by C B Samet
“Of course you did,” Orrick agreed, a little too eagerly.
Snake Eyes snickered.
I waved them off as I walked through the house. The children clustered in the lounge, arguing about something as they often did, but I didn’t see Abigail. None of them could see or hear me, and I couldn’t ask them where I might find their mother.
I extended my abilities to sense Abigail. I saw flashes of my volcanic island and sensed danger. What had happened? I summoned my ability to see the past, and I watched a skirmish on Mulan. Abigail and Baird had overpowered the Prince of Bellos and a group of his sailors.
I walked into Abigail’s bedroom just as she appeared, transporting herself instantly from my island to this room. She halted at the sight of me—and for a moment, pleasant surprise lit her face. My heart skipped a beat, and I grinned.
Then she hardened her glare at me, blue eye glowing like a Che stone. She was obviously annoyed I’d seen her initial reaction. “What are you doing here, Mal?”
My grin didn’t fade. “I’m here to offer my services.” I spread my arms wide.
She pivoted and walked back into her bedroom, closing the door.
I puzzled at her change in demeanor. “Are you, or are you not happy to see me?”
“Not,” she replied.
I leaned closer. “Tell that to your flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.” I took a moment to appreciate the dress she wore and the way it curved around her hips.
“What happened to our agreement?” she asked.
Our agreement, a year and a half ago, had been that we’d cease all communication for seven years. I’d inexplicably stopped absorbing the world’s evil, as I was intended to do, and my hypothesis had been that our relationship was to blame. My mother and brother had since convinced me I’d been wrong.
“There’s been a change of plans,” I explained. “I accompanied Orrick to Mother’s tomb. We’ve come back to teach you her magic.”
I regarded her carefully—her vibrant azure eyes, gently sloping cheek bones, and full red lips—before I failed to suppress a wide smile. “You missed me.”
“We had an agreement.” She turned to look out the bedroom window.
My smile faltered as a pang of sorrow struck me like an arrow. Was she angry with me? Had I irrevocably damaged our relationship?
She whirled around to me. “I thought we were friends. Do you know how many times I’ve needed a friend?”
The hurt and betrayal in her expression was palpable. How many times had I wanted to cast aside my foolish idea of separation and return to her? How many times had I wondered if she even needed me anymore?
I eased closer and lowered my voice. “You could have summoned me back, Abigail.” She only needed to wish me to her side with a whisper of my name, and I’d have arrived in a heartbeat.
Abigail clenched her teeth—the same silence she’d maintained instead of asking me to come back.
I took several steps back, shaking my head. “You always were stubborn.”
She walked around me, even though she could have walked straight through me, and reached for the door handle.
She hesitated. “Why are you back?”
“To help you. Crithos is in trouble. You’ll be embarking on another journey, no doubt.”
“What can an apparition accomplish?”
Her harsh words sliced into me. The main frustration of my existence was my inability to touch my surroundings. Abigail knew this. I’d discovered new abilities with my brother Orrick on our trip to Karnelik, but I could still only perform the magic through him—not on my own.
My voice hardened. “Not as much as I’d like to.”
Abigail stepped back from the closed door and flopped on the edge of her bed. “I’m sorry.” She ran her hands through her long, wavy hair. “I do need you.”
I held my breath, waiting for her to add “—on this particular occasion—”, but she left the statement open.
Open to interpretation. My interpretation.
Now I’d be puzzling over whether those words held a broader meaning.
“The Prince of Bellos arrived on the island of the serpent volcano to take the scepter.”
“Well, it’s not there.” I shrugged.
She stood. “Walk with me. I need to get back to Baird. What do you know of unfolding events?”
“I can’t see the future reliably anymore—but the ministers and the Queen will want peace talks, no doubt. Bellos isn’t interested in peace.” I followed Abigail through hallways and into the children’s play room.
“You think talks will be futile?”
I arched an eyebrow. “You saw the vision in the Waterland geysers. King Artemis Stout lusts to conquer Crithos and Kovia. Peace talks to war-lovers like him are the equivalent of foreplay—in which you tell your partner all the ways you want to be dominated.”
“He’ll see negotiation as weakness.”
I nodded. “Which it is. The Crithian army can’t defeat the Bellosian army. If Tarik were worth a silver piece as the Minister of Foreign Affairs, he’d caution the Queen.”
Owing to Abigail’s position as Avant Champion, she would be a part of international events. My diminishing ability to see the future coincided with man’s return to evil—although I didn’t need the gift of foresight to know war was inevitable.
“What’s the alternative?”
“Sadly, I don’t have one. If the Queen sails for Bellos to negotiate, she’ll put herself in danger—and still not thwart a war. If she stays and waits for their army to come, she’ll be faulted for not trying to stop the war. Again, this is my understanding of the political volatility of the situation—not foresight.”
Abigail blew out a breath as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Sail to Bellos, eh? Then the best I can do is go with her and try to protect her.”
“That is why you’re the Champion.”
“Because I’m willing to go? Or foolish enough to imagine I can turn the tide of an intercontinental war?”
I smiled. “Probably both.”
She grinned back with an expression of warmth and the hint of mischievousness that I adored on her face. “Thanks for the encouragement.”
I looked around the play room. Abigail had expanded the house, room by room, over the years to the extent that it was more of an estate now. Even the grounds had expanded—to now include chickens, milking cows, horses, and separate shelter for all of them. There were enough to feed her family and the community of staff that serviced her estate.
She grabbed Rebekah’s music rings—metal circles of different sizes and shapes that could be played to create musical tunes.
“Are you planning on serenading the Bellosians?” I asked.
“Not exactly.” She turned down another hallway.
Abigail walked into the lounge of her family home. Fresh logs crackled on the fire. Outside the window, a light snow fell—tiny white specks against a background of dark, barren trees.
Memories of over ten years of coming and going in and out of this home engulfed me warmly—of the children’s first steps, of Paul whisking eggs for family breakfast, and of Rebekah still being so small she’d fit in the nook of Abigail’s arm. I remembered Natalie falling off a ladder and breaking her arm, and the same girl later riding a horse at full gallop for the first time.
They didn’t know me, but I knew them.
We entered the living room. Rebekah sniffed as she sat on the chaise lounge. Abigail knelt down to hug her, but she recoiled away from her toward Natalie. Abigail looked stricken by the pang of rejection.
Her children didn’t know the hero she’d been in the past, nor the violence she’d spared them from today. They only worried that one day their mother would vanish, just as their father had. Although they seemed ungrateful, they were mostly just misinformed. Someday, they’d understand—although that was my own speculation, not a premonition.
Abigail turned to Paul, who gave her a sympathetic shake of his head. Paul had a
lways been the kindest to his mother—at least, he had after reaching the age of reason.
“I’m sorry, Rebekah. We’ll talk about all of this later tonight. I must return to Mulan for now and take those men to Marrington.”
Rebekah still didn’t look her mother in the eye. Abigail looked to Paul for support. He was only seven, but had taken on a maturity and become a young man after his father’s death a year and a half ago.
“Family meeting?” Paul asked.
“Yes, family meeting. Tonight.” She reached out and hugged Paul.
“Oh! Lady Cross,” a startled voice called.
Gert, one of the house maids, had entered the room.
“Gert, my apologies for startling you. As you can see, we’ve returned from the picnic. I’m going back to finish cleaning up our mess. Can you ask Steward John to see that Natalie, Paul, and Rebekah have everything they need for the next several hours until I return?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Thank you, Gert.”
Abigail exited the room.
She could have simply transported back to the volcano without first walking away, but she tried to minimize use of her magical abilities in front of her staff. If they saw such activity—like the lady of the house disappearing, or glowing, they’d eventually grow fearful.
Despite Abigail’s efforts, though, the staff probably harbored suspicions—since her children spoke freely of the many places they’d seen. Anyone with geographical knowledge would wonder how they’d all traveled to and from such faraway places in such a short time span.
After Abigail turned a corner in the house, to ensure that she was out of sight of the staff, she instantly transported back to Mulan.
I followed Abigail back to the island, where the captive sailors had been positioned into a close, seated circle. The Prince of Bellos, an arrogant looking lad with a bloodied toucan-beaked nose, eyed Abigail with malicious intent.
I noted their small dingy and a large ship in the distance. On the black, sandy shores of my island, a pile of confiscated weapons rested.
Baird held and inspected one of the unusual weapons while the captured men watched with wide-eyed fear—as though he might inadvertently activate it.
Abigail walked over to Baird and clasped his shoulder. “I’m so very sorry you received an injury.”
Baird blinked at her. “It’s not an experience I want to duplicate.” He handed her one of the weapons.
Baird’s dark brown hair, mixed with grey, was slightly tussled from fighting. His beard—still wet from the spring water—had grown longer since I’d last seen him. His blue eyes glowed in silent observation of the intruders.
He opened his palm. His hand contained a small, iron ball. Dried blood caked the creases of his hand and his fingernails. “This is what punctured me.”
It was only the size of a pebble, yet I sensed it had inflicted great damage.
Abigail turned to Porter Stout. “Prince Stout, what are these contraptions?”
Porter smirked and shot them a look, conveying his belief that his captors were somehow inferior. Ironic, considering they’d won the skirmish.
Abigail pointed the hollow end of the weapon at Porter. His face paled and lips parted as he started to protest. Before pulling the trigger, she offset the aim into the sand. As the loud noise exploded, sand and rock sputtered, displaced by the projectile.
The men jumped.
“Abigail!” Baird protested.
“Well done!” I congratulated her. “You always did keep things exciting!”
“It’s called a pistol,” Porter said nervously.
Abigail sniffed the gun. “Sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter. This is black powder. The sulfur and charcoal are fuel, and potassium nitrate, or saltpeter, is an oxidizer.”
“Fascinating,” I commented, looking closer at the pistol. “The explosion transforms the iron pebble into a deadly projectile.”
Baird gave her a curious look.
“Any self-respecting professor of chemistry knows the chemical components of black powder,” Abigail explained to Baird.
Abigail handed the gun back to Baird. Withdrawing the metal rings from her forearm, she secured the sailors’ wrists together in one long chain. The sturdy metal was not easily bent, but she had an advantage—the Warrior Stone.
Like all magical Che stones, Abigail activated the Warrior Stone by sheer will while making skin contact. Her stone was secured within the necklace she wore.
I preferred the earlier version of the necklace she’d worn, made from glistening silver. Now she wore a wooden necklace—the casing of which disguised the stone hidden within. It was an understandable change, though, since a glowing stone on one’s neck instantly revealed the source of one’s power and, therefore, one’s weakness. Many years ago, Abigail had been betrayed by a Hunju warrior who deduced the connection between her strength and the stone. In a sword fight, he severed the silver necklace. It fell to the ground, taking her strength with it. After that near-death battle, she’d concealed the stone within a wooden shell. On special, courtly occasions she’d still wear the decorative silver version—but on those occasions, I tended to admire her flattering dresses more than the necklace.
With the enhanced strength from the activated stone, Abigail bent the metal rings with her bare hands and shackled her prisoners. Prince Stout stared at her hands in disbelief while she manipulated the metal as if it were as supple as leather.
Abigail smirked at him.
I grinned. “He came here expecting a deserted volcano island—and instead found a warrior woman.”
3
ABIGAIL
After I’d secured our prisoners, Baird and I walked out of earshot of the Bellosians. Mal remained by my side, although I was the only one who could see and hear him.
“What should we do with the rest of the crew on the ship?” I asked Baird.
“Tell Andi to sink it,” Mal replied.
I threw a scowl in his direction. Could Andi, the sea serpent, sink a vessel? I didn’t want their deaths on my conscience.
Mal shrugged. “They’d sink yours if the roles were reversed.”
Baird said, “Let’s not deal with any more pistols today.”
I nodded. I wasn’t certain I could transport the large vessel. Even if I could—or could with Baird’s help—where would we put it? Waterton was three days by rail from Marrington and unguarded. I couldn’t very well plop an enormous ship in the castle courtyard—and, if I did, it would undoubtedly become my responsibility to put it back into the ocean. In the end, we decided to leave it. The crew could storm the island, but they’d leave empty handed. Eventually, they’d likely decide to return to Bellos and report the Prince’s capture.
We arrived outside Marrington castle with our prisoners. A cold breeze bit through my dress. Baird, in his cloak, was dressed warm enough. We walked with our captives linked together by the chains. The gray stone of the outer wall stretched in both directions, and the large doors of the main gate lay open for visitors—but were staffed by the Queen’s guards. The checkpoint served to ensure those entering were there for trade, or politics, or other matters of the court.
As we approached the gate, bypassing the line of merchants waiting for passage, a half-dozen of the Queen’s guards greeted us. Baird spoke with them, explaining that the sailors from Bellos had trespassed on Mulan. Baird had lived between the castle and the monk sanctuary for the last several years; he was well-known and trusted here.
“Due to their aggressive behavior, we were forced to restrain them,” Baird explained.
The castle guards escorted us and our prisoners deeper into the castle. As we wound through the castle corridors, the abundance of castle guards struck me. They seemed to have multiplied in number in the last year and stood alert at every corner and intersection of the corridors. The men and women still wore the blue and silver uniforms, adorned with the horse crest.
The heightened security, along with aggressive invader
s sporting new deadly weapons, had my mind on high alert. Over a year ago, I’d seen in a vision that the forces of Bellos would launch an attack on Crithos. I didn’t know when, and now I wondered if Porter’s arrival marked the beginning of the war. The Queen had taken my advice to build a true army—and, on occasion, I’d see them training outside the castle when I visited; but the formation of the army was still in infancy.
We entered a large chamber I recognized as one of the many meeting rooms. Sharp heels clicked on the marble floor behind us. I turned to see Coco DeFay entering the room. As Captain of the Guard, she stood tall and almost regal. One hand rested on the hilt of her sword and the other at her side. Her blonde hair, once long and flowing, she now wore short and choppy around her ears.
We looked at each other a moment, a sea of emotions swirling around us. We’d fought side-by-side many times—the battle against Malos, and a skirmish before the Hunju civil war, to name a few. We’d traveled the Black Marsh together and faced a black marsh adder. We’d braved treacherous lands in Kovia and secured a component to cure a plague. Yet, after all those events together, she’d been the one to restrain me as my husband—a healer—sacrificed himself to save thousands of lives threatened by the Omega Plague.
I didn’t have a definition of what our relationship was. Strained to say the least.
Coco turned her frosty gaze to Baird. I glanced in his direction. He kept private about his personal life; however, I knew they’d been in an on-again, off-again relationship. I thought most recently it was functional, but Coco’s bristling behavior raised my doubts. As she shot a look of daggers at him, she seemed to notice his blood-stained garments.
Her eyes narrowed and then flickered over to me. “Explain the intrusion.”
My jaw tightened. Her expression and tone left me feeling as though she referred to our presence in the castle rather than the true intruders—the Bellosian sailors.
