Vortex Chronicles: The Complete Series

by Kova, Elise

  But only after he’d made a display of killing off the generals, and quelled the resultant outrage.

  The war had ended. But the fighting wouldn’t stop for weeks.

  * * *

  Martial law was enacted in the city—at least, that’s what they were told by whispering servants who were allowed in and out of the manor house once each day to feed the soldiers held inside.

  “Here.” Zira startled Vi from her thoughts by thrusting a hunk of bread about the size of Vi’s palm in her face. “Eat it before someone kills you for it.”

  “Is this… fresh?” Vi grabbed for the food eagerly, taking a bite so large she was forced to chew with her mouth open. The bread was soft, crust hard, free of mold or weevils, and still had that distinct aroma of fresh-baked deliciousness—a scent she hadn’t smelled in the two weeks since she was imprisoned with the rest of the soldiers. “How did you—”

  “The girls say that provisions have arrived from the East. It seems the Emperor has starved us enough and now wishes to win us over by filling our bellies.”

  Luke started a familiar litany of muttering. “If he thinks the West will bend before him for a few loaves of bread—”

  “He’s absolutely right,” Vi interrupted, swallowing hard to get the rest of the too-large bite down. She needed water, but there was none to spare in the manor. Everything was rationed tightly; they were given just enough to be kept alive. So Vi bit the tip of her tongue until saliva coated her mouth—a trick Zira taught her. “The people have been defeated, shown the Emperor’s power, made to feel desperate, and now, when he shows them kindness, they will be all too eager to accept it. It’s hard to think straight when hunger is gnawing at you.”

  She had been learning as much the hard way these past two weeks. In the process, Vi was finding a new, dark appreciation for Taavin’s time spent under Ulvarth. How readily she’d judged him for his actions back in the Twilight Forest. Part of her still did. Even during the longest nights of hunger pangs, Vi still didn’t think she’d condemn a group of people to slaughter.

  But she was only two weeks in. And he’d spent years in such a state. She twisted the watch at her neck, longing to summon the man once more but not having a scrap of privacy to do it with.

  “The Emperor. You still speak like one of them.”

  “Well I’m in here with you, Luke.” Vi took another bite of bread. “So either I’m not one of them, or I’m really stupid for not getting myself out before now.”

  “None of us are getting out of here alive,” Kahrin sighed, her long black hair hiding her face. She was a far cry from the woman who threatened Vi when they first met. “They’ve taken all the generals, and half of the Knights of Jadar… We’re next.”

  “We’re not dead yet, so eat.” Zira sat on the other side of the wide windowsill where Vi was perched. The other two remained in their spots on the floor. It was a corner of the room they shared with ten other random soldiers—men and women whose names Vi hadn’t bothered to learn. “The princess will need us.”

  “The princess is dead.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Zira growled.

  “Do you really think the Emperor will be satisfied with just King Rocham’s head? No, he’ll want more royal blood to spill in a glorious display of power. And who better than the youngest child, the woman who led our army against him?”

  “Fiera isn’t dead,” Zira insisted in the face of Kahrin’s determination.

  “If she was alive, she would’ve come for you of all people by now. You were always her pet.”

  “She’s not dead.” Vi tore off another chunk of bread, chewing it over and staring out the window.

  “What do you know, traveler?” Kahrin spat. Her tone made plain that she had yet to relinquish her theory that Vi was a spy.

  “More than you ever will.”

  “How dare you—”

  “Enough,” Zira snapped. “You three are exhausting me.”

  They all ate their remaining scraps of bread in relative silence. Luke mumbled something about the food sitting heavy in his stomach and making him sleepy, “likely drugged by Imperialist swine.” Kahrin must’ve decided she was bored of being ignored, because when Vi looked over her shoulder next, she was gone.

  “Do you know she’s alive?” Zira asked softly, her voice hushed.

  Vi gave a small nod that felt like a lie. What did she know? Precious little. The ability to gaze along the Mother’s lines of fate was one thing, but she hadn’t had a vision since entering the remade world. It was like she was trying to navigate a new city using ancient maps. She’d been biding her time, waiting, seeing how things played out. Tiberus and Fiera nearly exchanging blows on the docks had ignited a fear Vi hadn’t expected. What if she messed something up? What if, in trying to improve the future they were now heading toward, she somehow made it worse?

  She needed to speak with Taavin again.

  “You have the sight too, don’t you? Like she does?”

  “I do.”

  “I heard what you said to her, at the docks…” Zira looked back to the window. “She told me of her vision before the battle. She knew we would lose. She knew her father would die.”

  “And yet she fought for Mhashan anyway.” The meager piece of bread was gone all too swiftly, and Vi’s stomach was grumbling even louder than before. But ignoring angry stomachs had become something they were all quite good at.

  “Yes, she fought for Mhashan… but not to win. She wanted to save the people—to prevent as many as possible from dying. I don’t understand the dance of royals, but I must believe that these deaths we hear of, however gruesome they might be, are still part of her plan. Fiera was always good at minimizing losses.”

  “The hard part of having royal blood is deciding how you spread the suffering. Who will bear the burden—many, or a few? Who? And how do you choose? Do you spread it as thin as possible, or is it better to absolve some and force others to pick up the weight entirely?”

  “Are you certain you’re not a bastard of King Rocham?” Zira chuckled at Vi’s expression. “You speak like a royal.”

  “I’ve spent my share of time around them, I guess you could say.”

  “In your travels?”

  “In my travels.”

  Booted feet came to a stop at the entrance of the room. There were no more doors in the manor; they had all been ripped off when the Imperial soldiers evicted the house’s noble residents and declared it the new containment shelter for the former army of Mhashan.

  “She’s there. Zira Westwind is there.” Kahrin pointed at them and spoke to the Imperial soldiers on either side of her. “The one with the shorter hair.”

  “Westwind…” Vi repeated softly. The name was familiar to her in a way she hadn’t been expecting. “Your name is Westwind?”

  Zira didn’t have a chance to answer as soldiers approached. “Come,” a broad-shouldered man barked in Mhashanese. Zira stood without protest.

  “Where are you taking her?” Vi asked, jumping from the windowsill. The man ignored her and she repeated herself, forcing her tongue to make the sounds of the common language she’d spoken all her life, “Where are you taking her?”

  The two soldiers stopped, gaping at her in surprise. They weren’t the only ones; the soldiers of Mhashan wore expressions of curiosity at her deft outburst.

  “That is none of your concern,” one of the men finally said, before they dragged Zira out of sight.

  * * *

  There was no word of Zira, and none from Kahrin or Luke either. After Vi’s outburst in common, they began to shy away from her—prior suspicions of her being some kind of Southern spy reignited. Without Zira, Vi didn’t have the energy or inclination to refute them.

  Three days passed, and Vi became bolder about wandering the manor. She was growing tired of being cooped up, tired of waiting. Perhaps it would be better if she could remember more of the immediate details following the fall of Mhashan, but her studies—or her memories of the
m—were lacking. She needed the counsel of the man who was tasked with looking back for her. But every room she entered was filled with people.

  “How is it outside?” she asked one of the girls passing out hunks of bread. It had tasted so good three days ago, but had since grown stale. “Any progress?”

  “Some.” Vi stepped off to the side, leaning against the wall next to her. “There’s rumors they might be lifting the martial law soon.”

  “Rumors don’t hold water. Did they kill Zira?”

  “I don’t know who Zira is, but the killings in the square have ended.”

  That much was good, at least. The Emperor must be feeling more confident in his control of Mhashan. The next step would be—

  “Criers today announced that tomorrow, there will be a ball held for Mhashan’s court.”

  “A ball?” Vi repeated. After weeks of ruling with blood and an iron fist, there was to be a party?

  “I think it’s odd, having a party so close to so much bloodshed. But who understands royals? The ball is to follow some kind of announcement in the square opposite the castle.”

  An engagement announcement. The Emperor would secure his hold in the West with a marriage. Vi finished off her bread with one more large bite, thanked the girl, and left. If there was a ball, the castle would be open; he’d want as many nobles as possible to attend.

  Vi waited for nightfall. She’d staked her claim in the corner of one of the rooms—crowded enough that no one would notice one person missing, empty enough that she could have the dark corner of what was once a closet to herself.

  “Durroe watt ivin,” Vi whispered, standing and sliding into the skin of one of the Imperial soldiers she’d been watching for weeks. The brief flash of light didn’t seem to wake any of those sleeping.

  Carefully tiptoeing from the room, Vi stepped into the hall and walked with confidence. Magic was hot under her hand and the illusion blurred the edge of her vision. But it was far easier than the first time she had attempted a similar deceit—escaping out of the fortress of Soricium as Jayme.

  “Lolan, don’t you usually take the mornings?” one of the guards asked as she approached the exit.

  “Usually. I’m covering half a rotation,” Vi said softly, with the same Southern accent Ginger would use. Vi had picked this particular guard for her masquerade because she’d never raised her voice above a whisper. “Excuse me.”

  Keeping her head down, Vi stepped out into the street. The guards at the door said nothing more. They believed the illusion completely.

  Vi took a breath of fresh air. Freedom filled her lungs.

  She started down the street toward where she knew the Le’Dan’s shop would be.

  Chapter Five

  She kept the illusion of Lolan’s skin most of the way through the city. Vi passed three other Imperial soldiers who each gave her a bob of their heads before continuing on their patrols. It wasn’t until she reached the opulent area of town where the Le’Dan shop stood proud that Vi stepped back into a side alley, crouched, and finally let go of the magic running thin against her palm.

  Letting her eyes adjust to the darkness, Vi remained low, waiting. The city had been quiet for weeks, which meant the patrols were becoming more scarce. Even without them, the citizens stayed hidden away. Tiberus had conditioned them all now, whether they realized it or not.

  After the next patrol passed, she eased out of her stance and looked to the building across the road. The first floor was a shop; a window above. Perhaps a loft for some kind of security or shopkeep to sleep in? Vi had no doubt that the Le’Dans would keep their goods heavily guarded, especially now, when the people around those valuable goods were hungry and desperate.

  She hastily crossed the street and came to a stop at the door.

  “Durroe sallvas tempre,” Vi whispered, willing the magic to spin outward and encompass both her and the door. “Juth calt.” The inside mechanics of the lock built in to the door shattered with a pop, and Vi eased herself quietly inside. Her magic hid the jingling of the bell overhead.

  Vi willed the glyph for concealing her sound to hover across the entire store. She stepped behind the counters and pulled back the fabric covering the cases. Jewels shone like colored stars in the faintly glowing light of her magic.

  “No… not one of these.” Vi replaced the cover, turning away from the cases. She didn’t need showpieces designed to accentuate the Le’Dan family’s skill. No, she needed something smaller, something no one would notice was missing, hopefully, until tomorrow night at the earliest.

  Vi rummaged through the drawers behind the counters. There were all manner of jeweler’s tools in the first four. She stepped lightly to the back of the room and kept her magic strong. With a glance, Vi checked the street. No sign of soldiers yet.

  “Something, something…” Vi murmured to herself, trusting her magic to keep her thoughts from anyone who might be slumbering upstairs. In the back of the room, tucked between two towers of drawers, was a thin case. Vi opened it and her eyes settled on rows of pieces tagged with names, dates, and amounts. Some were marked as paid, some weren’t.

  She settled on a statement ring with a Western ruby the size of a quail’s egg propped up by two silver phoenixes on either side. Underneath the ruby, the jeweler had emblazoned the Le’Dan family crest.

  “Marla Le’Dan,” Vi read the name off the tag before pocketing the piece. She didn’t know who Marla was, and Vi knew most of the names of the important Le’Dans throughout history. Which meant this woman was perfect—Marla was someone people might recognize by name, but likely wouldn’t know personally. And if the Le’Dans hadn’t found a way to get her ring to her yet, Vi suspected Marla was outside of the city.

  The rest of the night unfolded with the same ease as breaking into the Le’Dan shop.

  Vi made her way through Norin, slipping into the skins of various Imperial soldiers when necessary. She visited a dressmaker, furrier, and cobbler, relieving each of the pieces she’d need to enable the next phase of her plan.

  Each of the stores was flush with goods covered in a thin layer of dust. Clearly, no one had been shopping for months, especially not in the more expensive areas of town. It made it easy for Vi to collect all her necessary supplies before dawn, giving her enough time to slip into an abandoned house just as morning broke.

  She knew she should sleep, but her first moment of privacy had Vi extending her hand, reaching for one man.

  “Narro hath hoolo.” Three simple words, and he stood before her.

  “Vi,” he said with immense relief. Taavin’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her to him. Vi buried her face in his shoulder, pressing as close as she could, willing his embrace to feel as sturdy as she’d once known it to be. “It’s been three weeks. Don’t worry me like this.”

  “I’m all right.” She shifted enough to look him in the eye. “See?”

  “You’re skin and bones… and in dire need of a bath.”

  She couldn’t disagree. But rather than linger on that topic, Vi asked instead, “How do you know how long it’s been?”

  “From within the watch, I might not know what you’re doing, but I have a sense of how much time is passing. My consciousness is stored there, so when I’m not in this world, it feels almost like twilight sleep—not really awake, but not fully asleep either.” Taavin released one arm, running his finger across her forehead as if to brush away stray hairs. The ghostly touch was feather-light, and the strands that had escaped her braids barely moved. “What’s happened?”

  “I found Fiera,” Vi began delicately. “Though, in doing so, I ended up getting myself captured.”

  “Captured?”

  “I’m fine,” Vi insisted once more.

  “What did you do?”

  “It doesn’t matter. What matters is—”

  “It does matter,” he interrupted firmly. “I exist to chronicle time and keep record of your actions. I can’t do that if you don’t tell me them exactly. Our best hope
for figuring out what will save this world is ruling out what won’t.”

  With a palm on his chest, Vi pushed him away lightly. She folded her arms to guard herself—to try to hold in the truth. He was already worried enough. Vi walked over to the boarded window of the parlor where they stood. She could feel his gaze as keenly as the beams of sunlight that streamed through the cracks in the boards.

  “I went out to find Fiera the night Mhashan fell.”

  “You went out?”

  “Yes, into the fray.” Vi could tell from his tone he was putting the events together.

  “You went out into the field of battle knowing that if you died, this world is doomed?” Taavin stomped over, though the floor didn’t so much as creak—his footsteps held no real weight. “What were you thinking?”

  “I had to see it,” she said without looking at him. Her eyes saw that night, replaying its events. “I had to see it with my own eyes. It made all of this real.” She finally locked eyes with him. “Besides, didn’t you say the first thing I must do is get the sword?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Well, I have a plan to do that now.”

  “Is it just as reckless as your last plan?” Taavin frowned.

  “I’m not sure if I should tell you. You might just scold me for it.”

  “Yes, I’m going to scold you for risking your life when the fate of our world hangs in the balance.” Taavin gripped her hand, the touch a pale shadow of the intensity in his eyes. “Think about it, Vi. One mistake and the best that can happen is this world is headed for another future of death. The worst? An age of darkness from which there is no escape—death of all things, the atrophy of our world, a perpetual midnight without stars.”

  She squeezed his hand back just as tightly, looking up at his emerald eyes. “And if I do nothing, we are equally stuck in this loop, which is its own form of torture. I must act if I am to end this.”

  “But do so cautiously,” he insisted. “Just telling someone the truth about yourself could tip the scales and change fate in a way none of us expect.”