by K. M. Raya
“Princess!” he calls out suddenly, causing my whole body to lock up. He smirks. “Good of you to join us this morning. Get down here.”
I stare at him in confusion for a moment, but several pairs of eyes have started to turn my way. I silently curse him for his use of my title so blatantly in a place filled with Kindred who probably would love nothing more than to see me hanged. I keep my chin up as I make my way down a set of wooden stairs that lead to the lower platform. Thallan waits for me with his arms still crossed and his shrewd eyes cold and narrowed. They flicker up and down my body, though his face remains stone still. I get the feeling this elf doesn’t think much of me.
“Choose a weapon,” Thallan tells me. I stare at him for a moment until his stoic face morphs into a glare. “I said now, princess.” His tone leaves no room for argument, so I step up to a wooden rack of swords and spears. I select a short sword—something that looks small enough for me to lift. When I pull it from the rack, the sword clanks to the ground noisily and I can hear people laughing behind me. My face heats and I try to lift it once more. The thing is heavier than I’d anticipated.
“I’m growing old over here,” the elf breathes, no doubt laughing just like the rest of them.
I turn to glare. “You don’t even age, you pointy eared—” my words cut off as he takes a threatening step forward. “I mean sorry, Thallan sir, I’ll do better.” The words feel wrong on my lips, but his mouth stretches into an amused smile and his eyes sparkle darkly. My belly flutters low. ‘Traitor.’
He nods to my sword. “Pick it up.” I do, and I can already feel my skinny arms tiring. I know this is a bad omen because the laughter around me increases. Others have stopped to watch the spectacle and I hate the feeling of their eyes on me. Thallan draws his own sword—it’s longer than mine and he holds it without much effort—as if it were lighter than a feather.
“Attack me!” he orders, and I don’t even hesitate this time. I swing the weapon with all the force I have in my body, but it pulls me forward with the weight of it. I stumble as Thallan dances sideways, missing my blow with ease. “Come on, princess—your army can slaughter us by the hundreds but you can’t even cut down a single elf?” He mocks me while his people laugh. My heart squeezes. They blame me for something that happened when I was just an infant.
I swing again, missing as he jumps backwards. My ankle rolls beneath me and I topple to the ground. Dust billows up as I try to breathe through my nose. My once clean skin is covered in sweat and my hair tangles around my shoulders in a mess of wild, dusty curls.
“I said get up!” his foot comes down on my side—not hard enough to hurt me in the slightest, but I fall sideways, hair sticking to my cheeks. Looking up, anger floods my whole body at the satisfied smirk on his handsome face. Something flares inside of me—a burning in my stomach that has me clutching at my tunic.
Sweat pours down my face…‘something’s wrong—’ My lungs feel tight and I can’t seem to get enough air. Dropping my sword altogether, I struggle to gulp in breaths of precious air all the while Thallan yells at me to stand. I ignore him, panicking because my skin is charring, at least that's how it feels. My fingers tingle and my throat runs dry.
“I won't ask you again, mancer!” he spits. That’s where I lose all of the control I thought I had. Fire rips from my fingertips—real, actual flame travels over my skin as I scream in agony. Sparks shoot from my hands and launch at the elf who just barely manages to jump out of the way with a loud curse.
Those who’d been standing near me shuffle backwards, muttering words of surprise and disbelief as the flame travels up my limbs before latching onto my long red hair. To my bafflement, my hair doesn’t singe as it ignites. The initial agony dissipates until I feel nothing but a sense of absolute euphoria. The moment seems to last forever, but sadly it doesn’t. I soon feel myself waning. Exhaustion falls over me as the flames disappear from my skin as quickly as they’d appeared. Blackness hovers at the edge of my vision, but I can see figures at the corner of my eyes—crowding me in, but a voice orders them back. Footsteps reach me and someone bends down. They reach out with a cool, smooth hand and wipe my red curls away from my sweaty forehead—whispering that everything will be alright.
~~~
I wake in a familiar room, disoriented and flushed. There are others here with me and I can hear them whispering.
I sit up, rubbing at my tired eyes, feeling feverish and tense. My limbs feel stretched out—as if for some reason I’ve been running for days. The last thing I remember is...‘catching on fire?’ My heart pounds and I begin to panic. I scramble, but hands latch onto my shoulders and hold me down. The touch of skin is once again cooling and soft, yet unyielding. I look up to see Thallan squatting down in front of me—hands on my shoulders with a solemn look on his face. His waist length hair is braided back intricately and bound with a leather band. He’s removed his weapons and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic as he runs his eyes over my face and his hands over my arms in search of wounds. Normally I’d pull away from the strange elf who’d been nothing but mocking towards me, but his touch feels so good that I lean into it.
A small smile pulls at his lips. “I think you’re alright—physically, anyways”
I narrow my eyes as him, knocking his hand away with my arm. A throat clears somewhere in the room and Thallan stands back up and walks over to the other side of the room. I see now that we’re in the General's quarters, recognizing the maps on the wall and the large desk at the center in front of her ever-blazing hearth. Tilda steps into view, flanked by Roark while Belinda remains by the door. Anya hovers next to her with a worried look on her face.
“You were truly unaware of your magic?” she asks me. “Impossible—” Tilda scoffs. “It should have manifested years ago.”
More anger wells up inside. “Did you know about this?” I spit, but I already know the answer—remembering the peculiar way she’d watched me when I left her quarters yesterday. I knew something was amiss.
The General shakes her head before taking a deep breath and bracing herself on the wooden desk. “I’ve always known,” she whispers. “Since the day you were born, actually.” My heart dips into my stomach.
It doesn’t make sense. “But you were banished—rumored to have been killed when I was just an baby, how could you have known?”
She glances at me with guilty eyes that make my fingers shake and my head spin. “Think about it, Sera. Think about what just happened to you. Where do you think that power of yours came from?”
I run my eyes over the General assessingly. Those eyes—deep brown with just a hint of sunset orange... ‘No!’ It’s like staring into a mirror. How could I have missed it? Anya gasps.
“No, there’s no way—” I stammer, but Tilda sighs deeply and shakes her head again. “There’s a reason I sent for you the moment Sephrian and his followers left for Karn. Roark finding you in that cave was not a coincidence, you have to have known that.”
I just shake my head, unable to accept it.
“You were born in the old healer’s cottage on the edge of the kingswood while your father's guard surrounded me like some sort of prisoner.” Her eyes are far away and filled with lingering betrayal because those men were once hers to command. “They ripped you from my arms the second you were free and Seth had me banished to the Darklands.” She looks to me, a frown puckering between her eyes. “Surely you had to have noticed you were different than your brothers.” A strange wave of hope fills me at those words.
“Are you telling me that I’m not really the princess of Karn?” I have to ask, though my gut tells me what I already know. As much as I might wish to be free of the burden of the Draegan name, my flaming red hair proves otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “You are your father’s daughter, Sera.” Tilda casts her eyes to the floor—the first sign of weakness thus far. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but I’ll never tell you that you were one of them. There’d been a time I�
�d fancied myself in love with him, but I was a fool.”
Realization makes my stomach curl. It's no wonder the queen hated her own ‘daughter.’ “If I’m part mage, then what did father plan to do with me?” I almost don’t want to know the answer. In my heart I’d always hoped that the king held even a sliver of love for his only daughter, but I never pushed him to show it. Staying out of his way and far from his mind always seemed to be the safest option.
Tilda frowns. “You’re not part mage,” she scoffs and so does Roark behind her. “You’re not half anything. My blood and the blood of all Kindred flows through your veins, Sera. You are what you are and there is no half about it.” My chest flutters with a mixture of sentiment and excitement. All my life I’d stood to the side while my brothers inherited lands and titles. I’d felt the scorn of the queen every day, wondering what I ever did to deserve that vile hatred.
“As for what he would have done the day your powers manifested...I can’t say for sure. You should have manifested years ago. It makes no sense to me that it took provocation to bring them forward,” she muses aloud.
“What does this mean now?” Anya speaks up for the first time. This must all be so confusing and terrifying, especially for a girl who’d spent most of her life sewing and cleaning.
I turn to my friend and grasp her hands in mine—giving them a gentle squeeze. “Whatever happens, we stay together. Isn't that right, General?”
Tilda wears a look of thinly veiled worry on her stern face, but it quickly falls away as she turns her attention to Anya. “We have a long road ahead of us and not everyone will make it to the end. Of course, you’re welcome to stay and make a home here with us. All we ask is that you contribute to society.” She pauses as tears gather in Anya’s eyes. “But I assure you that from this point on, we’ll look out for the both of you. As long as you choose to live in the Veil, you’ll be one of the Kindred.”
“The Veil?” Anya asks, confused. “I thought we were in the Darklands.”
Roark steps forward. “The Veil is what we call our home. Everything above the forest floor of the Darklands is considered the Veil—sanctuary of the Kindred.” His chest puffs out proudly. “Seventeen years ago, we were banished from your father’s kingdom and all of his lands. The shadow dracs took us in and joined with our refugees to create a new society—a kingdom in our own right.”
Anya walks to the small window and I follow behind her. I’d already taken a look around, but I’d been distracted. Anya, however, is seeing it for the first time in the daylight. The Veil stretches out through the Darklands as far as the eye can see—blending into the canopy seamlessly and magnificently.
A woman catches my eyes and I nudge Anya with my elbow, and she follows my line of sight. The woman wears an entire ensemble, intricately crafted from the same black, scale-like material as Tilda’s tunic. Her midnight hair is wound into tight coils that fall to her waist and wrapped in what looks like black leather and moss. Her skin is a deep onyx, almost purple in color. She’s terribly beautiful and when the woman turns her head as if feeling our gaze, her bright yellow eyes stare back at me—slitted down the middle like a feline…like a dragon.
“Shadow drac...” I whisper. Her bat-like wings fall behind her as she steps up to the edge of the railing. Everything about the woman is feral and striking. In my heart I know that’s what she is. She is a dragon…somehow.
“That’s a drac? But She’s so...human,” replies Anya in a daze—watching the drac with wide eyes.
Her body seems to shimmer for a moment and before we can blink, she launches herself from the platform and contorts into the most magnificent creature I’ve ever seen. A massive black dragon soars out into the trees. My childhood dragon hunting escapades through the kingswood pale in comparison to reality
Tilda clears her throat. “Make no mistake, girls, there's nothing human about a shadow drac. They may talk like humans and look like humans, but they’re so much more. We were fortunate that the they were so willing to let us settle here, without their aid I’m not sure we would have made it.”
"Why and how do you wear drac scales on your body?” I gesture to Tilda’s—my mother’s black, vest like covering.
She runs her tanned hand over the scales reverently. “My armor—utterly impenetrable and extremely valuable. It was gifted to me by a friend of mine. You may have the chance to meet him if you’re lucky.” We're interrupted when Thallan steps forward slightly.
“Sera, I know you were introduced to Thallan Myrinn when you arrived. He’s the Commander of the Veil guard.
“I gathered as much,” I grumble, narrowing my eyes at the elf. He’s been watching me the whole time, though I’ve tried my hardest to avoid eye contact. There’s just something unsettling about the man, and I want to say it has nothing to do with the way his silvery gaze strips me bare and makes my skin feel hot and flushed…but I’d be lying.
“Commander, I need you to do something for me,” Tilda tells him and Thallan makes no indication one way or the other that he’d heard as his eyes never leave mine, but she continues regardless. “You are to train the girls alongside your guard.” My eyes snap to hers in surprise. “Train them as you would anyone else. I don’t expect you to be gentle with them because they’ve lived a charmed life behind those palace walls.” I cringe, knowing she’s right, but her words make me tremble with excitement. Anya just looks wary now that she’s turned away from the window and listening in. “Make them one of us, because a time will soon come for action.” Her eyes flit to mine pointedly. “That day is not today, nor will it be tomorrow or even a year from now. You’ll do as he says no matter what.” She turns to Anya. “Both of you.”
Thallan nods, lips tipping up at one corner slightly. “Yes General, it’ll be my honor.” With one last hard look at me, he turns on his heel and strides out of the room leaving us staring after him in bewilderment.
There’s a beat of silence where we all just stand there before I can’t take it anymore. “What now?”
The General frowns. “Well to start, you might want to follow your Commander.” Anya lurches away from the far wall and hurriedly follows Thallan out the door. When I go to follow, my mother calls out to me one last time. “Sera…” She hesitates. “I mean it...daughter, what comes next will be unlike anything you’ve ever faced. Listen to those around you, listen to Thallan’s instructions and most importantly...please try not to die.”
Sera
Five years later…
The forest blurs around me as I bound from branch to branch—too fast for eyes to track or animals to hunt.
Today, I am the hunter. Looking to my right, I lock eyes with Thallan who easily keeps pace with me as he runs along the thick branches. His sure feet are nimble and light, making barely a sound as he passes through. This silver of his eyes glow through the leaves and I have to shake myself so as not to get lost in them—now isn't the time. Rain batters my chilled skin and thunder crashes above me. The foliage is too thick for the lightning bolts to reach, but even if they did, my body would absorb the shock easily.
Swirling around my feet, the red and orange sparks of my magic hold me aloft, propelling me forward as I take the forest by storm. As the raindrops hit the sparks, they fizzle with a hiss and a puff of smoke. Below me, through the maze of branches and thick moss is a herd of storm sabers. Their massive, scaly bodies writhe together as the group of them slither through the slick mud, knocking over boulders and demolishing tree roots as they go. Storm sabers are nasty looking beasts with stubby legs thicker than my torso. Their bodies are long and covered in greenish black scales that form an airtight armor that closes in over the crest of their heads all the way to their long, horse like snouts filled with two rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Two thick, fang-like teeth protrude from their lower lip like tusks, sharp enough to impale anything it that gets in its way.
A whistle to my left has me nodding to Savina, a young elf girl loosely related to Thallan, though it’s hard to kno
w for sure given the fact that elves live for so long. She’s a part of our hunting squad and one of the finest trackers in the Veil. Her white hair is matted to her soft skin as sheets of water pour onto her head from a break in the trees, but she smiles through it. Saber hunts are a favorite pastime for elves, and I find myself laughing loudly as we pick up the pace. Idly, I wonder how far back Rayne and Savina’s sister Zima are; Rayne isn’t the swiftest of us—being a seer rather than a warrior, but he’s a wonderful strategist.
Sabers are easy to track but extremely difficult to hunt. They only come out during rainstorms, using the wet soil to glide along with ease while they hunt for smaller animals. Together, we whistle the ominous call of the hunt and it sings through the trees like a warning, spooking the sabers and making them panic. With a grin and a swift nod, Thallan lets himself drop. Following his lead, I spot my target below and let myself drop too—landing on the slippery back of a lone saber. The beast thrashes under my weight and I’m forced to hold on tightly around its meaty neck to keep myself from falling to my death. The herd undulates around us and if any one of us were to misstep or fall, we’d be crushed in seconds. The rain pelts my face, even this far beneath the canopy. When it rains in the Darklands, it really rains.
We each steer our chosen beasts towards the edge of the herd using the pressure of our knees to guide them like one would a horse. The creatures buck and squirm, fighting for their lives, but it only fuels the chase. Bringing my legs up, I lock my thighs and scrape my fingers beneath a ridge of scales just at the base of the creature's neck. After catching my balance and breathing heavily for a few short moments, I make a move to stand upright, bringing forth my bow—notched with a hand carved arrow covered in druid runes. The runes strengthen the iron tip and assure that my aim strikes true. I send a bolt of mage fire to the tip just before pulling back and unleashing my arrow. Lightning fast, my arrow slips through the crease between its neck and shoulder blades. The soft skin there peeks out from beneath the scales and provides a perfect target. The others must have done the same because piercing shrieks ring out through the forest. The beast slows and staggers as the rest of its herd bypasses us without a backwards glance.
