by Elise Kova
“You wanted to go to Norin… and there was no time…” He had the decency to sound ashamed.
Vi pulled away. Her whole body had gone from acutely pained to completely numb. The word Yargen had told her vanished from her ears, replaced by ringing.
“You… You carried a token to contact Ulvarth on your wrist.” Taavin wouldn’t even look at her as she spoke. “Tell me, yes or no?”
He gave a small nod. Vi shifted onto her knees.
“You were contacting him the whole time, telling him where we were. You didn’t escape. He let you leave. He let you leave to get me. This was all one big game crafted by both of you.” Vi’s voice rose, cracking like her heart.
“No. I only contacted Ulvarth at the end. I tried not to the entire time—not even when I was near death in that cave. I only contacted him then because I knew he would be tracking us and there was no way we would make it to Norin. He’d stop us first. And this way I could try to salvage—” Taavin grabbed her hand.
“Don’t touch me,” she seethed. He slowly released his grasp. “Don’t you dare touch me.”
“Vi—”
She stared at him and slowly shook her head. It didn’t matter what he said or claimed. Whatever they were—whatever they’d shared—was breaking right before her eyes.
“Listen, please,” he pleaded. “The days are becoming shorter, the nights longer. Raspian’s power only grows. The end of the world is near and we are not ready. We couldn’t afford a delay—if we even made it to Norin.”
Vi stood, turning her back to him. Still he spoke. She heard his boots sliding against the wooden floor as he stood as well, relentless.
“I knew if we came back, we would figure out the way to end this—the way to save us all. Your father, your mother. Then you would be reunited with your family not in the final hours, but for a lifetime together.
“I wanted to give you everything you desired, but this was the only way.”
Vi stared out at his small room—the lonely chair, the window to the world. The pity she’d felt was crumbling. It started a landslide that slipped underneath the dark waves she’d carried since her time aboard the Stormfrost.
“You don’t know it was the only way.”
“I knew delays wouldn’t help.”
“You couldn’t know.” She slowly turned, lacing and unlacing her fingers to try to keep the spark from springing forth and burning him alive. “Because you do not see the future. That is my destiny.”
“And you have.” He stared, unflinching in the face of her seething rage. “You have seen the future and it is one of failure. We must remove ourselves from this line of fate that leads only to our end.”
“Well, you have brought me here.” Her voice was quiet and quivering as Vi fought the urge to shout. “And the world is still headed toward its end.”
“What?” he breathed.
“I saw it here, now. The scythe still breaks. I still die. Raspian still wins.”
Taavin stared at her, dumbstruck. Vi watched him crumble under her unrelenting gaze. She looked down on him like the traitor he was, and he couldn’t stand under the weight of her judgment. Vi took a small step forward and he stepped back so hastily that he gripped the wall to prevent himself from tripping over his own feet.
“The only thing you changed is that now I will have to watch my father die at Ulvarth’s hand before I die fighting Raspian.”
“We can still figure it out,” he said weakly, less confident than she’d ever heard him. “We can still—”
“We? That’s the other thing you changed, Taavin.” Her voice cracked. Damn it all. It cracked. “There is no ‘we,’ not anymore.”
“Vi…” His tone was pleading, begging. So much said in the single syllable. Yet her heart ignored it.
She was the fire of her forefathers. She was the bitter ice that had hardened her. She was the frozen flames of the Goddess herself embodied in crystal: hard, unmoving, unfeeling.
“Count your blessings,” Vi whispered. “The last time someone betrayed me and my family, I killed her. But I guess I really did love you, Taavin. Because here you stand, and here you’ll stay.”
Vi started for the door. He didn’t move to stop her. She briefly considered leaving the lock broken and letting Ulvarth’s wrath befall Taavin—but if she sought revenge, now or ever, it would be by her own hand. Just as it had been with Jayme. Just as Arwin had shown her with Fallor.
So Vi returned the lock, sealing Taavin away once more, and vanished into the darkness of the secret passages of the Archives. She walked down the way she’d came, heart thundering in her chest, eyes blurry with anger.
She made it all the way back to the secret entrance, crouching to crawl through the passage. But Vi couldn’t bring herself to move another step. She sat down heavily, leaning against the wall, knees at her chest in the narrow space.
In the darkness, the crown princess felt herself burning alive, from her heart outward. But she didn’t cry. She didn’t call for help.
She let the fires within burn.
Until there was nothing left but ash.
She was alone now.
Without Taavin, there was no one on Meru she could depend on beyond her father. But he was locked away somewhere Vi couldn’t find and likely couldn’t get to even if she could find it. So rather than wasting the effort, she focused on research. She focused on the one thing Taavin had been right about: the only path forward involved finding a way to prevent the world’s end. And sulking wouldn’t accomplish that.
Vi sat perched on a high rung of the Archives. From her vantage point, she observed the Larks coming and going. Much like their namesake, they flitted in and out, carefully selecting tomes to bring back into their chambers to study. She wondered how many recorded new histories, how many studied the old in order to provide counsel, and how many merely maintained the massive library.
After watching them for an hour, she stood and began nonchalantly following behind one man, then the next, lingering at the shelves long after they’d left. Vi watched as books were taken and returned. What had them so busy?
“The Kingdom of Solaris,” she murmured, reading the title of the most recently replaced book. Vi plucked it from the shelf and opened to the first page, where a large family tree spilled over onto the next four pages.
It was strange to see her father’s name there among the rest and, in a fresh ink, her own. The book was on the lineage of the Solaris kings, and later, its emperors. The conqueror who had brought the continent to heel was none other than her grandfather, Tiberus.
Vi replaced the book and moved on to the next.
The War of Light. Lord Noct had mentioned the last great war in relation to Yargen and the Dark Isle. Vi flipped to the first chapter, scanning the text:
In the fifteenth century following the end of the last Dark Era, Lord Raspian escaped his previous imprisonment in the heavenly body, the prison of night’s light.
The book was factual and dry, but the subject matter was so vibrant, so fantastical, that Vi read it more like a story book than a historical text.
A horn startled Vi from her reading. Her head jolted upward, looking on instinct to the open windows above the fake flame where the sound echoed from. It was a sweet melody that rang throughout Risen, bells accompanying the trill of the horns. She could’ve sworn she heard drums in the mix.
The sound drew nearer and Vi closed the book to listen. The music increased in fervor. It was bright and full of life—the sort of thing she’d associate with a celebration of some kind. All at once, it stopped.
The large doors to the Archives opened with a mighty groan and Vi sprinted around to get a better look, dashing down a set of stairs. She positioned herself opposite the doors peering at the group waiting to enter.
A company of knights were revealed to be on the other side of the door. But these were not Ulvarth’s Swords of Light. They wore silver armor and had bright red plumage extending from their caps. Without any furthe
r invitation, they marched in slowly.
Behind the first line of knights was a row of men and women, dressed in heavy layers of embroidered finery. The only similarity among them were the silver pins they wore on their left breasts—each in a different shape. Behind this row of people came a single woman.
Vi couldn’t actually see her face. In fact, the woman wore so many layers of fabric that she couldn’t tell it was a woman at all from the shape of the body. But Vi knew it was a woman, because atop the long veil that covered her from head to toe was an ornate, silver crown.
Lumeria, the Queen of Meru, had come to the Archives.
She leaned over the railing slightly, watching as the queen passed underneath. They went through a door opposite the entry, toward one of the pointed buildings Vi had yet to explore. Two more groups of knights took up the final rows, and Vi waited until they’d passed under her to step back and sit against the bookshelves.
Ulvarth had said her father’s trial would begin at the queen’s convenience. If the queen was here, that meant his trial was beginning. Vi ran a hand through her hair; the sensation of it, free of braids, was odd, but she didn’t have the energy to coif it.
She should keep reading, keep searching for ways out of the mess they were all in.
But she couldn’t.
She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear the footsteps of someone approaching. Two unfamiliar booted feet appeared next to her and Vi followed them up to a silver-armored woman. She had bright blue eyes, ringed in purple. Eyes that stared at her for so long, Vi began to feel uncomfortable.
“Vi Solaris?” the knight asked, after that seemed like forever.
“Yes?”
“Your presence has been requested.”
“By who?” Vi slowly tilted her head away from the bookcases, though she already suspected she knew.
“The queen.” The knight took a step away. “If you’ll please follow me.”
Book in hand—because Vi wasn’t about to risk a Lark taking it off the shelf again—Vi trailed behind the knight to ground floor. They walked through the same door the queen and her retinue had disappeared into, and across a tunneled walkway. The windows were laden with fragments of heavily tinted glass that distorted the world beyond.
From time to time, the knight glanced over her shoulder. Vi caught her odd looks. It wasn’t suspicion, and Vi didn’t get the sense the woman viewed her as a threat.
“Is something the matter?” she finally asked as the hallway split in two, absentmindedly scratching at the bandages around her wrists.
The knight paused, allowing Vi to catch up. They stood side by side before a staircase leading upward. “You look just like someone I once knew.” Her voice was filled with a longing that made Vi inexplicably sad. “A good friend that I lost.”
“I’m sorry,” Vi murmured. The knight shook her head, refusing Vi’s sympathies.
“Perhaps we will meet again someday, in a different place and time.” It was an optimistic world view—one Vi couldn’t share after seeing the end of the world. “I’m Deneya.” She raised a hand to the center of her forehead, pushing aside the dark brown, almost black fringe there to touch her skin before lowering it.
Vi did her best to replicate the greeting. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Deneya led her up the stairway and to a small landing. Another knight in identical armor was positioned by a door. He gave Deneya salute and opened the door.
“Please, come in.” A voice summoned them.
The long room was dominated by large windows that ran the length of both walls. Vi was distracted by the inner wall that overlooked a courtyard. She knew she should be bowing before the woman at the far end of the room, sitting poised in her endless folds of fabric on the edge of a plush chair. But for a moment, all of her regal training was forgotten.
“I know this place,” she whispered, horrified.
The last time she’d seen it, she’d been nothing more than a specter. She’d seen the carved gutters and tiled rooftops. She’d seen the covered stage where the queen would sit and before which her father would kneel. But that time, the square had been full. And now it was unnervingly empty.
She’d seen this moment long ago in a cave in the North.
“Do you?” The queen’s voice sounded nothing like Vi would expect. For all the flowing silks and chiffons she wore, the woman’s voice was low and sharp, every word enunciated in the thick accent Vi had come to associate with all of Meru.
“I saw it in a vision once,” Vi explained. Secrecy wouldn’t serve her now. Vi pulled herself from the window, crossing to the small sitting area where the queen waited. She dropped to one knee. “Forgive me for forgetting myself before you, your highness.”
“I thought the Solaris family saw themselves as rulers of the world entire. Is it common for you to kneel before other nobility?”
“I’ve found ‘the world’ a bit generous to describe our borders.” Vi lifted her gaze with a small smile. “And you are not even the first ruler I have knelt before since coming to Meru.” The one downside to all the fabrics covering the queen was that Vi could not read the woman’s facial expressions. She was left to judge her reactions from voice alone, and the length of pause she took to collect her thoughts.
“Please sit.” Lumeria slowly raised a jeweled hand. Vi would move slowly if she was forced to wear that much silver on her fingers.
Vi stood, sitting on the stool across from the queen’s chair. She very much felt like a child at her mother’s knee.
“I have summoned you because I would like a word with you before your father’s trial begins.”
“How may I be of service?” Vi asked cautiously.
“Merely speak with me. I ask nothing more of you.” Vi gave a tentative nod. She knew just speaking could be dangerous enough, especially when her father was about to stand trial before this woman. “Do you know what is happening with your father? Have they told you?”
“I believe the Faithful think he had some role in harming our world,” Vi answered delicately. She didn’t know how much Lumeria knew about the impending doom that awaited them all—or if keeping it a secret from the queen would be beneficial in some way. Proceeding with caution seemed the only choice.
“They believe he set free Raspian from the god’s tomb on the Dark Isle.” Lumeria paused for a brief moment. “This doesn’t surprise you? I didn’t think the War of Light was compulsory education on the Dark Isle.”
“It’s not. But I have had ample time to research and learn over the past year.” Vi looked to the window. Everything seemed too bright, too harsh. “My father is not guilty—not to the letter of for the accusations. The man who truly destroyed the Crystal Caverns and tried to harness their power was the Mad King Victor, and he is dead.”
“Do you think Ulvarth will care?” She could almost imagine Lumeria’s eyebrows rising underneath her veil.
“Hardly. He cares for little beyond himself. I think his sham of a holy crusade to undermine your power and work to put the real control of Meru in his own hands through brutal tactics is enough proof of that.” It would be plain speaking between them, then. How refreshing.
“Tell me why he has yet to put you on trial.”
“Because I am the Champion reborn,” Vi answered honestly, deciding her best chance was to ingratiate herself to the queen. She had just lost one powerful ally on Meru; she could use another. “So I can help rekindle the flame.”
“I have always known Ulvarth to be greedy, but not stupid,” Lumeria murmured. Then, louder, “Can you rekindle it? Can you bring Yargen back to us and collect her scattered power from your lands?”
“Scattered power from my lands?” Vi repeated. She suspected she understood—she had heard about Yargen’s fractured power—but sought clarity nonetheless.
“To seal Raspian away, Yargen split herself—one part into the staff she gave the last Champion, one part to the seal Raspian’s tomb, and one part to the flame.”
“The staff, then. There are records it was split and—”
“Transformed into a crown, an axe, a sword, and a scythe,” Vi finished. “Yes… But all that remains is the scythe.”
Lumeria was silent for a long time. She folded her hands in her lap and Vi heard a soft sigh. Underneath the fabrics of her veil, the queen hunched slightly.
“Then it may already be too late.”
“I have the scythe in my possession,” Vi said quickly. “Well, Ulvarth has it. But it is here.”
“I will pray for that to be enough,” Lumeria said wistfully. “But a fragment of a fragment of the Goddess’s power does not seem like it would be sufficient to stand against a god.”
And Vi had the visions to prove it wasn’t.
“Deneya, you may escort the princess back to the Archives now. Thank you for speaking with me, Vi Solaris.”
Vi stood at the dismissal. Deneya guided her back through the door and down the stairs. They crossed the walkway in silence, the knight pausing at the entrance to the archives, hovering like the clearly unspoken words.
“Vi,” she said delicately. “You have a path more difficult than any can comprehend. The only one who can truly understand it is the Voice.”
She bit back protest that Taavin was clearly the last person in the world who understood her. If he did, he would’ve never put her and her father at risk.
“But should you ever need me, no matter the time or place, seek me out. My sword is yours.”
“Thank you,” Vi said, trying to hide her discomfort. She didn’t trust the woman’s eagerness. Perhaps Lumeria had put her up to the task.
Or perhaps she was another trying to get close to her for their own gain.
“Good luck, Champion.”
Deneya gave a small bow, returning back the way she came.
Vi watched her leave before wandering back into the Archives. She returned the book she’d started reading on the last War of Light to its place on the shelf. Her mind was too full to try to process the knowledge within.
