by Elise Kova
“So you’ve said.”
“Have I told you that you also inherited her profound compassion?”
Vi gave a small smile.
“There are so many things I would’ve done differently, were it not for her. Before your mother, I was a man who would have watched the world burn. She was the one to show me how my actions impacted others, and how to care.” He let out a heavy sigh. “But that compassion has a cost, Vi. Trying to save just our Empire nearly took everything from her… Are you certain you understand what you would have to pay to save the whole world?”
“I do.” The words felt like a lie. But she couldn’t back down now and she couldn’t hesitate. She’d made up her mind.
Her father pressed his eyes closed, not hiding a wince. He slowly shook his head. When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t seem to bring his gaze to rest on her.
“Why do you think it has to be you?”
“Because every step of my life feels like it was planned—everything led me here. You said it yourself: Solaris has a history with the weapons. You and mother have a history with the Crystal Caverns.”
“Then you are paying for the crimes of your forebears.”
“No, not just that.” Vi squeezed his hand and leaned forward. “I was born with magic I wasn’t supposed to have, in a land that knows nothing of it. I was given a watch that, somehow, connected me with the one man in this world who could help me understand myself—who had visions of my destiny before we ever met.”
“Taavin.” Aldrik turned to her. The way he said Taavin’s name gave her pause. “The young woman… the bird woman…”
“Arwin, yes,” her voice had fallen to a whisper.
“She said he betrayed you.”
“I…” Every fear raced to be the first to overwhelm her. The memory of Jayme. Learning the truth about Taavin. Seeing nothing but betrayal in Fallor and Arwin’s worlds. “He would never hurt me,” Vi insisted. Taavin had said so; she had to trust him.
“Do you love him?”
“I… I do,” she whispered. She hadn’t even managed to tell Taavin yet. But it felt surprisingly good to say it aloud. “But it’s also very complicated.”
The makings of a tired smile spread on her father’s lips. “Now you sound much like your mother, or how I imagine she sounded, when she talked about me.”
“I didn’t expect to. And I certainly wasn’t looking for it to happen. The only love I’ve ever been certain of—ever looked for—has been yours, mother’s, and Romulin’s. I’ve never thought about anything else. I’ve never considered it because—”
“You never thought you had a choice.” He stole her thoughts and gave them form. Vi must have given him a shocked look, but she couldn’t be sure—her face had gone numb. Her father chuckled and continued anyway. “You forget, Vi, I was a crown prince before I was an Emperor. I, too, fell in love with someone I wasn’t supposed to.”
“How did you navigate it?”
“It was nearly impossible… and I messed up, greatly.” Aldrik’s gaze swung to the door. “As I fear he may have,” he added very softly. Then, continuing louder, “But that love was the best thing I ever surrendered to. It gave me your mother, and it gave me you and your brother.” His palm rested on the crown of her head, stroking her hair twice like he would when she was a child.
“I don’t know if I can manage it all,” Vi confessed. “I’m scared of being hurt and of hurting him.”
“You may not have that choice. Love often decides for us. Do you trust him?”
“I do.”
“Then you have to have faith in him, his decisions for himself, and in what you just said—that he will not hurt you.”
Vi let out a heavy sigh, tipping her head back against the wall. Her chest ached and all she wanted to do was see Taavin. She wanted to curl in his arms again and merely exist quietly, hidden from the world, hidden from the pain of trying to sort through every complex and uninvited emotion she felt.
“How did you two meet?” her father asked lightly. Vi could tell the tone was forced, but the question was sincere.
“It’s a long story.”
“I think we have time.”
Vi took a deep breath, and as she let it out, the whole story poured from her.
It was a mess of emotion and facts, tangled together in a way she was certain barely made sense outside of her own head. The horrific visions of the world’s end fell heavy from her lips, the scenes of the dying men and women in the clinic tumbling alongside them. She spoke of Jayme, recognizing her own shock on her father’s face, her own anger at the betrayal in his eyes.
Vi finally spoke of Taavin. And, just like that, he transformed from her precious secret to a known person she held dear.
She detailed her trials on Meru, in the Twilight Kingdom, and finally on the Isle of Frost. Her father asked few questions, not because she was such a coherent storyteller but because he realized the telling was as much about catharsis as information-sharing. For the first time, she felt like all her burdens weren’t completely on her shoulders.
Vi’s voice was hoarse and ragged when she finished. Every detail had been explored and every truth confessed. Her father was the only person in the world other than her who knew everything.
When she finally laid down that night to sleep, Vi rested easier than she had in weeks.
Over the next three days, there was no word from Taavin or Ulvarth, which left Vi and her father to their own devices. The first day, Aldrik repaid the favor of her story with stories of his own. He elaborated further on the crystal weapons. He spun tales about his brother. And he told her stories about visiting the North when Vi was too little to remember.
On the second day they dared to ask for a deck of cards when food was delivered, both surprised when one was granted to them with dinner that night. So they played cards and discussed tactics, speculating what would happen when they finally got to Risen. The next day they discussed magical theories—not daring to practice—and played even more games.
Vi had never had so much time with her father all to herself and felt downright guilty for enjoying it. Their circumstances were terrible. But getting imprisoned with the Emperor seemed an effective way to secure his time and attention—attention Vi had never fully admitted she was starved for.
On the morning of the fourth day, they were woken by the same knight who had been bringing them food and leading them to the latrine. As usual, he strode in as though he were a god himself.
“Up with you both. We shall be anchoring off Risen shortly.”
Risen. This was the city Taavin had grown up in, and the capital of Meru. Curiosity swelled in her with every step up the stairs and back to the main deck.
Sure enough, in the distance was a vast city. It was settled among rising hills that sloped to the docks and down to a wide river that cut the city in two. On one side a large castle dominated the tallest hill. On the other, a circular building smaller in overall size than the castle stretched taller into the sky.
Without needing to be told, Vi knew that the two were the residence of the Queen of Meru and the Archives of Yargen. She knew it in their opulence, and in the way their very construction seemed to square off against each other.
A city of stone stretched out before them. Buildings were packed against each other so tightly that Vi had no idea how roadways fit between them. Every one was three or four stories tall and had a tile roof with metal gutters—not unlike the buildings in that long-ago first vision of her father.
She glanced at him from the corners of her eyes. His attention was still on the cityscape, and he was none the wiser. Taavin had said that her visions of the future were malleable. Had she changed the one with Adela? Or had the pirate queen taken him onto the beach before they’d arrived? Would he still end up in that square before the queen to bear witness to the plagued man in the cage?
Had she changed the designs of fate at all? Or had she merely played into the path that led to the world’
s end? Vi grabbed the watch at her throat, nervous energy sparking across her skin, leaving goosebumps despite the warm air.
“It’s magnificent.” Ulvarth seemed to materialize from nowhere, leaving Vi to wonder what hole the snake had slithered from. “I imagine you’re in awe of it, coming from a land so… uncivilized.”
“It’s clear you’ve never been to Solaris, if you think us uncivilized,” her father retorted.
“I don’t recall giving you permission to speak,” Ulvarth said lightly, as if talking about the weather. “Do I need to have you fitted for a gag?”
Vi bit her cheeks, barely resisting the urge to rise to her father’s defense.
“Which reminds me… when we arrive, we shall proceed to the Archives of Yargen.”
At the mere mention of the Archives, she swung her gaze across the deck. Where in the Mother’s name was Taavin? What had been confusion turned to frustration, and now to worry. All this while, Ulvarth had been threatening to gag and chain them… What if he actually had done so to Taavin?
Surely he knew that Taavin had escaped of his own accord. His blaming her was to save face for losing the Voice. She couldn’t fathom the wrath Ulvarth harbored for Taavin.
While they docked, Vi looked for Taavin, continuing to worry over him.
Despite all Taavin had said, she realized she had vastly underestimated Ulvarth’s cruelty. And she should’ve spent her time aboard worrying more over herself rather than playing card games.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The ship anchored just off the docks of Risen and they took tendering vessels to get ashore.
Vi sat with her father, silent once more. They were both keenly aware of the fact that any movement or noise could, and likely would, be used against them in some way. Ulvarth’s efforts to lull them into a sense of security had come to an end. Vi turned into the salt spray splashing up against the side of the boat, allowing it to mist her face. She’d taken the time to rake her fingers through her hair and braid it. Her father had helped, knowing some of the more intricate plaits her mother usually wore. He had used a splash of water to slick his own hair back in the style he’d always worn.
They were a far cry from their regal personas, but it made Vi feel more put together and more like a princess. It made her feel less like some horrible sea goblin rising up from the muck to stumble through a gilded city.
The boat came alongside a dock that had a small army waiting. Ulvarth’s Swords were a group larger than Vi had previously given them credit for. She counted at least fifty, and that was excluding all the men and women who had been aboard Light’s Victory. She wondered how much of the whole militia of Meru was composed of the holy order—how many men and women were positioned in and out of Risen who reported to Ulvarth instead of the queen.
“My Lord.” A man sank to his knees. He wore a bright purple sash around his shoulders pinned with a medal that Vi had never seen before. Ulvarth held out his bejeweled fingers and the man reverently scooped them in his hands, kissing his knuckles for an uncomfortably long time. “We have made all the necessary preparations.”
Vi spared a glance for her father. Aldrik seemed calm and composed, but an uneasy panic was rising in her. But she knew everything Taavin had said about Ulvarth, who was not the calm, collected, respectful individual they’d been dealing with to date.
He was a monster.
“Good,” Ulvarth almost purred. Without so much of a glance back toward them, he started down the dock, a wave of knights dropping to their knees as he passed—as if he were a god. “Get them in irons for the parade.”
“Irons?” Vi blurted. Ulvarth paused. She didn’t know if she was glad or not he’d heard. But she had his attention now. “My lord,” she ground out the honorific, hating herself for every syllable. “We have complied with you without struggle. You said there would be no irons or gags.”
Slowly, Ulvarth crossed back to her. The assembled soldiers seemed to hold their collective breath. What set her heart to racing was their curious anticipation—as though they were about to witness a show.
“You did, didn’t you?” he said softly. “And I do thank you for making it very easy for me to get you here.” Vi narrowed her eyes as a satisfied smile crept across his lips. Ulvarth leaned forward, whispering in her ear. Vi barely resisted the urge to shove him away. “Now continue to be a good pet and I’ll let you keep your skin. I have hides of far more fearsome creatures than you hanging on my walls.”
He straightened away, leaving the strong smell of peppermint clouding the air in his wake. Ulvarth turned and Vi took a half step forward, fantasizing about shoving a blade right between the vertebrae of his neck. But the only blades drawn were pointed at her.
Four knights had closed in on her in a moment. Their weapons rested right under her chin. Ulvarth looked back with an amused smile.
“Muzzle that dog. She may bite the hand that’s feeding her.”
“Do not—” her father stepped forward as knights with irons approached. Vi grabbed his forearm, stopping him.
“I’ve endured worse, Father,” she said loudly. “I’ve endured worse and thrived while the people who forced me to endure it suffered.”
If Ulvarth heard, he gave no indication.
Outnumbered and out-manned, the knights were met with no resistance when it came to shackling them. A gag was pressed between Vi’s teeth. At least this one isn’t cold, she thought darkly. Two gags were too many, Vi decided; she was developing a preference.
As the knights pushed them down the dock, another vessel came up to a pier one slip over from theirs. A litter was situated on it—so heavy with gold that Vi was shocked it didn’t sink the boat. Twelve men strained to hoist it, carrying it off the boat and onto the docks so that the man within was never forced to have his feet touch the ground.
Taavin.
Drawn by an invisible tether, Vi stepped toward him. Arms restrained her. She struggled against them. Incoherent noises slipped around the gag in her mouth.
Taavin didn’t so much as look her way.
He was dressed in golden plate, a long cape draped behind him. A legion of knights maneuvered to surround him. Pennons flew at the front and back of his detail. Taavin kept his eyes forward, face passive. Were it not for the breeze ruffling his hair, Vi would’ve thought he was sculpted from clay, not flesh and blood.
“Move!” A knight shoved her hard and Vi stumbled, barely keeping her feet beneath her. “If you stop, or try to run, or fight, we will cleave you straight in two.”
Vi glanced over her shoulder at the man. He had golden hair and light brown eyes. He’d be plain, if not for the malice that permeated his very aura. She looked to her father, who stared back helplessly. He’d told her he’d endured much in his ascension to the throne, but Vi was left wondering if this could top it all.
Taavin was back in Ulvarth’s hands. She and her father were captive. Her mother and brother were still back on the Dark Isle, left very much in the dark as to their predicament.
What had she accomplished? What had every step of struggle and effort until now been for?
Horns blared, echoing a short, lively tune off the tall buildings. The knights arranged themselves into a single line, falling into place. At the front of the procession was Ulvarth on a white steed—easily the largest warstrider Vi had ever seen. Behind him was a stretch of soldiers, then Taavin—the Voice that gave Ulvarth the power to lead, the foundation of his unjust rule. Then another long stretch of knights, a gap, and Vi and Aldrik.
Behind them was another gap before more knights, who kept their distance as though they were tainted.
“Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice!” A voice boomed from the front, magnified by some kind of magical or mechanical device. Vi couldn’t see which. “Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice! The Goddess has smiled this day! Yargen’s children celebrate, for his mighty campaign has been successful! Thanks to Ulvarth, the Voice has returned to Risen!”
The proclamations
echoed off every wall as they entered the city proper. The knights must have been keeping the populous at bay. Because suddenly they were inundated with people. Citizens stood in line, pushing against each other to get a better look at the parade.
“Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice!” the crier at the front of the line continued. Vi would’ve guessed Ulvarth, not Taavin, was Yargen’s Voice, the way he was carrying on. “He has brought evil to justice. He has liberated the Voice from evil. He has recovered the Voice from the hands of those who would do him harm.”
It was then Vi realized they were talking about her. She saw the people surrounding her for the first time, their skeptical and angry faces glowering from the shadows of their marbled buildings.
“Those who have brought the plague? Justice! Those who turned our fields barren? Justice! Those who unleashed the Dark God Raspian? Justice!”
Vi looked over to her father. His jaw was set so tightly that Vi wondered how his teeth didn’t crack. His hands were balled in his shackles and fire crackled around them. But he kept his rage checked—for both of their sakes.
“She who took our Voice? Justice!” Cheers increased, the crowd chanting along, all crying for “justice.”
Vi kept her eyes forward, no longer looking at the people and their lavish clothes or buildings. She could hear their jeers without needing to see their angry eyes. She would let their vitriol slide off of her, just as her father was. She would follow his example.
Something wet and rotten-smelling crashed into her temple. Vi stumbled, more from surprise than pain. She felt the slime from whatever it was—food, rotten food? Let it be rotten food—dribbling down the side of her face.
“Lord Ulvarth has returned. Rejoice!” the crier began anew, methodically repeating himself to the crowd.
It seemed all of Risen lined this wide road. All of Risen had come prepared with their best insults to levy and trash to throw. Vi and her father were pelted. The slimy, sticking, stinking things hurt less than the bottles and rocks—those Vi actively attempted to dodge. But the former coated her in yet another layer of grime.
