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- Herausgeber: Shivnath Productions
- Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
- Serie: The Shadow War Saga
- Sprache: Englisch
The journey continues.
Darkness falls.
Keriya Soulstar is finally happy. After her epic battle against Necrovar, she's considered a hero. She's been reunited with her dragon bondmate, Thorion. In the magical city of Irongarde, she's daring to think she's found a place she can call home.
But beyond Irongarde's sheltered walls, trouble is brewing. Despite Keriya's recent victories, the four kingdoms of Allentria are gearing up for war. When a surprise attack reveals that Thorion is sick, Keriya's happy life crumbles apart.
In a race against time, Thorion's allies split up to seek a cure for the incurable. It seems an impossible task, but the fate of the world depends on their success. As Keriya travels across the empire, she uncovers dangerous secrets about the dragons' role in the first great war against the Shadow.
And she realizes her battle has only just begun.
Contains: Fantasy violence, personal loss, death
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 802
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Copyright © Elana A. Mugdan 2018
www.allentria.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be used, reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Art by Jaka Prawira
Interior Art by Neiratina
ISBN: 978-1-5323-8798-2
Check out the other books of The Shadow War Saga!
Learn more at www.allentria.com
Or join the Allentria community on our Discord Server!
Table Of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
CHAPTER SIXTY
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
EPILOGUE
BOOK III AVAILABLE NOW!
GLOSSARY & PRONUNCIATIONS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
“There are things that are stronger than time and death.”
~ Charon, Guardian of Timemagic
PROLOGUE
Second Age, Year 942
THE LAST BREATH OF A DYING SUMMER whispered across the pallid ground. The desert was bleak and forbidding. It had been burnt by the sun and ravaged by the war.
Inside his tent, Valerion Nameless of the Unknown Lands packed his fur satchel with the provisions he needed for the night ahead. White hair spilled past his shoulders as he bent to sheath his sword.
“You’re leaving.”
He turned to find Arisse standing at the tent’s flap. Wispy silver tresses stirred by nonexistent winds fell around her face. Valerion could never quite describe that face—the rosebud lips, the delicate nose, the luminous eyes of smoky violet—for it always seemed to be changing. Words could only capture her beauty for a moment before they became obsolete.
“Do you trust me, Valerion?” she asked, floating toward him with the grace of a cloud crossing the heavens.
“Of course.”
“Then tell me what you’re planning.”
Part of him wanted to. But if he told her, she would try to stop him. What if she condemned his scheme and decided she wanted nothing more to do with him?
“I deserve to know,” she persisted. “I have been by your side for every step of your journey.”
“Arisse, I am doing this for us—”
“You are doing this because your obsession with Necrovar has escalated to the point of madness. Don’t deny it; I know you better than you know yourself. You’re planning something that will be more far-reaching than you know. While I cannot stop you or tell you what to do, I would be remiss if I didn’t caution you against it. The last battle you fought in, you nearly died.”
Valerion’s gut twisted. That memory was fresh in his nightmares, but he couldn’t let Arisse see any weakness in him. “I don’t intend to do battle tonight, but if I should die, I promise I would return. And if I couldn’t return, I would wait for you on the winds of time.”
A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “As I would for you . . . though it would do neither of us any good.”
He bent and kissed her so she wouldn’t see the fear in his purple eyes.
“My love, my soul-star . . . I want something that binds you to me,” she whispered against his lips. She sank onto the threadbare pallet, pulling him with her. Again she asked, “Do you trust me?”
“With all my heart,” he replied.
It was night by the time Valerion left the tent. He forced himself to put Arisse out of his mind as he left the small rebel encampment; he could afford no distractions.
When he reached the edge of the ramshackle sylphskin tents, he reflected light-threads from his source. With a blinding flash he wielded, teleporting to a desolate mountaintop.
The air was thin and still. His only companions were the stars twinkling in the dark velvet sky. No one would find him here.
No one would try to stop him from what he was about to do.
He unsheathed Sethildras and tenderly laid it on a rock. The sword was his prized possession, a treasure beyond treasures—apart from the precious white metal blade and golden hilt, it had been blessed by an oracle and enchanted to stay forever sharp.
Next, he drew a small pebble from his pocket. Its surface was rough, its color a mottled purplish-brown. Though it appeared ordinary, it was worth more than the sword. In fact, it was the most valuable thing in the world.
Valerion wielded, channeling his magic through the valestone. It grew warm against his palm and he felt a tugging in his chest. The power dynamic shifted. He was no longer feeding energy into the pebble: the stone’s magic had awoken, and it was siphoning threads from him. Valerion focused his intent, concentrating on what he wanted the valestone to do. The tugging sensation became less uncomfortable.
He fished out his diary, another cherished keepsake, and ran his fingers over its worn edges. Arisse had given it to him, and his mentor, Beledine, had taught him to write. He flipped to the final vellum page of the book and stared at the glyphs he’d painstakingly etched there. The words were a spell of his own devising—the most dangerous spell he had ever undertaken to wield.
Through a throat that had gone dry, Valerion recited the spell in the language of the dragons, the language imbibed with the same raw energy stored in the tiny rock. Speaking spells had no value, except to clarify intent . . . and Valerion, who feared the vast power in the pebble, needed to make his intentions as clear as possible.
“Flesh into sword, bone into blade,” he intoned, drawing his dagger and using it to split the pale skin on his left wrist, “magic and blood and legend are made.”
He held his bleeding arm above the sword. Crimson drops splattered onto its shining surface. Where his blood hit, the metal hissed and the liquid boiled. The valestone drew more power from him. He sensed it directing his threads into the weapon.
“Eternity binds only those who are dead,” he continued as his blood sank into the blade, “but thence from this spell shall I rise once again.”
A wave of dizziness hit him and he blinked to clear his head. When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking not at the mountaintop, but a battlefield. A volcano loomed in the distance, black clouds shrouding its burning peak.
“The Shadow will rule,” he heard himself saying, “and I will have been lost . . .”
A foresight was taking hold of him. The timemagic was nothing to fear, but the words were portentous when paired with this bleak vision of the future. Plus, he didn’t know how this would affect his prepared spell. Would the delicate weave of threads connecting him to stone and sword be tangled? Or worse, broken?
“. . . but the metal remains where the mortal will rot.”
The foresight released him, and suddenly he knew not everything would go according to plan. But he was far past the point of stopping. His spell was incomplete, and he would unravel if he didn’t finish what he’d started. The valestone hummed and shuddered on his palm.
“My soul shall be sundered for no one to own, my reward is the sin for which I must atone,” he said, returning to his incantation. “So passes the life and the power in me, I surrender myself to my Destiny.”
Pain seared Valerion’s chest. It was as if someone had cut out his heart. Coldness enveloped him. The only warmth left in the world seemed to come from the valestone, and he clung to it as a shimmering essence seeped from his body. He felt broken, hollow, lifeless as he gazed upon the spectral reflection of himself, the portion of his soul he had willingly exorcised.
Horror flooded into him, filling the place where his light energy had been. For a moment he wished to snatch his soul back. He wanted to be whole again, to abandon his foolish plan. Then the misty essence flickered, and he remembered what he was fighting for. Hefting his sword, he slashed at his magic. The weapon glowed like a nova as it absorbed the loose half of his soul.
The spell was complete.
Valerion sank to his knees, dropping his blade and the valestone. The pebble bounced away into the darkness. It didn’t matter—now it was no different from any other rock on the mountain. All the magic had been leached from it.
With shaking hands and labored breaths, he tore a strip from the hem of his tunic to bind the cut on his wrist. He retrieved his canteen from his satchel and drank deeply. The water quenched his thirst and the powdered alderevas he’d mixed in took effect at once. Alderevas was a dangerous stimulant . . . but with any luck, he would be dead by the time the negative side effects took hold.
His heart raced and the remainder of his source swelled. Triumph flickered through him—his magic receptive to his mental touch. If a soul was not complete, it couldn’t be wielded, but he’d done plenty of covert research on the subject, keeping his dark discoveries from Arisse. His findings had left him in no doubt: splitting his soul would render it useless to Necrovar, but through some manner of quantum-magical entanglement he could still wield it himself.
Not all of it, but enough.
He sheathed his sword and stood. After a few calming breaths, he wielded the teleportation spell again. Teleporting was no simple feat. It cost its wielder a substantial amount of energy. Thus, when he arrived at his destination—a modest cave—he fell to his knees, drained and disoriented.
“Well met, Valerion.” A voice like glacier water flowing over smooth stone reached his ears. He swayed to his feet and raised his head to greet the owner of the cave.
“Well met, Exandrya.”
Exandrya nodded. The large gray dragon had once been beautiful, but now her face was scarred from battles past and drawn with an un-erasable sorrow. She had lost her bondmate in the war, which meant she had lost part of her soul. Valerion had never understood the extent of her pain before. His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword as he bowed to her.
“You’ve left us no time for small talk,” she said. “The moon is rising. The gods will be waiting . . .” She paused, examining him. Her purple eyes narrowed. “Something has happened. You are changed.”
Valerion suppressed a sigh; he’d been stupid to think he could hide this from her. “My friend, I should have warned you. I fear death and I fear losing Arisse, so I have taken steps to ensure my resurrection.”
“The gods cannot resurrect dead souls,” Exandrya growled.
“They cannot,” Valerion agreed.
Realization flashed across her features, and his heart pumped madly once more, filling with panic.
“You are a traitor,” she hissed. “You would offer yourself to him? To the Shadow?! What are you thinking, Valerion? What have you done?”
“Nothing yet,” he assured her quickly. “I plan to ask Necrovar to give me life after death, the way he does for his demons, and I will offer my soul as payment. However,” he added before she could get a word in edgewise, “I have hidden half my magic where he cannot reach it.”
Exandrya’s anger faded. Her brow ridges relaxed and her eyes clouded with confusion.
“Necrovar will not have my full soul, so he will not control my magic or me,” Valerion explained. “But if he accepts my offer, I can return to Arisse after I die.”
He held his breath, waiting for her response. Exandrya’s cooperation was pivotal to his plan, and if she refused to help him . . .
“The truth comes out. This is the real reason you needed me tonight. I am not escorting you to the gods, I am taking you to the devil himself,” she said, her scaly lips curling in a snarl.
“I will not force you to do anything against your will,” he murmured.
Exandrya barked a mirthless laugh. “I will help you, because I know what you fear. I will bring you to Necrovar if that gives you the courage to do what must be done. I will play the part you have written for me in the tale of your demise.”
Valerion winced. He thought of the foresight again and his resolve weakened. What if he went straight to the gods from here? He would die, but he would save the world.
No. He couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough.
He wasn’t selfless enough.
“I must warn you,” she cautioned, as she knelt and allowed him to climb onto her back, “that you cannot cheat the Shadow. Many have tried. All have failed.”
“They tried to cheat the Shadow for power or magic,” he said, settling between her muscular wing joints. “I am cheating the Shadow in the name of love.”
“I wonder if that’s as true as you’d like it to be.” Exandrya padded to the mouth of the cave and leapt into the night, spreading her wings to catch the air. Valerion wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he remained silent as they soared west.
They rose on thermals, hiding in low-hanging clouds over the vast open plains of the Fironem tribelands. Through the haze and smog, the twisted spires of Necrovar’s citadel slowly grew visible, silhouetted against the red glow of Mount Arax’s volcanic rim.
<I’m weaving an illusion,> Exandrya thought, gliding on a warm draft. She wielded to bend light around them, making them invisible.
No sooner was her spell in place than an air patrol unit passed. Valerion eyed them warily. The shadowbeasts, as his human friends called them, might catch Exandrya’s scent. The demon riders might hear the rush of wind beneath her leathery wings.
Without warning, Exandrya opened her jaws and spat a beam of light at the group. The riders didn’t have time to cry out before they disintegrated to dust, as demons do when they die.
“What are you doing?” Valerion hissed aloud.
<You have your agenda, I have mine,> she thought stonily. <Necrovar killed my bondmate. I will kill as many of his troops as I can.>
Valerion was in no place to caution her against her actions, considering what he was about to do. He let Exandrya work. She destroyed four more air units before she angled around to the front of the citadel, swooping low.
<I await your return,> she thought.
Along with her mindvoice, Valerion sensed the consciousness of another entity. He stifled a curse; he should have had the sense to use a mindcloak. Now it was too late—Necrovar knew he was here.
<Be careful,> he warned. <The Shadow can sense my presence, which means he can sense you, too. You’re in danger.>
<Let him send his armies. Let the Severed Six fly against me. I didn’t come here to be careful.>
<Then fly well,> thought Valerion.
She dropped and leveled, her wide wings bending around irregular pockets of hot air. Valerion leapt from her back to the pumice walkway that led to the gated entrance of Indrath Necros.
He landed with a thud. The threads of Exandrya’s illusion clung to him, concealing him from the guard on duty, who sprang up at the noise. The lone demon soldier was half Valerion’s height, with a squat feline body and a barbed tail. It had black horns, tufted ears, and a vaguely humanoid face that bore an expression of bewilderment. A manticore—lucky. Manticores were vicious fighters, but they weren’t too bright.
Valerion approached the hapless creature, treading silently on the pads of his leather boots. He took a breath and shed the spell that made him invisible, unsheathing Sethildras.
Here goes everything, he thought.
CHAPTER ONE
“Complacency is the enemy of progress.”
~ Sabaeran Tolnae, Eighth Age
Twelfth Age, Year 607
Thorion crouched between drifts of snow, keeping low to the ground. His bronze scales shone in stark contrast to the white world, and he didn’t want to be seen.
He snuffled at the wet flakes and crept forward, following the scent of his unsuspecting quarry. His bat-like wings stayed tightly folded at his sides as he snaked through the rainforest, passing trees that had shed their leaves and bamboo that weathered the winter in full greenery.
His second set of membranous eyelids rose, shielding his vision from the harsh glint of the sun on the snow. Inching forward, he peeked past a tangle of tree roots to stare into a shallow gully. A cloaked figure tiptoed through the jungle below. Her hood was up, veiling her face. Two Galantrian soldiers trailed her, serving as her guard. Iron-worked breastplates, pauldrons, and gauntlets covered their blue military garments.
Thorion hid a smile. She thought she was clever, thought she could catch him unawares, but all the stars in the heavens would burn out and die before there was born a human who could match a dragon’s cunning. She drew level with his hiding spot and paused.
He pounced. Leaping over the knotted roots, he spread his wings and glided down the hill. She let out a cry when he landed behind her, grabbing the hem of her cloak in his jaws. No sooner had his talons touched the ground than he sprang again, pulling the cloak over her head. The fabric twisted and she fell to her knees as Thorion landed.
With a growl, he tugged on the cloak. She flailed, trying to free her arms from the mess he’d created, before she managed to grab the fabric and tug back.
“Thorion!” She rolled onto her side, revealing a pale face and hair as white as the surrounding snow, pulled into long ponytails on either side of her head.
Thorion let go of the cloth and danced out of her reach. He jumped around while she struggled to her feet, dusting off the front of her brown wool dress.
“Come here,” she said, grinning.
He barked a dragon laugh, tossing his head like a proud warhorse, and fled uphill. “You’ve yet to win this game,” he told her glibly. “Do you think today will be any different?”
“Only if you stop cheating!” Her booted feet slipped and slid as she started after him.
“Lady Soulstar!”
Keriya froze in her tracks. Together, she and Thorion trained their fuchsia eyes on the Galantrians.
“You’re not to stray too far from town,” said the taller of the two. Thorion, who’d been studying the Allentrian language during his last three weeks in the city of Irongarde, understood him perfectly.
Keriya waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. There’s nothing to worry about anymore.”
The soldiers scowled, but made no protest as she ran into the woods.
Thorion and Keriya alternately frolicked through snowbanks and sat still to soak up what little warmth the sun provided. Winter was tough for cold-blooded creatures, but Thorion’s wing membranes were excellent at absorbing solar energy. Besides, his size kept him warm, and his magic fueled him in a way that food and sunlight never could.
He found a patch of frostberries, which turned Keriya’s tongue blue when she ate them. They hiked up a small rocky path and admired the view, and spoke of happy, simple things. Eventually, as was almost always the case, their conversation turned to magic. Though Keriya continued to assert that she didn’t have magic, Thorion knew this was impossible.
“If you are alive, you have magic—it’s that simple,” he told her for what felt like the hundredth time. “And I can teach you how to wield it.”
“Erasmus tried teaching me for fourteen years and that got me nowhere.”
Erasmus, who had served as her childhood guardian, was the only person from her old life who Keriya remembered warmly. Though she admired him for his intelligence and stoicism, he had been disappointed by her inability to wield—and that disappointment had hurt Keriya more than she would ever admit. Thorion knew better than to speak ill of someone she respected, but he had become fiercely protective of his bondmate, and disliked anyone who made her feel lesser.
Keriya sighed, but it wasn’t a sigh of malcontent. While her lack of power would always be a touchy issue, at least she was no longer in an environment where people mistreated her because of it. “I’ll never wield again.”
<Our telepathic communication is magic,> thought Thorion, sending his words directly to her mind.
<Remnants of the magic Shivnath gave me. It’s certainly useful, but it isn’t my own power.>
<For you to wield anything, even borrowed magic from Shivnath, you need a soul. Since you are wielding, and you do have a soul, there’s no reason you can’t do more. You summoned me, and through our bond I learned to wield at an unprecedentedly young age. You don’t know what kind of power you have.>
<The summoning wasn’t anything special, and you learning to wield . . . that was all you.>
“The summoning was absolutely special,” Thorion said aloud, stopping to stare down at her. He had grown at a remarkable rate since they’d reached Irongarde, and now the top of his head stood a hand above Keriya’s. “You called me out of the Etherworld that day.”
She shook her head. “That’s impossible. Shivnath and Lady Aldelphia knew you were in Allentria long before I summoned you. Necrovar did, too.”
Thorion frowned. Something about that didn’t add up.
“I think your crossing from the Etherworld confused you,” said Keriya. “You admitted it yourself when we met. Maybe you don’t remember what really happened.”
“I suppose,” he conceded, though he didn’t suppose that at all. He abandoned the topic as they wandered north, toward the town.
Keriya’s two best friends joined them in the early afternoon. Fletcher Earengale had also grown and fleshed out—a month of fine treatment in the city had done wonders for him. Currently he had a patchwork appearance: he was bundled in a gray coat with a red scarf and purple gloves. A green hat covered his scruffy brown hair. The clothes were gifts from Keriya, who had received them in turn from the people of Irongarde.
Roxanne Fleuridae was tall, lithe, and limber like a woodland deer. She always had a smile for Thorion, and there was something fascinating about her honey-hazel eyes. Of all the humans he’d met, Thorion liked Fletcher and Roxanne best, apart from Keriya.
“Should you be out of the infirmary?” Keriya asked Roxanne.
“It’s fine. Besides, I’ll go crazy if I lie in bed all day again,” the taller girl retorted, brushing a strand of silky, dark hair away from her brown cheek.
“It’s not fine,” said Fletcher, whose fallow skin was three shades paler from the cold. “You had four cracked ribs and pneumonia.”
“So? Keriya had a concussion, and she’s allowed to do whatever she wants.”
“Not without babysitters,” Keriya muttered, jerking her thumb at the guards who watched them in stony silence.
“Why don’t we ditch them and go exploring?” Roxanne suggested. “One healer mentioned there’s a cliff with waterfalls east of the city.”
Fletcher argued that they shouldn’t be running from the soldiers, but Keriya ignored him, dashing into the jungle. “Last one there owes me their dessert tonight,” she called.
Thorion bared his fangs in a smile. “Shall we follow?” he asked in slightly accented Allentrian.
Fletcher rolled his chestnut eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. He, Roxanne, and Thorion pelted after Keriya, leaving the soldiers far behind.
Thorion sped up as the guards’ angry shouts echoed after him. He outpaced the humans, his nimble feet with their five dexterous, clawed toes whisking him through the undergrowth. He burst from the trees and slowed to a walk on the open green before the gates of Irongarde.
The city sat on the edge of a great mesa. A solid iron wall peaked with sawtoothed spires encircled the artfully designed settlement. Just inside the wall was a settlement where the poorer folk and laborers lived, separated from the inner city by a stretch of bamboo. The towering buildings beyond were built almost entirely from the iron mined in the mountains. A fortress perched at the cliff’s northernmost limits, its turrets scraping against the clouds.
Something whizzed past Thorion’s ear, jolting him from his admiration of the human metropolis. His friends had caught up to him, and one of them had thrown a snowball his way.
They engaged in a brief fight. Thorion evaded their attacks with ease. Sometimes he would leap into the air and catch a snowball in his mouth, crunching through the icy sphere, making everyone laugh. Of all the mortal phenomena he’d observed, laughter was the most intriguing and pleasant.
A buoyant sensation filled his gut—no longer a borrowed feeling from Keriya, but a natural response of his own. He was happy here. True, he’d only just learned what happiness was, but that didn’t diminish his ability to enjoy it. It felt good to be surrounded by creatures who cared for him. It felt right.
“Keriya Soulstar?”
Their game ground to a halt when a sharp voice rang across the green. Thorion turned and saw an envoy trotting from the steep jungle path on horseback. The lead rider, bedecked in a heavy white cloak with black fur trim, carried an Imperial standard. His entourage wore the distinctive gray tunics of the Imperial Guard, elite soldiers of the Empire of Allentria.
Thorion and Keriya glanced at each other, then moved forward as one. Not long ago she would have fled from the Imperials, but her recent experiences had emboldened her.
Thorion tilted his head, examining the newcomers. The standard-bearer was built like a reed, tall and thin. He had a short-cropped black beard and narrow, steely blue eyes that swept over Keriya as he reined in his horse before her. The stallion snorted and pawed at the ground when he caught Thorion’s scent, spooked by the smell of dragon.
“The rheenar herself,” said the man. “And Lord Thorion. It is an honor to be in your presence.” He dipped his head to Thorion, who did not return the nicety.
Fletcher and Roxanne flanked Keriya in a protective manner. Out of the corner of his eye, Thorion saw Roxanne ball her hands into fists, a sure sign that she was ready to wield.
“Can I help you?” said Keriya.
“I am Inquisitor Akiron. I come on orders from her Imperial Highness, Premier of the Union of the States, Head of the Council of Nine, Protector of the Threads, Leader of the First Free Nation, Empress Aldelphia.”
With his free hand, Akiron reached inside the folds of his cloak. A snarl curled Thorion’s lip, but the reedy man only withdrew a scroll of parchment sealed with a dab of golden wax and offered it to Keriya.
She took it warily, scraping off the seal and unrolling the paper. It was written in Allentrian runes, which she couldn’t read. “What is this?”
“You are being summoned to stand trial before a judge and jury in the High Court of the Galantasa,” he said.
“On what grounds?” Roxanne asked aggressively. Akiron’s frigid eyes flicked to her.
“First, for multiple counts of contempt against the King of the Galantasa, Mertos Wavewalker; second, for the count of slander against the Commander-General of the Imperial Guard, Gohrbryn Tanthflame; third, for the count of treason against the empire for disobeying direct orders from the Council of Nine; and,” he added, his voice growing less harsh but more calculating, “we are requesting a formal account of your alleged defeat of Necrovar.”
Thorion didn’t know enough of the human tongue to understand everything the man said, but he followed the conversation by sifting through Keriya’s mind and using it to translate.
“‘Alleged’?” Roxanne repeated. “Why would we lie about something like that?”
Keriya stared at the summons, a blank expression on her face. Finally, she looked at Akiron. “Am I in trouble?”
“That is yet to be decided,” he told her. “Your trial will take place in the inner city court on the twenty-second day of this month. I suggest you gather your witnesses and prepare your statements to present your case in an orderly fashion.”
“But that’s only three days away,” she protested.
“Then I suggest you prepare quickly.” He heeled his horse, and he and his guards trotted toward the gates of Irongarde, which swung open to admit them.
CHAPTER TWO
“Just because you know a thing to be true, that does not mean there are no other true things.”
~ Shivnath Valestar, Twelfth Age
“It pleases the court to call Keriya Soulstar to the stand,” Inquisitor Akiron said from the ornate pulpit at the head of the iron courtroom.
Keriya stood from her seat. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and glanced at Thorion, who lay nearby on the tiled floor. While he was outwardly calm, a sharp glint in his gaze betrayed his feelings about the trial.
As Keriya walked to the witness stand between rows of benches, she passed Fletcher and Roxanne. Fletcher gave her a reassuring smile. She returned it despite the bubble of anxiety in her gut, which felt ready to pop and explode into full-blown panic. In her hometown of Aeria, the Elders had often held hearings for her more serious transgressions. Those hearings had always ended in some form of physical punishment or public humiliation.
A hunchbacked Zumarran priest shuffled forward as Keriya assumed her place in the stand. He wore a flowing blue vestment worked with silver thread, and sapphire rings adorned his gnarled fingers. Keriya offered her hand to him, as the previous witnesses had done, and he held it in a vise-like grip.
“In the name of the goddess of the Galantasa, guardian of our watermagic, Zumarra the Merciful, do you, Keriya Soulstar, vow to speak only the truth to this court of law?” he asked in a wheezy voice.
“I do—”
“Excuse me, Lord Inquisitor.” A voice rose from the back of the room, and people shifted in their seats to see who had spoken. An Imperial Guard stood there. He and three other gray-robed soldiers had taken stations on either side of the courtroom doors. He saluted Akiron and stepped forward. “I move to place a binding on Lady Soulstar. Given her accusations against Commander-General Tanthflame, we want to ensure she can speak no malicious untruths that will be placed in official record books while providing testimony.”
Akiron turned to Keriya. “Will you consent to a binding?”
<What’s a binding?> Keriya thought to Thorion. She didn’t want to ask the Inquisitor and risk sounding obstinate or stupid.
<In this context, I believe it refers to a lifemagic spell,> the dragon returned. <A binding will constrict the activity of your brain, forcing you to only tell the truth.>
Keriya bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that.
“Lady Soulstar?” Akiron prompted. His voice held a snap of impatience.
“I consent,” she sighed. She couldn’t say no without sounding guilty; she knew how these things worked.
The priest’s grip on her hand tightened. A strange sensation trickled through Keriya’s arm, like ice water was flowing through her veins. The sensation crept through her chest, up her neck, and into her head. Her head throbbed as if she’d eaten something unbearably cold. She shivered and pulled her hand away from the priest.
“It is done,” he said, retreating to his seat.
The guardsman who’d suggested the binding smiled. Keriya shot him a glare before scanning the rest of the room. She spotted Maxton Windharte, prince of the Erastate, near a window. His blond head stood out amongst the ranks of dark-haired Galantrians. He beamed at her, and her spirits lifted.
“Now,” said Akiron, shuffling the papers on his desk, “this court has heard many testimonies on your behalf to support the story you told upon your arrival to Irongarde. We request that you provide a full account of the events leading to your confrontation with Necrovar, starting with the day you and Lord Thorion left the Galantrian Palace.”
“Um,” said Keriya. She fiddled with the sleeves of her ratty old dress, the only remnant of her past life as a nameless peasant. Her other clothes had been replaced by fine garments, gifts from enamored townsfolk. “Thorion and I . . . didn’t leave at the same time.”
A pang of unease shot through her. She hadn’t wanted to admit that. It had popped out of her mouth unbidden.
<This is the binding at work,> Thorion thought quickly. <You’ll be forced to tell the truth, but if you keep your wits, you won’t have to reveal anything incriminating. You can’t tell a lie, but you can distract them using misdirection and omission.>
“Uh, that is, Thorion left the palace before I did,” she stammered. That was the truth—she’d sent him away days before she herself had fled. “We left separately for reasons of personal safety, since I didn’t want him to go to Noryk with the Imperial Guard. This was because we’d previously been captured by Commander-General Tanthflame, at which time we discovered he was working for Necrovar.”
Murmurs rippled through the room, and Keriya was suddenly glad she had agreed to the binding. People glanced at the four Imperials who watched the proceedings.
A wave of amusement rippled from Thorion. <Good recovery.>
“With Tanthflame working for Necrovar, it was impossible to know who we could trust,” she continued, bolstered by Thorion’s approval and the reactions of the audience. “That’s why we left the palace. It wasn’t an act of treason, but one of self-preservation. I left with Maxton Windharte, who was acting as my guide, and Roxanne Fleuridae and Effrax Emberwill, who were acting as my bodyguards.”
“Where were you intending to go?” Inquisitor Akiron asked shrewdly.
Keriya opened her mouth to say something untruthful, but the words abandoned her when she tried to force them through her lips, leaving her speechless.
<Careful,> Thorion told her. <If they suspect you’re trying to lie, you’ll be in trouble.>
Keriya proceeded slowly, testing the limits of what her brain would allow her to say. Any slip-up would condemn not only her, but her friends, who’d been complicit in her escape. “I wanted to complete the quest I’d been given. Shivnath, the dragon god and guardian of the Smarlands, had asked me to kill Necrovar—and that’s what I planned to do.”
More murmurs and quite a few gasps. The Zumarran priest pressed his hands together under his chin and closed his eyes, muttering some sort of prayer.
“Order,” snapped Akiron, banging his gavel on the iron podium. “So, it’s true? Shivnath charged you to kill Necrovar?”
The audience quieted. All eyes turned to Keriya, who lifted her chin under their scrutiny.
“Yes. I am against Necrovar, and Thorion and I are against anyone who supports him, up to and including the Commander-General of the Imperial Guard.” She gave the soldiers a pointed look. “So when we were attacked in the Galantrian Rainforest—”
“Why were you in the rainforest to begin with?” Akiron interjected. “The jungle lies far to the north and east of the capital.”
“Ah,” said Keriya, faltering.
<Misdirection and omission,> Thorion reminded her. <And sometimes, over-simplification.>
“We . . . got sidetracked,” she finished lamely.
Akiron started to ask another question, probably trying to trap her into telling an incriminating truth—that she had been looking for Thorion, whom she had sent away in direct violation of orders from the Council of Nine—but before he could finish, she pressed on: “We were attacked by shadowbeasts. That’s how Roxanne and Effrax were injured.”
“Shadowbeasts,” Akiron repeated in a flat voice.
“Necrovar’s demonic minions.”
“I know what shadowbeasts are,” he snapped. “What I don’t know is why you were in the rainforest when you were supposed to be bringing Lord Thorion to Noryk.”
“We were attacked because Necrovar wanted to use Thorion, just like Empress Aldelphia and King Wavewalker wanted to use him for themselves,” she snapped back, before she could curb her anger or hold her truthful tongue.
<Keriya, words like that can be considered treasonous,> thought Thorion.
“I’m sorry, Inquisitor,” she went on hastily. “I only meant that everyone’s victory hinged on Thorion. Lady Aldelphia needed Thorion because legend says only a dragon can kill the Shadow, and Necrovar wanted to steal Thorion’s soul. That’s why he kept sending shadowbeasts after us.”
“I see,” Akiron said in a softer voice. He cleared his throat as he rifled through his case files. “You claim shadowbeasts caused your companions’ injuries. You mentioned Miss Fleuridae and Effrax Nameless, but you did not address our princess.”
“Princess Sebaris wasn’t injured by the shadowbeasts. She was possessed by the bogspectre.”
This caused further uproar from the spectators. One woman cried out and covered her face with her hands. Keriya didn’t blame them—the Galantrians feared the bogspectre almost as much as they did Necrovar. The legendary monster, an ancient denizen of the rainforest, had the power to possess people. It lived in its host’s body, feeding off that person’s magical energy until their body rotted away.
“Order!” Akiron banged his gavel repeatedly. “Lady Soulstar, you will explain how Princess Sebaris came to travel with you, and how she avoided the usual fate of the bogspectre’s victims.”
“The princess wasn’t traveling with us,” said Keriya. “She followed us from the palace on her own. We never learned why. Effrax saved her when he shot out the bogspectre’s left eye, but we couldn’t wake her after it left her body. That’s also when I got my sword,” she added.
She sensed the mental equivalent of an eye-roll from Thorion. <Best not to mention the sword again.>
<It’s mine, and I want it.> The healers had confiscated the weapon upon Keriya’s admittance to the hospital, and she hadn’t seen it since. She’d been asking for it daily, but it had been locked in the armory at the north end of town.
“Not even Thorion could help Sebaris—he has healing abilities, but he can only accelerate what will heal on its own, and we weren’t sure she would get better. So we came here to get her medical attention.”
“Yet you did not come directly to Irongarde after that,” said Akiron, disregarding her not-so-subtle mention of the sword.
“No. We were attacked by another group of shadowmen. That’s when I faced Necrovar.”
Stillness settled in the room like a dangerous animal bedding down. People did not murmur or speculate this time. Even Akiron was silent.
“He used his powers to meld himself with one of his minions. He spoke to me about . . . many things.” Keriya heard an embarrassing quaver in her voice, and she fought the instinctive terror that rose inside her whenever she thought about that night in the jungle.
“Then he and Thorion fought. It felt like they fought forever, but it can’t have lasted more than a few minutes. It was . . .” She swallowed and a tremor ran through her. Black lightning flashed once more before her eyes. The Shadow’s whispers echoed in her ears.
“Then what?” said Akiron.
“It looked like Thorion was going to lose. But then I wielded,” she said. “I wielded against Necrovar, and I destroyed him.”
“Numerous witnesses have testified that you have no magic,” said Akiron, folding his hands. “So, how did a crippled, powerless child come to defeat the strongest wielder in the history of our world?”
Those words still stung when spoken in such a disparaging tone. Keriya understood the pain a little better now—it wasn’t her lack of magic that hurt, it was the distance her differences created between her and the people around her. It was the fact that no matter what, they would always see her as something other.
She refused to let those differences stand in her way anymore. “Everyone who testified on my behalf was telling the truth. I don’t have magic of my own—I used the powers Shivnath gave me. They made me who I am.” She pointed to her eyes. “They give me the ability to speak to Thorion and kill the Shadow.”
Her words fell heavily upon the onlookers. She saw fear and hope warring on their upturned faces: fear that the Shadow would continue to haunt them, hope that finally, after seven thousand years, he was gone.
“That is your testimony?” Akiron regarded her with a feverish intensity. “Do you, Keriya Soulstar, under penalty of death for perjury in High Court, swear that on the twenty-sixth night of the month of Samhain, you fought Necrovar and defeated him?”
Keriya matched Akiron stare for stare. Then her gaze slid to the Imperials at the far end of the room.
The guardsman who’d called for the binding spell gave her another smile. She smiled back at him and proclaimed in a clear, firm voice, “That is my testimony. Necrovar is dead.”
CHAPTER THREE
“Men shouldn’t ever know their futures.”
~ Antigonus Leech, Twelfth Age
“Acquitted on all charges!” Keriya threw her hands in the air. Thorion growled his delight and hopped around at her side.
“I knew you’d be fine,” Fletcher said as she twirled on the lawn behind the courthouse, churning the pristine snow. She grinned and hugged him.
“They weren’t going to arrest their precious Dragon Speaker,” said Roxanne. “Not after you saved the world.”
Keriya turned to Roxanne and flung her arms around the other girl. Roxanne seemed taken aback, but she returned the hug. It was hard to think the two of them couldn’t stand each other six months ago. So much had changed since they’d left Aeria.
Keriya was no longer shunned because of her looks. Her pallid skin stood out less among the northern Galantrians, whose complexions were pale, and her eyes were now a point of wonder, even admiration. The people of Irongarde worshiped the ground Thorion walked on. She had the acceptance she’d always dreamed of, and when she sat in her cozy infirmary ward with her best friends, talking and laughing and playing Allentrian card games, something in her heart whispered, You’re home.
“Congratulations, Dragon Speaker.” A cold voice cut through their celebrations. Inquisitor Akiron had taken the back exit out of the courthouse. He regarded them as he descended the iron steps, pulling on black riding gloves.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. She stood her ground as he approached, lifting her chin and staring him full in the face. She could tell the unearthly color of her eyes bothered him.
“I’m glad our justice system has restored your good name.” He offered his hand and she reluctantly shook it.
“Thanks. It was an honor to have you presiding over our trial.” The binding spell had long since worn off, for the jury had taken hours to deliver their verdict. Now she could lie as much as she wanted. The Inquisitor released her hand but made no move to leave.
“While your actions were not deemed treasonous, you haven’t fulfilled your duty to the empire,” said Akiron. “Empress Aldelphia expects your presence in Noryk.”
“What?” Keriya’s heart sank. “Necrovar is dead. Why does she need us?”
“Lord Thorion is a powerful asset. He will be invaluable to our mages and scholars. Studying him will provide knowledge we never thought we could recover. We may be able to free other dragons from the Etherworld if we discover how Thorion escaped.”
Keriya felt a stirring in her brain, which meant Thorion was using her to translate some of Akiron’s words.
<It doesn’t sound so bad,> she conceded. <They want to study you. And we can work on freeing the rest of your family.>
<That would be a wonderful thing. Perhaps it would be wise to go to Noryk and work for the empress,> he thought. <It’s time to start thinking about the future.>
Keriya had never dwelt much on the future. She hadn’t had a future to speak of in Aeria, and she hadn’t had time to consider it during her travels in Allentria.
“In addition,” Akiron continued, “we have issued a summons for Commander-General Tanthflame to appear in the Imperial Supreme Court. He will be required to return to Noryk and provide his defense, since he stands accused of high treason in light of your acquittal. He also has the right to face his accuser—you.”
Keriya nodded. She would gladly return to Noryk if it meant confronting Tanthflame.
“My envoy shall accompany you to the Imperial Palace, where you and Lord Thorion will be given room and board,” said Akiron. “You have one week to get your affairs in order.”
“What about Fletcher and Roxanne?” she asked.
“The summons was for you and your dragon alone.”
She looked at her friends. They stood quietly, watching the interchange. What of their futures?
“Empress Aldelphia knows them. They’re technically in her employ—she gave us letters detailing our mission last summer. I would ask that they be allowed to come with me if they want to,” she said.
“They may travel with us to Noryk, but you’ll have to discuss their arrangements with the empress on your own.”
“I will,” said Keriya, crossing her arms. Still Akiron made no move to leave. She felt increasingly awkward as the silence stretched on.
“I was wondering,” he said at last, “if I might be able . . . to touch Lord Thorion?”
“What?” Keriya’s brows shot up into her wispy, flyaway bangs. The people of Irongarde often begged for a chance to pet Thorion’s lustrous scales, but she hadn’t expected this behavior from the stern and disapproving Akiron.
“Never mind; I’m sure it’s a rude thing to ask.” He bowed to the dragon. “My apologies.”
“No, it’s . . . you surprised us, that’s all,” said Keriya.
“You may approach, Inquisitor Akiron,” Thorion said in Allentrian.
Something changed on the Inquisitor’s face. His icy eyes lit up as he placed a trembling palm against Thorion’s neck.
“Thank you,” Akiron whispered. “Selaras is better for your return, my lord. Welcome home.”
He stood like that for a moment; then he cleared his throat and stepped away. “I’ll meet you in front of the infirmary on the second day of Aerrav. Be prepared to depart at that time.” He offered Thorion another bow, pressing his hands together below his chin, before he turned on his heel and left.
“Looks like we’re in for another adventure,” said Fletcher.
“Let’s the most of the time we have left here,” said Keriya, who was already missing Irongarde. “The day before we leave is my birthday. Maybe we could do something fun together?”
“We’ll do better than fun,” said Roxanne, rubbing her hands in anticipation. “We’re going to have to make up for fourteen years of missed birthdays.”
The next few days passed in a whirlwind. Gossip about Tanthflame—who had been conspicuously absent from Allentrian politics for the past month—could be heard on every street corner. News of Keriya’s testimony spread faster than wildfire in dead brush. Whispers about the binding spell mutated into rumors that she was unable to tell lies. Tales of how she’d been chosen by Shivnath turned into stories that she had the magic of the gods flowing through her veins. The account of how she’d defeated Necrovar had spawned at least three epic ballads, despite the fact that no one knew the details of the battle.
Irongarde was in a festive state. Keriya and Thorion were showered with more gifts. She received a royal blue cloak fit for a queen, sturdy winter boots, wool mittens, and scores of expensive baubles. Thorion received a gift of ilmenite armor, which had been forged by dwarves who worked deep under the jungle mountains.
The morning before her birthday, Keriya awoke to the glimmering touch of sun. She stretched beneath the covers of her cot in the private wing she’d been provided in the hospital. Roxanne, who’d been moved from the intensive care unit, now had a bed there too. The other eight beds in the long room had been stripped of their mattresses. These had been piled in front of a brazier to create a nest for Thorion. He lay on his side, dozing in the silvery dawn light. As if he sensed her gaze on him, he cracked open one vibrant eye.
<You’re up early,> he thought to her.
<I know. There’s something we need to do before we leave.>
Thorion gleaned her intentions from her thoughts. He yawned and stretched, then padded to Keriya as she pulled on her new boots and donned an amethyst necklace, a gift from a doting noblewoman. They crept past the slumbering Roxanne, who needed rest despite her assertions that she was fine. Keriya slid open the bamboo door that led to the central hall of the infirmary and they slipped out.
They wound their way through the halls to the west wing, where long-term care patients stayed. The healers usually forbade non-family members from visits, so Keriya took a moment to compose herself and prepare her arguments for entry. When she rounded the corner, however, she was surprised to find the person she’d come to see.
“Effrax!” she exclaimed, stopping short.
Effrax, who was testing his weight on his bad leg, raised his head. “Well, if it isn’t old Dragoneyes herself. I was on my way to see you.”
Tall and broad-shouldered, Effrax had rich umber skin, a shock of spiky black hair, and a twinkle of mirth and mischief in his mahogany eyes. At least, he usually did. Today his face was tired and grim.
He limped forward and Keriya hurried to meet him. He’d been injured in their final fight with the shadowmen, and had taken a spear of necromagic through his right thigh—a spear that had been meant to kill Thorion.
“You’re looking well,” she said, beaming. The last time they’d seen him, he’d barely been conscious.
“I’m able to walk around all by myself,” he drawled. “I suppose that’s progress.”
“We wanted to visit you more often, but the healers—”
“None of that.” He waved aside her words. “False regret is an unbecoming garment on even the loveliest ladies.”
“It isn’t false regret,” said Thorion. “I owe you my life.”
Keriya nodded. “For that, I owe you more than I can say.” She leaned in to embrace Effrax, but something in his gaze stopped her. Instead, she held out her hand. “Thank you, Effrax Emberwill. Thank you from both of us.”
Effrax raised a brow at her unexpected gratitude. Before that moment, he and Keriya hadn’t been on the best of terms—but when she’d learned of his heroic actions during the rainforest battle, Keriya had found it easy to let go of her misgivings about the Fironian.
His surprise might also have been for her use of his self-chosen surname. Like Keriya, he’d been born a bastard, so the Allentrians referred to him as Effrax Nameless. But Keriya, who’d been called Nameless as a hurtful epithet throughout her childhood, could no longer bring herself to use the term with him.
After a brief pause, Effrax offered her a genuine smile and grasped her hand. When he noticed the ornate necklace resting in the hollow of Keriya’s throat, the smile dissolved into a scowl. “Been playing dress-up with the Galantrians, have you?” he asked, his fingers slipping away from hers.
“It was a gift,” she explained. “They’re showing their appreciation, being nice.”
“There’s no such thing as nice. Giving you pretty trinkets is a power play. They’re trying to trap you in a debt to them.”
Keriya refrained from rolling her eyes. She thought that was a reach, but she wasn’t about to argue with Effrax.
“Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.” He gestured for her and Thorion to walk beside him, and the three of them headed toward the dining hall. “I heard you were planning to return to Noryk.”
“That’s right.”
“But you still have an obligation to go to the Fironem.” He caught her look of confusion and his face hardened. “Just because you killed Necrovar, that doesn’t mean my kingdom is magically going to fix itself overnight. Besides, we had a deal.”
<We do owe him,> Thorion thought to her.
“I know. I promise we’ll go soon,” she said, reassuring both of them.
“Will you?” Effrax said dubiously.
“Of course.” She was insulted to discover that Effrax held her in such low esteem. Although, considering how uncooperative she’d been while protecting Thorion, she couldn’t blame him for that. “The empress summoned me, so I have to go to Noryk first. Besides, with Necrovar gone, the Fironem’s not in any immediate trouble, right?”
“Tensions between the states have never been this high in living memory, and I’ve long outstayed my welcome here. It’s time I went home, but I am loath to do so without bringing Thorion so that I, too, might be showered with attention and praise and expensive presents.”
“We will help you,” she vowed. “But we need a little time. We just saved Allentria.”
“Yet somehow, Allentria is still preparing for war.” He shouldered past her and limped away. “Save us from that, and you can have all the time you like.”
The conversation had spoiled her appetite, but she continued to the dining hall to get Thorion some food. The hospital staff presented him with a heaping portion of meat, which he dove into happily. While he ate, she inquired after her sword.
“I’m leaving in two days. I need it.”
“You’ll also be staying in the infirmary for two days, I imagine,” the head steward said patiently. “No weapons within these walls. You’ll get it when you leave.”
After Thorion had eaten his fill, he and Keriya headed to their quarters. She walked in silence, stewing in her thoughts.
“What was Effrax talking about?” she mused. “No Necrovar, no war.”
“Necrovar made the Fironem his home ten ages ago, so the reputation of all Fironians has been compromised with his return,” said Thorion. “That leads to increased tension between the states, as Effrax said. I doubt it will escalate as far as civil war, but he has every right to worry.”
By the time they entered their room, Roxanne was awake. She lay on her cot, fiddling with a needlepoint kit Keriya had received.
“Where’ve you been?” she asked.
“I went to see Effrax.” And Keriya recounted everything he’d said.
“He’s making a big deal out of nothing,” said Roxanne. “He admitted he only wants to bring Thorion to the Fironem for fame and glory, so don’t feel bad about making him wait.”
“It wouldn’t be kind to make him wait too long,” said Thorion.
“Then don’t make him wait too long. It’s simple, but men insist on complicating everything. Speaking of men,” Roxanne added, examining her nails with an effortless grace and nonchalance that Keriya envied, “Max is stopping by later.”
“Oh?” Keriya did her best to emulate the other girl’s carefree tone. Max had been staying in Indrath Olven, the fortress where dwelt the political leaders of the city. Though his father had ordered him to return to the Erastate, Max had remained in Irongarde to deal with his own business. He was so wrapped up in whatever he was doing that he’d only been able to visit the infirmary once.
“I spoke to him yesterday while you were out,” said Roxanne, “and I told him you’d have dinner with him tonight.”
“What?” gasped Keriya. “I don’t have anything to say, or to wear, my hair’s a mess—”
“Your hair’s always a mess.”
“—and to top it off, I don’t know what to do. I haven’t had time to plan!”
“You’re no good at planning,” said Roxanne. “Just have fun. Tell him how you feel.”
“I don’t feel anything,” Keriya said mulishly.
A wicked gleam came into Roxanne’s eye. “I think you should kiss him. It’s now or never. You’re going to Noryk, he’s going to the Erastate, you won’t see him for Shivnath-knows-how-long . . . you might do more than kiss. I’d be happy to let you two have the ward for the evening.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down, clearly enjoying herself.
Keriya felt her cheeks reddening. “Not likely.”
Roxanne shrugged. “Your loss.”
Keriya spent the rest of the day trying not to fret about her meeting with Max. When the sun sank behind the far-off jungle peaks, there came a knock on the bamboo door.
“Come in,” Roxanne sang. The door slid open and Max’s lean, handsome face appeared. Keriya’s stomach swooped and her heart leapt, as they always did when she saw him.
“Shall we?” he said, gesturing for her to join him.
“Um . . . sure.”
“You’ll thank me,” Roxanne said in a carrying whisper as Keriya left the room.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye,” Max explained as they walked down the hall. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I had to take care of a few things.” His sky-blue eyes grew distant.
“You okay?” she asked. He cleared his throat and nodded, flashing a winsome smile.
They exited the hospital, passing the guards on watch at its doors. Keriya recognized Inido Rainsword, the captain of King Wavewalker’s palace soldiers.
Rainsword had come to collect Sebaris. The king had wanted his daughter brought home, but the healers had forbidden it, given her fragile condition. The captain and his men had been stationed in the inner city garrison for the past month, waiting for the princess to awaken. Rainsword cast Keriya a baleful glare as she passed, but he didn’t dare send any of his men to tail her with Max at her side.
Keriya and Max walked toward the center of town, finding their way by the light of the red lanterns that lined the sinuous paths. Fluffy flakes of snow began to fall, and they pulled up the hoods of their cloaks. She noted Max had taken pains to look nice this evening—though for him, that wasn’t hard. His golden hair was casually swept back and his clothes were neat and pressed. His signature diamond amulet glinted in the lantern light. It made her wish she’d kept some of the finer clothes she’d been gifted. Why bother hanging onto her brown frock? It wasn’t like it was the height of Allentrian fashion.
They ended up at a nearby inn, which was packed with celebrating locals. Keriya was hailed with a drunken cheer when she entered. The innkeeper greeted them, providing them with a choice table in a private area.
She and Max removed their snow-dusted cloaks. They sat in easy silence for a few moments, listening to a minstrel performing at the other end of the room. He was singing about the Great War, when the Allentrians had first fought Necrovar:
“I’ll sing a tale of Ages past,
When land and sky were young.
I’ll sing a tale of frontiers vast,
Of heroes brave and unsurpassed;
I’ll sing a tale, or spin it fast,
For many an age to be sung.
I’ll sing a tale of armies great,
Who fought the Shadow’s hand.
I’ll sing a tale of war and hate,
Of hellish ends the damnéd faced.
Men fought and died, as was their fate,
And their lifeblood watered the land.”
“This is an interesting song,” said Keriya, frowning at the lyrics.
“In times of war, people like to hear about past triumphs,” said Max.
“Those hardly sound like triumphs,” she muttered as the minstrel moved on to a verse about genocide. “Why does everyone keep talking about war? Necrovar is dead.”
“The Shadow Lord isn’t the only one capable of starting a war,” said Max, lowering his voice and leaning closer to her. Keriya was sure no one would hear them over the din of the tavern, but she also leaned toward Max. For a fleeting instant she wished her hair were neater, prettier, more like Roxanne’s. “King Wavewalker is now training his soldiers to do battle specifically with air wielders.”
“Why?”
“At the last meeting of the Council of Nine, he and my father, King Windscoure, argued over Thorion. My father wanted you to come to the Erastate, and Wavewalker refused point-blank to let you leave.”
“Oh,” said Keriya.
“Since you’ve stayed in Irongarde so long, my father believes you’re supporting the Galantasa.”
“Why should that matter?” she asked. “Aren’t they part of the same empire?”
