I push through the unhinged, broken door, and walk forward through the darkness I know so well, melting into it. I’m one step closer to reuniting with Silas, and one step farther from Darius.
Old feelings ambush me. All over again, I want to be someone else so badly it might kill me. I feel myself backsliding into bitterness. My curse is still lingering above me like a blade, waiting to sever me from everything I know. Gods know I’m trying, here. They’ve heard me begging all my second life. Now, I’m running from enemies surrounding me, not just from the enemy within. If anyone else could see the things I’ve done… if anyone else could feel the things I’m feeling… they’d end it here. Cross the threshold to eternal darkness.
I think of Liriene, my beloved, exasperating sister. So pure in her intentions. She had her own secrets too — a secret love. Nothing dark or twisted about that. She floats through this world, benign, like a feather. And I am… me.
The mirage spell melts away, and I’m left staring at the loft nested in the trees and the beacon of warm, glowing lights behind the windows. Every star of my favorite constellation is missing from the deepening evening sky.
Ivaia and Riordan aren’t expecting me. No one waits for me at the foot of the steps to lead me by the hand up the spiral staircase into the trees. But I’ll go anyway, and I’ll make things right. I don’t want to go backwards. It’s time to outgrow this angst.
The stairs creak under my feet and I cling to the banister for dear life. Peeking into the windows as I ascend, I glimpse them. A feeble knock on the door awards me with nothing. I sigh and knock again with more conviction. I hear the locks sliding out of place. All three of them. The knob turns. The door pushes me backwards.
A pair of diamond eyes blink at me, and then the other set of diamonds in a curl-framed face appears.
Her eyes fill with tears before mine do. The three of us melt into each other, a huddle racked by blubbering apologies. Whoever is petting my shoulder and whose hair I’m crying into — it doesn’t matter. I pull back and scan both their faces. This is my favorite constellation: these two sets of starlit eyes.
“Ivaia, I—”
All at once, they’re both talking. “Hush, girl. I know. We’re glad you came home. How are you? Would you like some tea?”
I follow them into the loft and am welcomed by the aromas of smoldering firewood, flowering plants, and freshly brewed herbal tea. The air outside is crisp, the trees mostly bare. Inside the loft, a fire is going strong and heat soothes the chill in my bones. I’m crossing over yet another threshold on my way home. Why then do I feel as if I’m going farther from it?
Riordan pushes his favorite teacup into my cold hands; white bone china with hand-painted red wolves. My finger wanders over the rim, marking the chip in the edge. From heavy use, no doubt. The tea smells like jasmine flowers and honey. I inhale the steam and venture a sip before returning my attention to them. I drink and wash Darius’ name out of my mouth.
Traditionally, we take our usual places on the body-sized pillows and fur throws. Each of us cradles a cup of tea for comfort. I’m swallowed up by the plush forest green pillow, and my toes dig into the fur at my feet. Riordan takes his spot between two long-leafed plants, reclining with his feet near the firepit. Ivaia sits on the ground beside him, leaning back into him. He wraps an arm around her, and she rubs her hand over it.
“I went to court,” I start.
They nod. I assume he told her.
“As King Arias asked me to meet with Queen Hero. To investigate the army. The Oracle bid me to be back with the clan by tonight. Said they needed me. But I had to see you first.”
They both smile.
“At first, I felt Hero was not as mad as everyone claimed. I saw things in her I’ve seen in myself. I related to her chaos because we both lost our mothers.” I cling to the cup of tea, looking at the crumbled tea leaves within. “I justified her actions.” I look back into their eyes. “She’s executing her own subjects — wearing their bones. Publicly punishing those who disagree with her, by death. She dresses her courtiers like animals, and she is the huntress of truth. I arrived, and she was wearing a crown of bones on her head, dressed like a bird of prey. In a blood frenzy.” I shake my head. “I accepted her because I saw myself in her. Ruthless power, unbridled grief. Pain, loss of control. Nothing good, I now realize.” I frown. “But Osira’s Veiling finished. I met her in the temple of Mrithyn.” I look to Ivaia.
Her expression alters, but she doesn’t interrupt me.
“The oracle revealed that Herrona was killed.”
I hesitate, still reeling from the truth myself. “And Hero is the one who killed her.”
Ivaia flinches.
Riordan’s free hand is at her back, rubbing soothing circles over the thin mesh gown.
“I’m sorry, Iv. To bear such terrible news.”
“I don’t believe it,” Ivaia says flat out.
“Can we doubt an Oracle?” I ask.
She looks up at the ivy crawling along the ceiling. We both know the answer’s not there.
“I don’t believe it,” Ivaia whispers.
She’s always spoken ill of Hero. I thought Hero was just misunderstood. Which, even if it were true, is just as bad. A misunderstood girl is a dangerous thing. But Ivaia doesn’t suspect the insane heiress on the throne? Not even with Osira’s testimony?
I believe Osira. I’ve been in the Other realm with her. I stood beside her on our channeling bridge and heard Mrithyn. I know He’s with her, and He never lies to me.
“I sensed the influence of a God at court. It’s the only explanation. At times, Hero’s mind was sound. Then she’d snap. She craved her mother’s mirror and spoke in the Divine tongue — I believe she’s a servant, like me.”
“The servant of Ahriman?” Riordan asks.
“Isn’t it possible that she is?” I ask.
“No one knows who the servant of Chaos is, if there even is one,” Ivaia says.
“If there is, I suspect it might be her. She’s hosting Illyntar fugitives under her protection. Cavorting with our enemy. She turned her back on her people. Murdered her own mother!”
“Still, I don’t think there’s enough proof she is a Servant,” Ivaia says. “Does she exhibit any power?”
“None. Unless her power is manipulation. She has some combat skill that she made seem underwhelming early on. Things got bloody in the throne room.” I think for a moment. “There was her lover, Rydel. An ambassador of Elistria. He showed… something.”
“What?”
“At first, I thought he’d drugged me. Used a potion or something in my tea. But the second time it happened he used nothing. Except what I now see is his power.”
“What did he do?” Riordan asks.
“I heard him in my mind. Talking with me in my thoughts. He slipped in and out of my head like a dream.”
“Perhaps he is the servant. Elistria has no great love for Ro’Hale after King Tamyrr’s death,” Ivaia says.
“I met with the lone survivor of the ambush on King Tamyrr. Paragon Kade, captain of the forces,” I add.
“And? Will the army aid the clans?” Riordan asks.
“He says Queen Hero won’t allow them to. She claims they won’t obey.”
“One of them is lying,” Ivaia says.
“I instructed Darius to deliver that information to King Arias. He might send help—”
“Darius?” Ivaia tightens her mouth. Riordan raises his brows.
“Yes,” I breathe.
“The young man who accompanied you here the night the Oracle channeled you?” She asks.
“Yes.” Thoughts of him swarm me, heating my body. My mouth goes dry and I lick my lips, fidgeting in my seat. I take another sip of tea. I already miss him. “He’s headed to the Moldorn.”
I look to Riordan for relief, but he laughs, “You slept with him!”
I close my eyes and rub a hand over my face.
“By the Gods, girl.” Ivaia pick
s up her tea. Before taking a sip, she adds, “I hope you at least read page seventy-nine,” and smiles into the steaming cup.
I toss a pillow at her. That damned, holy sex book.
“Doesn’t matter what happened between us. He’s gone. Carrying my message to the Gryphon King. Hopefully, they will intervene with Hero and our people will get the help they need.” Hope sparks within me.
“If he makes it to the Moldorn with that message. Our Queen has abandoned us. He’s our only hope now,” Ivaia says, the light in her eyes dimming.
I shoot a silent prayer, quick as an arrow, heavenward. For his safety. For our deliverance. I’m predisposed to despair, and I often give in to the sinking feelings and wallow in my misery. Darius… trekking South to relay a message that may stem the tide of bloodshed and turn the war. With that in mind, I can keep hope. I have faith in him. I remember his promise to me: We will conquer anything that stands in our way, stand by each other’s side, and keep fighting for each other. He’ll be our saving grace, and then he’ll come back to me.
“I don’t understand,” Riordan stands. “No matter what Hero did or didn’t do, her kingdom is in shambles and the Baore is on her doorstep. If she wanted the throne enough to kill her own mother over it, she’d defend it. Does she not care that her enemy is approaching with an army?”
“King Berlium doesn’t cross her mind. She’s too busy orchestrating a never-ending trial for her mother’s killer. To protect herself. She cares only for herself.” I shrug. “I don’t get it either.”
“Which only makes me wonder if she’s allied herself with the Baore.” Riordan crosses his arms. “It would explain why she doesn’t fear them. Preparing for their affront would be the most self-preserving thing she could do.”
He’s right. Why didn’t I think of that? I’m so unschooled in this. My whole life, my only politics have been Elves versus Men. I never considered that she would ally herself with our enemy.
“Would the Baore be willing to ally themselves with our kingdom, after the failed attempts at exactly that?” I ask. I remember Ivaia’s role in the war between the Sunderlands and the Baore. She looks at me, reading my face. She knows I know.
“You saved her,” I say. “You sacrificed everything for Herrona.”
“And look what it got me.” She says.
“Freedom,” I say.
I’d give anything to be truly free, beyond what I felt with Darius. The deeper I wade into the darkness of my homeland and of my bloodline, the more I feel embedded in it. I envy Ivaia for her bravery.
“Did you ever look back when you ran?” I ask.
They lock eyes and smile. “Never.”
“And run we did,” Riordan beams. “All over the world. Accomplished things you’d never imagine. Suffered defeats too.”
“Why is it that the three daughters of Ro’Hale seem to have lived he most interesting lives? I heard my mother had many adventures as well, before marrying my father.”
I think back to my night in her closet, wearing her shoes. I skip that, though I’m dying to know who my mother loved. Was it Indiro? Bringing up the fact that Ivaia was meant to marry my father is too uncomfortable.
“We did, we wild three.” Ivaia smiles faintly.
“Perhaps it’s time we tell Keres of our greatest accomplishment?” Rio looks lovingly at her.
Her brows pinch together, and she folds her hands. Looking at me, warmth returns to her diamond eyes and she smiles, every line in her face settling. “Where to begin?”
Riordan offers to start. “Aureum’s seven provinces are each shared by two ruling kingdoms— a team of kings and queens to better their land for the people. There must never be one ruler in a province. Always two sets.”
“As we know, the Baore Province has one ruler: King Berlium,” Ivaia adds.
“Prince Berlium killed his father and took his throne in Dale. In Dulin, the Baore’s second kingdom, his father’s brother sat on the Dulin throne. His uncle.”
“Oh!” I recall some hazy details from my dad’s lectures. “The Brother Bears. Leto and Myromer!”
“Yes, Berlium killed his own father, Myromer. Took the throne; and then killed his uncle, King Leto of Dulin. Took his throne too.”
“Took both thrones, uncontested?”
“Oh, he faced many competitors. His own brothers and cousins. He killed Leto’s sons. Then his own younger brother, Caspar. But he spared his youngest brother, Oraclio. Exiled him.”
“But every kingdom in any province answers to the Council of Perl in the Cenlands. King Arias said that the council would deal with him, but they haven’t. How can we trust the council’s supervision? How have they allowed him to stay seated on two thrones?” I ask.
Ivaia picks up there. “The council has its short-comings. Aureum is a vast land, and they are it’s ever watchful guardians. But they cannot succeed alone. The Heralds of War are theirs. The council also chooses two Mages every decade to act as ambassadors on their behalf. One for the northern provinces and one for the southern provinces. Magisters. Their purpose is to observe political affairs, hold the kingdoms accountable and report back to the council. Agents with power.”
“Why have we never seen a Magister?”
“There has been none… since your mother.”
“No,” My jaw drops. “Mother was one of these Magisters?”
“Yes,” she frowns.
“How?”
“Herrona gifted us each with a knight.” Her hand goes instinctively to Riordan’s thigh. “She blessed me with this lug.” She squeezes a smile out of him.
“And your mother got Indiro. Thus, we continued the tradition of our ancestors.” Her eyes glaze with memory. Resurfacing, she continues, “Your mother and Indiro traveled to the northern province east of the Baore; the Ressid Province. There they got involved with the Guild of Shadows, and its very powerful leader, a man named Emeric.”
“Guild of Shadows?” I repeat. Emeric? One the guardians named in my mother’s letter.
“Yes. Another story for another time. All you need to know now is that your mother’s actions there earned her the nomination to become a Magistress. She accepted it.”
“Then all hell broke loose.” Riordan chimes in.
“I broke a spell—”
“The spell Berlium cast on Herrona!” I say, excited to know about it.
“Well, Hadriel’s spell.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Berlium’s advisor is as a powerful Mage named Hadriel. He’s the one who cast the spell on Herrona, for Berlium.”
“Oh,” I say.
“He was the second Magister. Still is to this day.”
“So that’s why Berlium got away with killing his family and taking both thrones? That’s why everyone fears him. Because he has the other Magister in his pocket?”
“Basically,” Riordan says.
“I broke Hadriel’s spell, which as you now know, ended a would-be alliance between our kingdom and the Baore.” Ivaia says.
“And then everyone got pissy with you.” I smile.
Ivaia doesn’t smile. “The people wanted me executed. Called me Accursed, for my power. If I had to do it all over, I’d choose the same every time: My sister over my people.”
I nod.
“In my sister’s mercy, Herrona refused to kill me. Marrying me off was adequate. The alliance that binds our kingdom to the clans of the Sunderlands was founded on a marriage.”
“I know.” I lower my eyes and sip my tea. “It’s weird to think about.”
“I wouldn’t allow Iv to marry anyone that wasn’t myself,” Riordan says. They look at each other with immeasurable, unstoppable love.
“We’d sworn ourselves to each other.” They each hold out a hand bearing matching tattoos.
“So, you ran away.” My heart melts.
“And it sealed your mother’s fate.” Ivaia takes a sip of tea. “My desertion nearly cost us a second alliance between the kingdom and the clans. The Dali
s sent spies into our Province, and some tried to convince the clans to surrender. To join a coalition with the Baore. The clans refused, but they knew they didn’t have a choice. The Boare would take them by force. The Sunderlands was about to implode. They forced your mother to marry Kaius. To take my place and solidify the alliance. It cost her the role she’d worked for. She stepped down from being Magistress to support her people here.”
“When she took my place, we left the Sunderlands.”
“And went where?”
“To the Cenlands. We devoted our attention to making connections in Perl and established the Imperium of Magic: A school for training mages.” They lock hands.
“What!?” I put the tea down for good now.
“Establishing the institution earned me the nomination that my sister gave up. I took it.”
“Wait, what? You said there’s been no Magister since my mother.” I ask.
“My career as a Magister ended when your mother died. I returned to the Sunderlands to take you in.”
“Wow! That is a great accomplishment. I’m sorry I cost you your career.”
“You didn’t. Resayla’s murderer did. And still, that’s not our greatest accomplishment,” Riordan smiles.
“We left the Cenlands and all we’d worked for behind. But we also left behind our son.”
My body freezes. Guilt clamors through my being. They have a son? They left a child behind to come care for me?
“We couldn’t have any children of our own, so, we adopted.” Ivaia’s eyes brim with tears, “A baby boy. His name is Monroe.”
“Well, he isn’t a baby anymore.” Riordan wipes a tear from her cheek. “He’s a little older than Liriene.”
My stomach does a somersault. “What?” I ask again.
“A woman named Saber traveled to Aureum from Illyn, in the west. She was a slave whose master impregnated her and sought to kill her for the pregnancy.” The Lamentars Hero is sheltering.
“She fled his estate and eventually across our border after childbirth. She came into the Sunderlands with only the clothes on her back and the baby. We met her in our travels, and she gave us the baby because she resented him. We took him as our own.”
The Sunderlands Page 33
