garnering the disapproval of her father and his ancient advisors. It was a worry she kept putting off for later.
“By your face, I’ll take that as a no.” He smirked. She wanted to smack it off.
