Phoenix 1f2u59

Phoenix

Megan Shunmugam

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Global Publishing Group LLC

Copyright © 2021 by Megan Shunmugam

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, ing, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained.

Printed in the United States of America Worldwide Distribution

First trade edition

ISBN 978-1-954804-11-1

Dedication

To You, the Reader.

Chapter 1 1915 – Liverpool, England

Alexsia Solenia made quick work of packing a few last-minute essentials into her already overflowing suitcase. The clock on the mantel above the fireplace told her she was supposed to be in the taxi five minutes ago. As if on cue, she heard the impatient blare of a horn drifting from two stories down. She stuck her head out the window and assessed the plump cab driver. He had gotten out of the taxi and was waving her down. She held up one finger, promising to be there soon. He shook his head impatiently and got back into the cab. Shutting the window, she turned back to survey the now empty room. She had sent boxes of her belongings to relatives in Quebec weeks ago. With her mother’s death, the on-going war, and the fact that she possessed no special skills - she had not even managed to find a husband yet - she simply could not afford to remain in England. She was to set out to Canada, to live with distant, wealthy relatives, which in truth, she had not seen since childhood, but was told their estate and private bunker would be safe from the effects of the war. Her mother had been ill for some time. She had suffered from a sleeping sickness which had plagued many in their village. The disease was brutal and had left her in a motionless, apathetic state, with no desire or energy to even consume food anymore. A high fever had accompanied the illness and taken her away in her sleep one night, several weeks ago. Alexsia was glad for it, that she was no longer suffering. She had burned the body and now carried her mother’s ashes in a marbled urn, to be spread at sea. Nothing else of value remained for her in this room. Only memories of death and illness. She shook the thoughts off as she hauled her suitcase behind her, her mother’s urn carefully tucked under one arm, and descended the narrow staircase to the ground floor. She pushed open the heavy wooden door at the entrance to the building and the cab driver rushed out to grab her suitcase.

Grunting and swearing at its weight, the driver managed to heave the bag into the trunk of his car. He wiped the back of his hand across the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow and grumbled indistinctly before sliding back into the front seat. Alexsia clutched the urn tightly as she unlatched the door behind the driver and climbed in. Her eyes flickered to the mirror above the dashboard. “Where to, miss?” “The docks,” she said. The taxi slowed to a stop in an unmarked parking bay on a quiet road. The driver stepped out of the cab and held the door open for her. The smell of salt and sea brine burnt her nose as it hit her for the first time. She had not visited the seaside for many years, and especially not since the war, when it was so easy to mistake friend for foe. Alexsia could spot several steamer ships way out in the ocean, their figures so tiny they resembled small warship figurines. But one look at the sheer size of the ships already docked had her stunned; they were anything but figurines. She would be journeying across the ocean to her new home in a similar vessel. The cab driver placed her suitcase before her feet, and she startled at the heavy thump. She scrambled around in her pocket for the notes she had carefully assembled before leaving her home and handed it to him with a mumbled thank you. The driver pocketed the cash, gave her a small, wary smile, and cast his gaze at the docked ships. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but decided against it. He tipped his head in her direction and headed back toward his vehicle. She distantly heard the engine sputter to life and the crunch of gravel as he drove away. Readjusting the urn under her arm, she grasped the straps on her suitcase and started toward the RMS Hesperian.

The ship was a maze of activity. They had left port several hours ago and had recently just ed over the Irish Sea, much to the relief of fellow engers who had proven anxious in the early hours of sailing. They, like Alexsia, had been fearful of possible attacks by enemy vessels which had been known to prey on enger ships like theirs. But the further they sailed, the lighter the burden of worry became. She felt the knot of panic loosen as the hours crept on and the sky turned from a clear blue into a dull grey as the sun dipped and the first hours of evening dawned. She watched from the deck as engers scurried about, some dressed in evening finery for dinner ahead, others milling about, staring off into the distance. The quieter engers were those wounded and injured Canadian soldiers, making their way home, their effort from the war etched plainly across their faces. Their gazes were blank and unseeing, as though they were still stuck wherever they had come from. She tried not to focus on them, on the horrors that had caused them to sport limps and bandages across varying limbs. The sun settled below the horizon as evening wore on, the sky darkening with every ing hour. Alexsia glanced down at the urn she still carried, now in both hands. The marbled design caught the light from the pale moon overhead and fractured different shapes onto the deck. It was a lonely night, with most engers having left the deck for the warmer interior, where dinner was being served. Not her though, not yet. She closed her eyes, savouring the feeling of the cool wind whipping through the tendrils of hair that had escaped her long braid. The sound of the ship’s powerful engine cut through the water, slicing through the waves like a butcher’s knife. Alexsia weighed the urn in her hands, turning it over, feeling the ash within shift as the sea roiled beneath. She moved close to the metal railing and gripped at the cold pole with one hand to steady herself. Saltwater sprayed onto her skin as gentle as a lover’s caress. She held the urn out over the railing and tipped it forward, letting the ash tumble out into the sea below. One moment her mother was there, beside her, and the next she was gone, hurtling out to sea, lost forever amidst the unrelenting waves. She took a piece of Alexsia’s soul with her. With the urn, and her heart, now significantly lighter than before, she pulled

back from the railing just as a violent shudder shook through the ship’s massive hull. She was pushed back against the metal railing. The empty urn jolted from her hands and flew into the depths of the ocean. Water shot up in great bursts from cracks fissuring on the deck, spraying bits of wood and metal along with it. The deck was creaking and groaning under the pressure. She had to move. She pushed off the railing and swayed as the ship shuddered beneath her feet. Alexsia tried to move but had not gone one step before she was flung across the deck, the ship suddenly curving in the water, hurling itself in a right-hand direction. She heard distant screams from diners, and the tinkle of porcelain shattering as dishes clattered to the ground. The air turned misty and humid as steam enveloped the deck, wafting outwards to kiss the night sky. The ship trembled sickeningly and then stopped and went quiet, as if the power had been cut, snipped by a pair of scissors. There was quiet, and then...alarm bells began wailing, harsh and unending, slicing into the still night air. The ship did not give to the waves below, it remained upright and steady despite the groaning below the deck. engers began filing out onto the deck, few at first, in orderly lines, following various officers. Alexsia picked herself off the deck, holding onto the railing for as an officer rushed to her side. “Are you injured, miss?” His eyes glossed over her white-knuckled grip on the railing, and he offered his arm for . “We’re evacuating the ship; you must come with me.” Alexsia glanced at the faces of the other engers who had come to them on the deck. They were frightened, yes, but not panicked. Not yet. “Please, miss,” the officer beseeched. “You must come, it’s not safe for you here.” She took his arm, shocked by what had just happened, and let him guide her to the left side of the ship where a lifeboat was being lowered. She ed a group of older women and children as each were given a life jacket to strap over their clothing. Alexsia numbly strapped the yellow vest across her chest before she was ushered onto a smaller boat, hanging onto the side of the ship. Alexsia stumbled into the boat, clutching at the shoulder of an older lady, already seated within, to keep from hurtling face-forward off the boat and into the angry

waves below. The lady scowled rudely and Alexsia removed her hand from the woman’s shoulder. She settled into the snug space between the rude lady and another woman, this one dressed in such finery she must have been staying in the first-class cabin. Jewels dripped from her throat, along her wrists, adorned her ears and even encircled her ankles. She gave a haughty sigh as though she thought the evacuation were a terrible inconvenience and she would much rather be dining on her roast lamb right now. “All ready now?” the officer called from the ship and gave the order for release. Crew tugged at the ropes securing the lifeboat, which gave a sudden lurch forward. The engers jolted to the right in unison. It would have been comedic had it been a theatrical play. Alexsia grabbed tightly at the wooden structure as they were lowered deeper and deeper past the metal railings. Slowly, so slowly, and then, as though someone had neglected their side of the rope, the entire lifeboat hurled to one side in one final whooshing motion, overturned mid- air and spewed everyone out. She was thrown onto the side of the ship so violently she felt the bones in her arm snap out of place. The pain was blinding, and she screamed as she went headfirst into the freezing cold water, swallowing saltwater deep into her lungs. Her head broke the surface and she coughed so vigorously she might very well have thrown up an organ. She spluttered, gasping for air, pumping her legs, although she had never learned how to swim. Her right arm did not work anymore. She was barely keeping herself afloat when a body of water crested over her head and pushed her deep down. It was unlike any cold she had ever experienced. Her lungs were on fire, and she was blind, thrashing in the water, willing her limbs to work, to lift her to the surface so she could take in mouthfuls of cool, crisp, night air. Alexsia’s fingers went numb as, in the dim recesses of her mind, she ed the life jacket. She reached for the catch, but her fingers were so stiff, she could not get it to work. Cold prickled into her skin like a second layer, enveloping her, embracing her. The waves, choppier now than they had been a few hours ago, whipped her body beneath the surface, back and forth like a ragdoll. She felt the fire inside her lungs spread through her head and distantly wondered how she could be so hot and cold at the same time. Exploding, that’s what it felt like, like she was exploding from the inside out and all she could do was watch as her traitorous limbs gave up on her, succumbing to

the cold. Her spine arched unnaturally as the waves continued their assault and her body gave one last whirl before the dying embers of fire flickered within her and then went cold.

Chapter 2

She knew she was awake before her eyes opened. She was cold; so cold she could not feel her fingers or her lips. Her entire body was numb. It was as though she had been dropped into a vat of liquid nitrogen and left there until small icicles seeped into the very depths of her bones and made themselves quite at home. It took great effort to pry her eyes open, to adjust to the sterile white walls pressing in on her, the harsh light filtering through several spotlights overhead. The simple lavender material of the dress she had chosen that morning clung to her skin, pale and florescent and wet against the stark lighting. Alexsia breathed in a ragged lungful of air and was surprised at the shaky expansion of her lungs. She held the breath for a second longer than usual before exhaling timidly, bracing for a spattering of pain across her ribcage, but none came. There was no tingling, her organs were no longer set on fire. Warmth slowly leeched back into her skin as she lay on the bed, taking in one shaky breath after the other, learning how to breathe, until the icicles finally melted and all that remained was an uncomfortably wet dress squelching against her skin. Alexsia lay still for fifty breaths before slowly turning her head to the opposite wall. The room was large and completely white, beds like hers were stacked along the walls, each one empty, except for one at the far end of the room, which was surrounded by solid white curtains. There was a small basin in the corner, and she heard the faintest of tapping from somewhere nearby. The beds revolved around rows of chairs, neatly lined up in the middle of the room - some occupied, some empty. Alexsia’s heart sped up at the sight and her breath came in ragged gasps. She felt a terrible lurch in her stomach, and she sat up violently as a wave of nausea

pulsed through her body. Her vision was coated with tiny black dots, which danced along the walls across from her. Suddenly dizzy, she leaned back against the pillows and winced. A door cracked open, and a young woman appeared. Alexsia’s eyes widened in shock as she observed the woman’s outfit. It was unusual for women to wear pants, much less the kind that this woman wore. They were silken, patterned in hues of red, orange, and brown and flowed over her legs like a massive skirt. She clutched a leather-bound file in her hands, which she now peered down at from oversized glasses. The woman paged through the file carefully, taking time to read its contents before crossing the room to the bed concealed with curtains. She brushed the drapes back gingerly and Alexsia caught a flash of red before the curtains closed. A low murmuring started up from behind the hangings, followed by a keening. It was a painful sound, one of mourning and loss. Alexsia felt a familiar rush of panic sizzle through her veins and heat prickled across the back of her neck. Where was she? What was she doing here, in this strange place she had never seen before, where women dressed in pants and… she suddenly gasped as memories flooded back into her sluggish brain, one fleeting picture after another. She was in a ship, a taxi, a bare room overlooking a pale village street. A lurch, a shove, a massive splintering, and then wave after wave of water. Ice, cold, freezing water puncturing its way through her ribs and nerves, hollowing out her insides. She couldn’t breathe. Clutching at whatever she could grasp onto for security - unseeing, unfeeling Alexia gripped the jagged edge of the bedpost. Her palm caught, splitting wide open. Warm blood raced down her fingers and dripped onto the ceramic tile below, with a soft tap, tap, tap. As if in a dream, Alexsia heard the scrape of drapes against a metal railing. A hand, smooth and soft, pulled at her shoulders and her eyes flew open. A woman - the small white name tag affixed to her blouse read Maggie – stood before her, examining her carefully. “Breathe,” she instructed, her breath minty on Alexsia’s face. “Breathe. You’re safe here, you’re okay.”

Her accent was not English, but it was pleasant, warm, and trusting. Alexsia slowly released her grip on the metal handlebars affixed to the bedpost and flexed her fingers, taking in the cut. Maggie stepped back from her and held out a hand. Alexsia mutely dropped her hand into hers, palm-side up. Maggie gazed at the wound carefully and clicked her tongue before releasing her hand. Alexsia stared at it in wonder. The blood was already drying and the wound clotting. Where there had been a gash, there was now a shallow slice. The skin around the wound stretched and pulled with an elasticity skin was not supposed to have. It strained, pulling itself over and over the wound, until what was left of the cut was a faint, rubbery pink line. “We don’t even need to send you to Sorting now.” Maggie smiled down at her hand. “Already know you’re another Helper. Thank the Heavens for that small miracle.” “What?” Alexsia tried to say, but it came out croaky and inaudible. It was only now that she realized how parched she was. Her throat was on fire, her voice unrecognizable. Maggie reached over to a bedside table Alexsia had not noticed before and handed her a glass of cool water. She propped herself up on one elbow and drank the entire glass, greedily and hastily, not caring when some of the water dribbled down her chin. Alexsia handed the glass back to Maggie before collapsing onto the pillow again, feeling drained and dizzy, as if the interaction had depleted all her energy. “You should eat something,” Maggie said. “And more rest.” Alexsia had questions. She wanted to ask her how they had managed to find her and pull her from the wreckage, how long had she been asleep, and what injuries she had sustained before they had rescued her. Oddly enough, aside from the dizziness, she now felt fine. There was no ache in her chest when she breathed nor an explosion of pain when her lungs expanded, and her arm was clearly no longer broken. Although questions swarmed her mind, sleep beckoned her. She opened her mouth to speak but her eyes fluttered closed involuntarily as a wave of

drowsiness sifted its way through her body. Alexsia wanted to know how the strange woman had healed her hand. But her thoughts were too listless to string together logical sentences, and she did not have the energy to stay awake. Perhaps she would wake up, safe and warm, in her childhood home to her mother baking fresh bread and humming a tuneless song. Perhaps this was all just a cleverly crafted dream, she thought as she let sleep take her in its arms.

When Alexsia awoke she was in a different room. The walls were palest pink and a soft melody issued from a small radio set atop a shelf. The room was small but comfortable. A kidney- shaped desk sat against a wall, a plastic chair tucked into it. A lone flower - a purple tulip - stuck out from a vase. Tulips were her favorite flower. Her mother had once painted an entire field, filled with the flowers. Seeing it now, this small reminder of home in an unfamiliar place, soothed her soul. She was no longer wet and shivering, but warm and dry. Someone had removed her dress and fitted her into a pair of tros, socks, and a soft, long-sleeved shirt. Her hair had been untangled and now hung across her shoulder in long, dark waves. A large window stretched against one wall. It was frosted, but she could make out shadows and silhouettes pacing just on the other side. She lifted her arm to examine the needle poking out from the hollow of her elbow, but the movement set the machine into motion. A tinny beeping echoed throughout the room, cutting harshly through the soft melody escaping from the radio. A shadow halted outside the room and paused, reaching out to grab something rectangular, before striding toward the door. An older man, who looked to be a doctor from the white coat he wore, walked through the door, frowning at the chart he was holding. He glanced at the machine pinging above her head before crossing over and fiddling with it. The sound stopped. “Can you tell me where I am, please?” Alexsia started, leaning up on the elbow that was not connected to the machine. “I was supposed to have reached Canada by now. How long have I been asleep? My aunt will be worried.” This last part was a lie. She doubted Aunt Morgan had even been aware her trip had been scheduled for this week. Aunt Morgan and her husband were very wealthy. They lived in a large manor house with fifteen servants and couldn’t be bothered with anyone else. They had sent a letter expressing their condolences upon her mother’s ing along with a one-way ticket to Quebec, which she doubted they expected she would ever use. But times were tough and with the war approaching she had cowered and run away. “We will deal with all that in just a moment. For now, I’d like you to tell me your name and whatever you might last recall,” the doctor said.

He pulled a chair toward him and sat down before taking out a notepad and flipping to an empty page. “My name?” she asked. It was a simple question. “Alexsia. Alexsia Solenia.” The doctor nodded. “And your last recollections?” “I was in a ship, we hit something, and everyone fell into the water. Why are you asking me this? You know what happened. How many others were rescued?” “Rescued?” The doctor’s brows knit together in brief confusion and then relaxed. “Ah, rescued. Miss Solenia, I think it best for you to eat something solid before we have this discussion.” He gave her a disapproving look as she began to protest. “Eat. Then we’ll talk. I’ll have Maggie send someone up with a plate.” Alexsia glared at the doctor as he scribbled into his notepad, stood up and checked the machines one last time. “Oh, yes,” the doctor recalled. “Maggie mentioned a cut.” He reached for her hand, flipped it over and examined it carefully. “That’s very interesting,” he muttered, scrawling more notes onto his pad. “What is? What did you give me to heal so fast?” Alexsia had heard of medical advancements and recent breakthroughs but hadn’t imagined they would be this effective. The doctor only shook his head. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning, Miss Solenia. Try to eat and get some rest, until then.” And then he was gone. The plate of food she was promised arrived soon after. A steaming bowl of pumpkin soup, freshly baked bread, and a carton of sliced fruit. She gulped it down greedily. It was unlike any of the plain food she and her mother had been able to afford in their small town. But their life had not always been bad, even when her mother had gotten sick and they could no longer afford some of the nicer things, they had been happy.

Morning came with pale light. Alexsia sat up slowly, waiting for a bout of dizziness, but when none came, she swung her legs over the bedpost and attempted to stand. She fell over almost immediately, clutching at the bedsheets as she went down. A flurry of activity instantly surrounded her. The sheets were hauled off her body and a pair of shiny boots met her at eye-level. A masculine voice clucked and held out a hand to help her up. “You’re supposed to be resting, Miss Solenia,” a doctor said - a different doctor from before. This one had a name tag on his white coat that read Emerson. “Although, I suppose you’ve rested quite enough,” he said, consulting a clipboard he held in his hand. “I’m certain by now you have many questions which you would like answered, yes?” He peered down at her from the rims of his thick glasses. Alexsia nodded. “Where am I?” Emerson pulled at the chair, and it scraped across the floors with a whine. “Miss Solenia, I think it would be more prudent if the Counselor explained.” She shook her head. “I’ve been waiting long enough.” “Very well then.” He flipped through his chart and skimmed a page. “Three nights ago, you were traveling on the RMS Hesperian. Do you that?” “Yes. I recall the accident. How many others were rescued?” she asked. “Miss Solenia,” Emerson removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “Nobody was rescued. You died that night.” Her brows scrunched in confusion. She looked to him, then down at her body, then back to him. “I’m sorry?” she puzzled. “Your life on Earth has come to an end,” he said slowly. “You are in, what they call, the Afterlife.”

She shook her head, slowly and then fast. She ed how her bones had cracked, how the fire had scorched her throat. She thought…she thought they had rescued and healed her. But she ed the waves pushing her deeper and deeper into the inky depths. In a distant part of her brain, she knew he was right. That she had died that night. But she did not want to believe it. “I can’t be dead,” she said, fighting to keep her voice steady. “I’m obviously very much alive.” She gestured wildly at her body. Emerson sighed and pushed his chair back. “We call this place the City of Lost Souls. It’s a sorting chamber for those who have died and are not claimed by the Ether. Your physical body remains on Earth but your soul, the essence of your being, has moved to this realm.”

She stared at him in horror, panic seeping into her bones. Her palms became sweaty and little beads of clammy moisture dampened her brow. She sucked in shallow gasps of air. Her lungs felt as if they were unable to expand to take in more than a handful of air at a time. A static buzzed in her head and her vision blurred as tears sprang to her eyes. Emerson placed a hand against her forehead and gently coaxed her back against the bed. “Miss Solenia, please calm down,” he was saying, but he sounded as though he were underwater. Her head pounded and her heart thumped so hard against her ribcage, she thought it might explode. Emerson swore softly. He reached within his lab coat and pulled out a small needle. Alexsia did not feel it when the point pierced her skin.

She was so tired. Her soul ached to its core with exhaustion. Emerson had come to check on her when she had awoken, but she was not in the mood to talk to him. He had left a while ago, having confirmed that she was stable enough to be sent to the Counselor. Maggie had arrived shortly after the doctor departed, a stack of plain clothes in her hands. Alexsia had sat very still for a long while, just staring at the tasteless garments, neatly arranged at the edge of her bed. When her body had turned stiff, she finally moved. She grabbed the clothes and mechanically dressed. When Maggie returned, she simply nodded at Alexsia to follow her. As Maggie led her out of her room and past several other cubicles, Alexsia got a good look at her surroundings for the first time. Stark white walls and high-grade medical equipment she had never seen before, emitted mechanical whirrs and slow, steady beeps. A hospital room, so different from the ones she was used to seeing in Liverpool. They entered a long corridor, so brightly lit, she had to squint her eyes shut for a moment. It was a wide corridor and people bustled past them every now and then, all of them in a hurry, all of them unconcerned with the young woman gaping at them. At the end of the corridor, Maggie made a left turn and led her down a much shorter ageway to a large oak door which stood partway open. Maggie pushed the door back more fully and ushered her into the room. There were many people inside this new room. All women. All looked her age. All scared. You could see it in their faces as they squirmed around in their hard, plastic chairs to get a better look at the newcomer. Tears streaked the face of a pretty girl, with slanted brown eyes and fair freckled skin. She glanced once at Alexsia and then turned around in her seat to focus on the man seated behind a large desk, oak like the door. He was old, with faded red hair and a scraggly beard at which her mother would have been alarmed. He was intently scanning the pages of a heavy book placed before him. A strange well beside him dripped fat, pearly drops of water every few seconds.

He glanced up at the sound of the door clicking shut behind her, and she looked around, startled that Maggie had disappeared. The man searched her face before glancing back down at the book before him. He examined the length of the page and, seeming satisfied, closed the book with a snap. “Now that we’re all here, we can begin. Please take a seat, miss,” the man said, directing this last part at Alexsia and gesturing to an empty seat. She felt nervous in this strange room, but she walked toward the empty seat and sat down, her fingers gripping tightly against the arms of her chair. The man leaned casually against the edge of his desk and regarded them all with weary eyes. “Thank you for your patience. I understand that some of you may already be aware of where you are and what has happened, whilst others have been awaiting answers for days now, but you must understand that due to your fragile conditions it was necessary for us to allow your souls the proper time to heal before placing any further strain on them,” he said. His words were met with some confused stares, other faces were tired just like hers, and the silence was broken only by the steady dripping of the well behind him. “My name is Isaac,” he continued. “And my job here…” he gestured around at the room, “…is to ensure that you receive the answers to your questions. I must warn you that the information you are about to hear may be distressing, to say the least. I must ask that you try to remain calm and open-minded.” Some of the girls beside Alexsia began sobbing quietly into their hands at Isaac’s words. Isaac braced himself against the edge of his desk and said, “All of you, whether you or not, have somehow died.” There were gasps and outraged yells from the girls seated around her. Alexsia shrank back against her seat, the beginning of a headache lurking around a dark corner of her mind. Isaac held up a hand against the questions being fired at him.

“Please,” he said. “Allow me to explain. Your spirit, your personality, memories, feelings - the essence of your soul - remain and have been brought here, to the City of Lost Souls. There are several Cities like the one we’re in right now. They are scattered all over the universe, equipped to receive the souls of the dead. Each City is charged with specific planets in the galaxy and responsible for the lives of the citizens inhabiting those planets. Some of you may come from Arianon, others from Zenor, Heroesal or Earth. Upon the death of an individual, their soul may be sent to a City to be processed. You have all been assessed and sent here. You will come to find that in the City, life continues long after death. You won’t be able to return to your normal life, no,” he smiled sadly at that. “But we provide an alternative to final death.” It was a lot of information to process and Alexsia was so bone-numbingly tired that she did not particularly care anymore if she was dead or alive or half-dead or half-alive. It was all beginning to sound the same to her. Glancing around at the rest of the room, the energy which had fueled the girls a few moments ago had disappeared. They now stared dully at Isaac; their expressions as shattered as she felt. “So, what happens to us now?” The question came from a girl at the back of the room. “Thank you for the question, Miss...?” “Cardieux.” “What we do here,” Isaac began, “is sort you into one of three categories based on a variety of factors. You will be sorted as either a Helper, Ghost or Worker. Each category has its own duties and responsibilities. More information will be provided when you have been sorted.” He cast a sympathetic look around the room. “I know you are all scared. You did not ask for this to happen, but you cannot blame yourselves. In time, you will learn to control your emotions and gain the courage I know you all have inside of you. Ah – Malena,” Isaac said, as the door clicked open and a woman stepped in, a cloud of red hair framing her porcelain face. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five, but she had the air of an old soul. One who had seen far beyond their years.

“This is Malena,” Isaac said, smiling at the woman. “She will explain more about your options and conduct the sorting.” Malena winked as Isaac gathered his large book and slipped out the door. “Hi,” she said, when they were alone, a bright smile on her face. “I will be conducting your sorting today. We’ll do it right here. If you don’t mind stepping up to the Critori.” She gestured to the dripping well. “Don’t rush all at once,” she chuckled as no one made to move. Slowly, so slowly, Alexsia willed her limbs into action. When a misshapen line had formed and Alexsia had found herself behind a tall girl with short braids, Malena pointed to the well and said, “Do not be afraid. All you have to do is place your index finger beneath the spout. The Critori detects your comion, competency, brain responsiveness and natural abilities.” “Who’s first?” Malena asked, her eyes scanning the sea of girls crowded around the basin. The girl closest to the well shuffled forward and placed her index finger tentatively beneath the tap. After a few seconds of silence, a large drop of liquid poked out of the spout and dropped onto her finger, coating the entire tip - which promptly turned a subtle shade of pastoral green. Seeing this, the girl screamed and yanked her hand out of the basin, shaking it furiously. When she glanced back down, the color had disappeared, leaving no evidence of what had transpired. Malena shushed the frantic girl. “Do not fret,” she said. “This is quite normal. The colors indicate your sorting. It was green, so please go stand over there.” Malena pointed to a corner of the left wall, where a small green cube had been placed. The next girl, the dark-skinned beauty who had spoken earlier as Miss Cardieux, knew what to expect and did not scream when the drop turned her finger lilac. This procedure continued for several more minutes, the line in front of Alexsia

dissipating quickly. The groups were unevenly spread. Only three girls formed a cluster in the left corner while ten girls, whose fingers had turned cyan blue, had already been sorted into the right corner. Alexsia’s heart thumped painfully, and her chest squeezed tightly as she stepped up to the stone basin and peered inside. She could hardly see her reflection in the pond of water within. She hesitated for a millisecond before outstretching her hand. She waited a few seconds as the bead of liquid gathered in the center of the faucet. When it had filled, it quivered gently before dropping onto her finger with a splash. She watched in fascination as her fingertip began to glow brightly and then fade into... lilac. She pulled away from the well, turning her hand over as the color slowly faded, and headed toward the opposite wall, to the two other girls already standing there. The line moved quickly after that, with only three more girls receiving colors. The last addition to their small, lilac group was a petite girl with blonde hair and blue eyes who stood a few feet away, astutely avoiding eye with the rest of them. “Alright-y,” Malena said, her tone too chipper. “Now that we have our three groups, it’s time for me to explain what your colors mean.” “All those who have been sorted into blue will be known as Workers.” Malena squealed with delight. “The Workers are the backbone of our entire ecosystem. Without them, none of you could be here. Workers will be further sorted into work sectors where they will perform everyday tasks, essential in running the various Cities.” “Please follow me,” she said, opening the door. “I will introduce you to Madame Cecilia, who will brief you further.” As the large group of girls were ushered out of the room, Miss Cardieux snickered, “I wouldn’t want that job.”

The brown-haired girl standing next to her frowned but did not say anything. Malena returned to the room a few seconds later and turned to the three girls whose fingers had turned green. Malena tutted, a look of disappointment crossing her lovely features. “You know why you are here,” she said, and the girls shuffled uncomfortably. “You have all committed suicide. It is a grave sin to take your own life. But here at the City, we believe in second chances. You will return to life on your home planets as neither solid nor gaseous, but energy beings taking the shape of your prior human form. You will live a solitary existence until it is deemed fit for you to return to your solid form. Once we are satisfied with your progress, you will return here, and the sorting will take place once more. While on your home planet you will not be allowed to communicate or interfere with humans at all. You may, however, communicate with Helpers. Madam Delia will explain more.” She once again stood by the door and waited for the girls to follow her. They did so begrudgingly. Alexsia bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she would want that fate either. When Malena returned for the third time, she gave them a proud smile. Not unlike the one she had given the Workers. She rubbed her hands in delight and sparks crackled against her palms. Alexsia took a step back involuntarily. “What a delightful turnout. Three more Helpers than we had last time,” she said cheerily. “You’re going to love it here.”

Chapter 3

Flynnigan Phelps hated the rain. He supposed he should thank the Heavens for the downpour, the first in two months and three weeks of what was predicted to be a four-month drought, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. The rain turned everything cold, wet, and muddy. The thought of stepping into the courtyard for his second meeting of the day was enough to make him shudder in disgust. He frowned, turning his attention away from the rain-streaked window and back to the speaker. Councilman Mullison, having just ended his presentation on the merits of sustainable fishing and outsourcing avenues, finally called for a vote. It felt as if the Councilman had droned on for hours if not days and Flynn wondered if everyone else at the table was guilty of tuning out Mullison’s voice and mentally escaping to better, more pleasant places, just as he had. Flynn cast his eyes at the King, seated at the head of the table. “Very well, Mullison. A compelling argument, indeed,” the King said. “You have my vote.” There were murmurs of agreement around the table as various Councilmen nodded their approval, as well. Mullison glanced around the table, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Very well, indeed, Your Majesty,” he said. “I will make the arrangements at once.” Mullison gathered his papers, bowed low to the King and excused himself from the Council Room. “Well, that’s that then,” the King said, dismissing the other Councilmen seated around the table. They began packing up, mumbling about the next meeting they had to attend. As

the crowd of Councilmen brushed past him on their way out, Flynn remained seated, continuing his rudimentary doodle of the plump Mullison, having given him a largely inflated body and tiny head. When the room had cleared, Flynn dropped his pen and turned narrowed eyes on his King. “Did you really think he made a – what did you call it - a compelling argument? Or were you merely sick of hearing the poor man speak, cousin, and wished to end all of our suffering?” Flynn asked and then smiled devilishly. Fenix slapped a hand over his heart in mock outrage. “How dare you question my integrity, Flynnigan? To think I would base a vital decision on the way a man’s voice sounds is beyond insulting. I would even go as far as to say that you are suggesting reckless abandon in performance of my duties.” Flynn grinned. “So, it was his voice, then.” Fenix smiled and shook his head. “The policy was good. We need more Councilmen on this board like Mullison. The rest of them are sheep, more concerned about lunch than the future of this Kingdom.” Flynn rolled his eyes and dragged himself off his chair. “Speaking of lunch...” “Don’t you have another meeting to attend?” Fenix interjected. Flynn groaned. “It’s pissing outside, cousin, I can’t possibly be expected to run to East Wing in this weather. Besides, I’m already late, as it is.” Fenix glanced at the clock above the mantel and shook his head at his cousin. “I suppose they can survive without you. Besides, there is a more pressing matter which requires your immediate attention.” Flynn took one look at his cousin’s expression and groaned. “It’s not more of this business with the Surs, is it? I told you, cousin, I won’t have it.” Fenix only smiled.

Malena escorted them into a separate antechamber. The words “Debrief Room” were spelled out in large letters above the door. The room was bare, save for a small table set in the center, at which a slight woman was already seated, her hands folded in front of her. Malena gestured for the girls to take seats around the table. Alexsia took a seat next to the blonde girl with the big blue eyes, which were currently threatening to spill tears. “Unfortunately, this is where I must part from you,” Malena said, casting a small smile at the remaining girls. “I leave you in the capable hands of Madame Bergusin. She will answer all your questions and oversee your training.” “Training?” The word was little more than a breath from the girl seated across from her. Malena smiled apologetically and slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind her with a faint click. Their heads turned toward Madame Bergusin, who did not smile at them. “I am sorry you have died,” Madame Bergusin began, not sounding very sorry at all. “But what you have been offered is a second chance. A chance to leave behind whoever you were, wherever you were, and begin anew. Being chosen as a Helper is the highest accomplishment one could wish to achieve. A Helper’s foremost task is simply...” she paused and looked each one of them in the eye...“to help. Being a Helper does not bestow any special gifts on you, but simply emphasizes what was already there to begin with. Were you skilled at medicines and remedies, you will find that you possess extraordinary healing abilities. Had you found yourself very comionate and caring, you will sense emotions as though they were a tangible essence bleeding out of every person you encounter.” The girls around the table were wide-eyed. “So,” she continued, “before we go and send you out into the world again, you will need to be trained.” “Into the world?” Alexsia couldn’t help her shock. “You mean to say that we are not to remain here?” Madame Bergusin turned a disapproving eye on her, unappreciative of the

interruption. “No, whatever could you possibly wish to remain here for? You have a chance to help someone. Really help someone in desperate need of it. Once you have completed your assigned task, then we can talk about your options.” She said the word as though it were dirty. “Any other questions?” Madame Bergusin snapped, threatening anyone else to question her. The other girls shook their heads fervently. Alexsia slumped back in her chair, thoroughly deflated. Madame Bergusin fished around the bag at her side, eventually drawing out four manila envelopes and ing them around. Alexsia picked out the one on which her name was neatly printed. “These packs contain information about your tasks. You need to memorize them. Your training begins tomorrow.” She stood up and headed for the door. “Someone will be by in a moment to show you to your quarters.” “Oh,” She paused at the door, as if she had just ed something. “Do try to take your training seriously. If you die out there, there’s no coming back.”

Flynn thought that he rather should have taken his chance in the rain as he halfheartedly followed his cousin to the West Wing Council Room, where he was to bear witness to the signature of the document which would singlehandedly bring ruin to his entire Kingdom. “It’s not too late to change your mind, cousin.” Flynn attempted to sway his King for the millionth time. “She hasn’t sunk her poisoned talons in just yet.” Fenix shook his head. “We’ve been through this before, Flynnigan. Give it a rest.” Flynn sighed, deeply. They had indeed been through this many times. But it was no longer his cousin, or oldest friend who walked beside him, but his King. Flynn nodded, he was not King, it was not his decision to make. It was Fenix’s burden, a King’s burden, to bear. And he had decided to bear it, for the sake of the future of his Kingdom, placing his own personal feelings aside, as a good King should. The soldier stationed outside the West Wing Council Room straightened upon their arrival and bowed before opening the door. Taria Sur lounged in a plush wingback chair, her greying father behind her, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. A servant boy stood a few feet away from the royals, cutting nervous glances between the royals in front of him and the heavily armed soldiers behind him, as though not quite sure to whom he should stand closer. Taria was dressed in regal finery, a crown of barbed wires, inlaid with pearl drops circled her head. Rumor had it, that the Crown of Thorns had been forged for Iocho Greywell, the first Queen of Arianon, by the Teriots - great evil beings who had roamed freely over Arianon, enslaving humans, before being banished in the First Wars. Fenix was unfazed as he bowed deeply to the newcomers. “Welcome to Arianon, Your Majesty,” he said. Benedict Sur, aside from being a ruthless and monstrous dictator, was a quiet, calculating man. He inclined his head toward Fenix and barely cast a ing glance over Flynn.

“We thank you for your invitation, King.” Flynn didn’t miss the slight barb in addressing Fenix as King, instead of Your Majesty. Equals, but never in the eyes of Benedict Sur. Taria cast her eyes lazily toward where Fenix stood, a cat eyeing a glass of milk. She uncrossed her legs slowly and stood, one hand on her father’s elbow. Her golden hair was bound down her back in swaths of silken rope, and she toyed one end of a braid as she smiled slowly, revealing a set of too-white teeth. “How lovely to meet again, Your Majesty, after so many years,” she drawled. Flicking her gaze to Flynn, she gave him a mock incline of her head. “Prince.” Flynn growled and Fenix nudged him in his ribs. Hard. “It is an honor to make your acquaintance after so many years, Princess. You have become more ravishing than all the pearls in the Hyacinth.” Fenix brushed his lips lightly against the hand she held out. Taria gave him a smile that sent shivers down Flynn’s back. “Enough with the niceties. Let’s get down to business,” her father snapped, clicking his fingers. The servant boy rushed forward quickly, a thick pile of papers in his hands. He handed the pages to Benedict, who grabbed them, casting a disparaging look at the boy. Benedict scanned the pages, flipping through them until the very end. He pulled a silver-tipped pen from his pocket and signed at the very bottom of the last page. He handed the pen to Taria, who, with a wicked smile, signed next to her father’s signature. She licked her lips slowly as she handed the papers to Fenix. Fenix smiled, not a hint of uncertainty on his face as he initialed next to Taria’s signature with a flourish. Flynn glared at his cousin, saw the pages land in front of him, but made no move to pick up the pen. Taria rolled her eyes. “We haven’t all day, Prince.”

Fenix narrowed his eyes at him, silently begging him not to make a scene. Flynn beheld the promise behind Fenix’s eyes that if he were to refuse his signature, his cousin would simply find another witness. Flynn sighed, grabbed the pen, and signed his Kingdom away.

The evening ed by in a blur. Shortly after Madame Bergusin left, a Worker clad in a blue uniform gave them a brief tour of the City and told them where to meet him when the dinner bell rang, before escorting them to their separate bedchambers. Alexsia’s room was small, but clean. A bed stood in the center, with a small desk and chair pushed up against its side. A chest of drawers was stacked at the foot of the bed, and when Alexsia opened it, she was surprised to find it stocked with undergarments, pants, and loose-fitting blouses. A small bathing chamber was attached to the bedchamber. She sighed at the sight of the deep tub she ached to crawl into and soak all her troubles away.

But there would be time for that later. Running her fingers through her long, dark har, she scooped the mass over a shoulder and stared at a wall. This was the first moment she had truly had to herself since arriving in this new world, to unravel her thoughts and unpack her emotions. If she was being completely honest, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt. She knew that she should be sad for the mortal life she had left behind but couldn’t bring herself to mourn that existence. Her mother had ed on. Truth be told, she hadn’t given much thought to what she would even begin to do with her life upon reaching Montreal. In a distant part of her mind, she supposed that she would have completed Finishing School and gone on to make a suitable marriage. But Madame Bergusin’s words had left her mind spinning. They had a chance she had a chance - to do something more. Be something more. Really make a difference in someone’s life. Knowing which dinner fork to use would hardly be of real help to someone, she scoffed to herself. So no, she was not particularly sad about her untimely death. At least in this new world, women appeared to have a certain degree of freedom. Perhaps it would

not be so bad. Perhaps she may even seek out her mother once she finished her task. Her mother had ed on and would surely have gone through the same process she was going through herself. All of a sudden, the thought slammed into her like a ton of bricks. My mother could be in this very City, at this very moment. She stood up so quickly she felt her head rush. Even if she was here, in this City, where would she begin to look? From what she had seen on her brief tour earlier, the entire place was a labyrinth of halls and ageways, metal boxes which lifted people straight into the air and staircases that moved. It was a wonder and an entirely unfamiliar world. No, she would get horribly lost if she were to venture out on her own now. She resolved to wait until the dinner bell rang to ask the Worker about where she might begin to search for her mother. She wondered, briefly, if her mother would be happy to see her or sad that she, too, had ed on. Happy, she decided. Her mother would be happy to see her. Her eyes landed on the sealed manila envelope she had discarded atop the small desk upon arriving in the bedchamber. Grabbing it, she sat on the corner of the bed and lifted the wax seal. Several pages fell out, along with a small ring, of sorts. She tossed the ring over and laid it flat on her palm. It was clearly a man’s ring, the band being slightly thicker than one you would expect to see on a woman’s ring. The band curved upward to reveal a round face, etched with a diagram of a tree. Tiny pearlescent shards flecked the leaves of the tree and glimmered in the catch of the light, making it appear as though there were tiny faeries hidden amongst the branches. Alexsia carefully laid the ring on the bed and picked up the first sheet of paper.

Hera Ieves blew a wavy lock of pale green hair out of her face as she angled her head under the bookshelf. She sneezed for the third time, as a handful of dust stuffed its way up her nose. Blinking rapidly against the tears welling in her eyes, she rocked back on her knees, dusting the grime off her hands. “They don’t pay me enough for this,” she muttered, staring up at the missing spot on the bookshelf. She stood up slowly, wincing as she felt her knees pop. “Twenty years old but you grumble like a forty-five-year-old. In fact, that’s an insult. I don’t even hear them grumble the way you do, child.” Hera rolled her eyes as the head librarian hobbled her way around the bookshelves. Petra was nearly eighty-six years old and, having never married or had children of her own, the Royal Library was her first and only love. “Oh, Petra,” Hera said in mock relief. “It’s only you. For a second there I thought Freo Globym was carting around his bag of bones in the library again.” Petra’s eyes twinkled and she smiled mischievously. “I threatened to turn him into one of those bones he carries if he ever sets foot in my library again,” she said. Petra had been a Helper back in her day and a mighty powerful one at that. She retained a sliver of the great power she had once wielded, or so she threatened. Hera had never actually seen her use it. Why Petra had never chosen to go on, Hera doubted the old lady would ever tell her. Hera blew that damned curl out of her eyes and surveyed the bookshelf again. “I can’t seem to find Meyering’s Fifth Symposium.” “Oh,” Petra frowned. “That’s odd. Perhaps it’s in the archives.” Hera huffed. It wasn’t as though she hated working in the library. On the contrary, she loved being surrounded by the books, each one beckoning her toward another world. What she didn’t love was the dust; and she especially didn’t love the archive room. The archive room was older than the library itself, having originally been built as a storage locker for weapons, before the library was built on top of it. It was

always dusty, with books stacked high and precariously, one on top of the other. Little insects scuttled between holes in the walls and the pipes clanged with the sounds of rushing water as taps were opened and toilets flushed. There was no filing system or any semblance of order, as there was in the library. Books were simply placed wherever one could find the space to slot them. In short, it was a mess, one Hera had been avoiding, just as the other assistant librarians before her. “Well, I don’t suppose we could just leave it down there?” she suggested. Petra’s frown deepened. “It was worth a try.” Hera shrugged. She grabbed her satchel and headed for the archive room.

Fenix Arbora stumbled into a supply closet and gripped the edge of a cabinet so tightly his knuckles went white. His breathing turned labored and sweat dripped down his brow. Distantly, he ed the steps he should be taking. Deep breaths, count to ten, then do it again. It was a mantra he repeated on occasions like these. Occasions which were becoming more and more frequent. But this time was different. His breathing was ragged, he felt light-headed. He knew if he did not control his breathing, he would faint. It had happened before, just once, three weeks ago and, mercifully, while he had been alone in his bedchamber. He reached deep inside and grabbed for the thread that would ground him. He focused on taking one long, shuddering breath, then another and another. His eyes shuttered as he licked his dry lips and fought against the urge to vomit. Slowly, so slowly, his breaths returned to normal. He sank to the floor, not even ing the deep cut across his palm from where the metal of the cabinet had bit into him. He closed his eyes as he leaned his clammy forehead against the wall. He stayed like that for several minutes, willing himself to remain calm and keep his breathing steady. With a last shaky breath, he opened his eyes and surveyed the damage to his hand. Ripping a strip of fabric off the end of his shirt, he wrapped it around his palm and stood. He tucked the end of his shirt into his pants, wiped at his damp brow with a sleeve and pasted a smile onto his face as he stepped out of the closet.

Hera Ieves was on her way back from the archive room, Meyering’s Fifth Symposium under her arm and black grime coating her hands when she spotted the King slipping into one of the West Wing supply closets. She lingered by the stairwell, watching the door of the closet for a few minutes and was just about to walk away when the door opened, and he stepped out. He was smiling faintly, hands tucked into his pockets casually as he strolled off in the opposite direction. Hera wondered if she might see a young maiden emerge from the closet next. “The Heavens really took their time on him, didn’t they?” Greta Obern slouched against the wall; eyes fixated on Fenix’s retreating form. Hera chuckled lightly. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be helping Madame Coltry with her herbs?” Hera asked. “She let me out for the day.” Greta shrugged. Hera surveyed her friend. “She did not.” “Alright, she didn’t,” Greta confessed. “She thinks I’m out looking for blubaine right this very moment,” she said, winking conspiratorially. Hera shook her head and continued toward the spiral staircase. “Where are you going?” Greta asked, pouting slightly. Hera angled the book toward her friend. “Petra’ll have my head if I don’t put this back.” “I’ll come with you,” Greta beamed and looped her arm through Hera’s. “Besides, I’ve got the latest scoop.” Hera tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and turned to face her friend. If anything happened within the Palace, Greta, who spent most of her time working with the healers, was always the first to know. Hera wasn’t sure how the healers managed to concoct any remedies or cure any ailments with the amount of gossiping that went on in the North Wing.

“Well, out with it then,” she nudged her friend, lightly. “Benedict Sur is here,” Greta announced. “And he brought his brat of a daughter with him.” Hera stopped dead in her tracks. She felt as though a bucket of ice had been poured over her head. Benedict and Taria Sur were here? In the Palace? “What are they doing here?” she whispered, her hands and feet suddenly very cold. “They haven’t set foot in Arianon in over a decade.” Greta grinned gleefully, obviously pleased at herself in having discovered such a juicy piece of gossip that no one had yet heard. “Word has it, they’re concluding a business transaction.” She paused for dramatic emphasis and Hera nudged her again. “You should see the Prince, he’s in a dreadfully foul mood. The King has just agreed to marry Taria Sur.”

Chapter 4

Alexsia held out the first page. It was a photograph of a ridiculously handsome young man. Thick brown waves fell carelessly over his forehead; and his eyes were the color of leaves on the first day of Spring. In small text, under the photograph were the words Portrait of Fenix Arbora. Fenix Arbora. This man was her task? She was supposed to help him? She shook her head, as if to clear the daze that had overcome her and flipped to the next page. The page was filled with text and, from a quick scan, appeared to contain information about him. Fenix. King Fenix Arbora. He was a King for Heaven’s sake. What use could he possibly have for her? The panic settled on her chest as she continued to read. Crowned a mere nine months ago, on his 24th birthday, he inherited a dying Kingdom - Arianon. Alexsia felt the word roll off her tongue. The Kingdom fell on but one of the continents in the much larger world of Vessus. It was steepled in history and magic and all manner of creatures dwelt within its borders, ranging from the ocean-dwelling and mostly peaceful, nymphs, to the much darker creatures who resided in shadows and caverns, well, those that still remained. Many of the darker creatures had been banished in the early wars to a prison of sorts, run on what was called the Resources. The Resources fueled everything on Arianon, Alexsia learned. They were harvested from minerals which developed deep within the soil and were used for everything from running Portals to boiling water. Alexsia’s head spun. Despite the abundance of information on Arianon, she still wasn’t entirely sure why she was needed. She sorted the pages back into their correct order and placed them back into the manila envelope, along with the ring. She gathered her hair into a long braid and paced the length of the room, coming

to a stop in front of the small mirror which hung above the basin in the bathing chamber. Dark blue eyes stared back at her. She closed her eyes, took a breath, and splashed some cold water on her face. It helped, but just barely. Distantly, she heard a faint bell ringing. Dinner. She grabbed a soft towel from the cabinet under the basin and patted her face dry. Then, with renewed determination, she turned on her heels, strode out the door and bumped straight into one of the girls from the sorting. “I’m so sorry,” she said, gripping the girl’s elbow to steady her. A proper look at the girl told her that it was the blonde girl she had sat next to in the Debrief Room, the one who had looked as though she had desperately wanted to cry but had, through some force of sheer will, managed not to. But one look at the girl’s now red-rimmed eyes told her exactly what had happened after they had been left in the privacy of their separate bedchambers. She was about to ask the girl if she was alright when she spotted the Worker who had escorted them to their rooms earlier. He was standing at the end of a ageway, which opened up into a larger room. Alexsia could see rows and rows of long wooden tables and benches stacked within the space, and what looked to be a buffet displayed across the end of the hall. She cast an apologetic look at the girl, deciding that she would introduce herself later, before cutting a beeline for the Worker, who, she noted, was now surrounded by several other young girls. He was speaking gently to a softly crying girl as she neared. She waited until they finished their conversation, and another Worker escorted the girl to one of the benches within the hall, before approaching him. “Good day,” she said. “I was hoping that you would be able to escort me to Madame Bergusin’s chambers.” The man surveyed her, a look of confusion crossing his features. “Madame Bergusin?” he asked. “Yes,” she said. “You escorted us from the Debrief Room earlier today. Madame Bergusin had left shortly before you arrived.”

“Ah,” he said, eyes lighting in recognition. “You must mean Clara, yes? You must forgive me; it has been a long day.” She gave him a small smile. “It is quite alright.” “I’m afraid that Clara does not reside within the City. She will return tomorrow morning. If you have any pressing issues, you may direct them to me.” He gestured toward himself. Alexsia frowned slightly. “Well, alright.” She wrung her hands in front of her, suddenly very aware of the crowd of people surging past them toward the hall and the group of girls standing a slight distance away, awaiting their turn to speak to the Worker. “It’s a bit of a private matter. Would it be possible to discuss this somewhere less... crowded?” The Worker glanced around, as if also just realizing how busy the ageway was. He clicked his tongue, as he considered her request. “I will remain at my table after dinner has ended, but only for a few moments. The dinner hall tends to clear out quite quickly these days.” Alexsia nodded and thanked him, but he had already turned toward the next crying girl. She blew out a quick breath and made her way into the hall, angling toward the buffet. The buffet seemed to start at the righthand corner, at a table piled with metal trays, and end at the left. Alexsia grabbed one of the metal trays and ed the line where she received helpings of a wonderful smelling stew and soft bread rolls. She took a glass of water and a set of cutlery from the table at the far left before making her way down the rows of tables, searching for an empty seat. Spotting the girls from her sorting seated around a table, she gestured to the empty spot with her tray and asked, “Do you mind if I sit here?” The girls looked up at her in unison, and the one on the far left smiled, “Of course not.” Alexsia returned her smile, placed her tray onto the table and sat down. “I’m Cetta,” the girl said. And this is Klia,” she gestured to the blonde girl from

earlier. “And Margaux.” The beauty she had known as Miss Cardieux gave her a bright smile before turning back to her plate. “I’m Alexsia,” she replied. “It’s lovely to meet you all.” Klia gave a small nod, without looking up. “So, where are you from, Alexsia?” Cetta asked, clearly the more talkative of the bunch. “Uhm, I was born in Liverpool.” Cetta’s brows wrinkled in confusion. “I’m not sure I’ve heard of that planet.” “It’s on Earth, Cetta,” Margaux supplied. She glanced at Alexsia. “I’m from Normandy. Cetta and Klia both come from Heroesal. It’s about 240 billion light years away from Earth, right?” She looked to Cetta for confirmation. “242 billion light years,” Cetta said, scooping some stew up with her spoon. Alexsia broke a piece of bread off her roll and rotated it idly between her thumb and forefinger. “What was it like there?” she asked, popping the bread into her mouth. Klia sighed and looked ahead wistfully, her eyes beginning to gloss over. “Oh, it was beautiful,” Cetta said, around a mouthful of stew. “We lived in the mountains, my brother and I.” Alexsia glanced at her just in time to see Cetta quickly dab at her eyes with the corner of a sleeve. Then Cetta smiled. “It was a hard life, but we were together. When the storm came seven months ago, I lost Caleb. I was so upset with the world for taking away the only thing I had left. When it came again, I was so angry that I let it take me too. But arriving here, seeing the life that awaits us beyond, I never believed that I would ever feel true happiness again. To know that Caleb was also given a second chance... that he is still somewhere in this great, big world. Well, it gives me the strength to go on.” Alexsia felt a great, deep emotion stir within her. Even Klia had stopped staring off into the distance long enough to focus on Cetta’s story.

Margaux laid a hand gently on Cetta’s arm. “You will meet him again.” Cetta nodded, her lower lip quivering slightly. “I spoke to Madame Bergusin earlier this afternoon. Of course, I wanted to track Caleb down right away, but she told me that we need to complete our training first. We are then to be sent to provide aide to our subjects.” She cast a conspiratorial look at them. “She said that she often receives these queries, from Helpers who have lost loved ones and wish to be reunited, but we have a duty first and foremost to assist those who are in need. She told me that nothing comes freely and that we have been gifted with strange and wondrous magic that must not be wasted. In order to be granted a place within the City, we are to make great sacrifices in repayment for the second chance we are offered.” Cetta pushed her tray away, discarding the dregs of her stew. “Once I have completed my task, I will be free to find Caleb.” Alexsia glanced down at her untouched stew. She supposed she had the answer to her question now. She would train, she would go to Arianon and meet the King and then, when it was all done, she would return to the City to find her mother.

Chapter 5

Flynn sat in the dining room, his fingers twitching at his sides as he continuously reminded himself that he must not hit women, he must not hit women, no matter how evil or vile they may be. Taria Sur had established herself in the Queen’s suite, despite not having yet married his cousin. Boxes and trunks and, Heavens, even Taria’s own personal handmaidens had been arriving from midday onwards. Fenix had simply smiled and asked what else he could do to make her stay more comfortable. Her father, Benedict, had quickly set sail for his own Kingdom across the seas, claiming far more important business to attend to than securing an allegiance between their two Kingdoms. Taria, it appeared, was to stay for as long as she needed to acquaint herself with the customs of Arianon and align their policies with those of her Kingdom. Although, having never visited Pneros himself, Flynn had heard the stories from those who had fled Taria’s Kingdom. He had heard that it was ruled through fear and suppression. That men were forced into hard labor and women and children taken as slaves. The word “dictator” was tossed around a lot where Benedict Sur was concerned. Flynn glared at his cousin. Fenix was seated next to Taria, his head angled toward her, a glass of wine tipped loosely in his hand, as he listened intently to whatever she was saying to him. He knew what his cousin had hoped to achieve with this alliance. It was true that they were in a precarious position with the Resources, and it was well known that Pneros was a wealthy, if not the wealthiest, Kingdom in Vessus. They possessed incredible technology that could very well create a sustainable solution for them, but Flynn just didn’t know if it was worth his cousin whoring himself and his Kingdom out to them. He had begged and cajoled Fenix to consider writing to the Lords and Lady of

the smaller Kingdoms scatted to the North, or even to Queen Vessia of the Southern Seas. Fenix had refused, insisting that the technology and wealth possessed by the Surs was unmatched and that it would be a waste of time to beg for the aid of smaller Kingdoms when it was clear to a half-wit that the Surs had long lusted over Arianon. Once their Kingdoms were ed, the Surs would have complete control over the Eastern and Western continents; their power and influence would be unrivaled. It would only be a matter of time, Flynn knew, until the Surs would wish complete dominance over the entirety of Vessus. And with the might of the Eastern continent behind them, it wouldn’t take a considerable amount of effort to conquer the Southern Seas and unseat the rulers of the already scattered Northern Kingdoms. So no, Flynn could not see how conferring this amount of power to these kinds of hands could ever be worth it. He continued to glower at the dinner plate in front of him, until he heard his name. He picked his head up, but Taria did not even bother to look at him as she continued speaking to Fenix as though Flynn were not there, seated directly across from her. “I know he is a trusted advisor of yours, but I think he would be better put to use in commanding the Naval Army,” she was saying. “What with his experience in the front lines, I think he would be an excellent addition.” He waited for his cousin to refuse, but Fenix merely smiled and nodded.

Grinding his teeth together so hard that he was surprised it did not draw blood, Flynn pushed away from the table and stood so fast his chair toppled over. Taria paused and leaned back slowly in her chair. “Is there a problem, Prince?” she asked, surveying him coolly. He glanced at his cousin. Fenix’s expression remained neutral, but he gave him a small, barely imperceptible shake of his head.

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling well, Your Majesty,” Flynn muttered. “Please accept my sincerest apologies, but I must beg your leave.” A snake’s smile danced its way across Taria’s lips. “Very well, off you go.” Flynn turned narrowed eyes on his cousin. “Fenix, a word before I depart. Privately,” he said, gesturing toward the door. Taria coughed delicately. “It’s quite rude, Prince, to leave a guest to eat dinner alone.” Flynn gave her a poisonous smile. “Well, Your Majesty, seeing as you’ve just become part of the family, I’d hardly call you a guest.” Taria’s snake’s smile widened. If she wanted to play a game, Flynn would play it too. Fenix, perhaps sensing the storm brewing, stood before Taria could form a reply. “I will only be a moment.” He brushed his lips lightly against her hand before walking out, Flynn on his heels. When the door was safely shut behind them, Fenix rounded on his cousin. “What do you think you’re doing? That kind of behavior is unacceptable, Flynnigan,” he seethed. “What am I doing?” Flynn fought to keep from screaming. “What are you doing? Whoring yourself out to the Surs like this. I have told you time and time again that there are other options, alternatives to this.” He gestured to the door. “I would have helped you. I can still help you find a way out of this. It makes me sick to see you grovel at the feet of Taria Sur, kissing her hand as though she will not think twice to turn this Kingdom into an army.” “It makes you sick, Flynn?” Fenix said, quietly. So quietly. “It makes you sick?” he repeated. “You don’t think I go back to my rooms, sick to my stomach, after every encounter I have with her? You don’t think I spend hours lying in bed at night, unable to sleep? You think I’m whoring myself out to the Surs, but you’re not King, Flynn.” He had never seen Fenix this angry.

“It’s easy for you to sit on your high throne as Prince and judge the decisions that I have made for my Kingdom, but when the choice is between an allegiance with a dictator, who can provide the resources and technology our people need to survive, or seeing my Kingdom fall into ruin, Flynn, then you’ll see that whoring yourself out becomes the lesser of two evils,” Fenix spat. “Fenix,” Flynn began, the anger subsiding at his cousin’s words. He had no idea. He had seen Fenix’s polite smiles and tolerance for the Surs and thought it a weakness. He had no idea what Fenix had been going through, playing at this game of charades. Fenix turned to head back into the dining room. Flynn grabbed at his cousin’s elbow, but he shook him off. “Fenix, wait.” Fenix paused and turned back to face his cousin. Flynn saw that the anger that had marked his face moments ago was gone, replaced with a bone weariness. He didn’t know how he had missed the dark circles that now bloomed above his cousin’s cheekbones, or the dullness in his once bright green eyes. “Just leave it, Flynn,” his cousin said and turned to enter the dining room, closing the door behind him with a quiet snick.

They were awoken the next morning at the crack of dawn. In fact, it was so early, dawn had not even broken yet. Bowls of porridge were slotted through a flap in their doors, along with a note telling them to get dressed, eat, and make their way to the dining hall. Having spent the better half of the evening last night soaking in the deep tub and poring over the information pack, Alexsia opted to just splash some cold water onto her face before dressing in a pair of pants and a light tunic. She slipped on a pair of sturdy, yet supple, shoes and laced them up before spooning mouthfuls of porridge into her mouth. She stepped out of her bedroom a second before Klia did. Having the room across from her, Alexsia caught a glimpse of Klia’s room before she shut the door quickly. Clothes had been strewn all over the floor, as though she had tipped out the contents of her chest of drawers. Klia’s eyes were still tinged with red, and her lips looked chapped and dried as though she had not eaten or drank anything in a while. Come to think of it, Alexsia had not seen her take a single bite out of her stew the previous day. Cetta and Margaux stepped out of their rooms, a little further down the ageway, at the same time Alexsia asked Klia if she was alright. The girl mumbled a small, “Yes,” before turning away and striding toward the dining hall. “What’s up with her?” Margaux said, falling into step beside Alexsia. She shrugged. Cetta appeared at Alexsia’s side and stared sadly at Klia. “She’s not adjusting well.” “Clearly,” Margaux scoffed. Hands in her pockets, she walked off, leaving Alexsia and Cetta to trail behind her. The dining hall was a blur of activity, even at this hour. Workers - so many Workers - were seated along the benches, having breakfast before they went about their various routines. None of them seemed concerned about the

approaching Helpers. In fact, as they stood there, at the outskirts of the dining hall, more and more young girls began approaching. Girls who looked as though they were no more than 15 years old, varying in shape, size and color. Klia shifted on her feet nervously, Margaux at her side, arms crossed and a disdainful expression on her face, raised her brows at the approaching girls. Once their small group had expanded until there were over thirty girls, standing in a loose line, shuffling their feet and casting furtive glances around them, a Worker appeared. It wasn’t the same Worker from the previous day, the one Alexsia had rushed to once the dinner bell had rung, to assure him that she no longer required his assistance. This Worker was female. She introduced herself as Colette and told them to follow her as she led them down ageway after ageway. Alexsia had been right not to venture out on her own. The City was indeed a maze of twists and turns and not all ageways were well lit. Some floors were under severe construction, and they would have dropped several leagues below had Colette not advised them to keep behind her at all times. They followed Colette to a large room, with high ceilings and wooden floors. Windows stretched from floor to ceiling, revealing a pale sun, just breaking over the horizon. The room was completely empty, save for several racks stacked against one wall. A number of girls were pointing toward the racks, whispering loudly amongst each other. Weapons, Alexsia realized upon closer look. The racks sported every kind of weapon known to man, and then some. There were bows and arrows, knives, both the throwing and hunting kind, and swords, guns strapped within holsters and a rather scary metal contraption, its use she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Alexsia took a small step away from the racks. Margaux, beside her, grinned like a wildcat. “Those that cannot see or hear me, please move closer,” Colette said, from her place at the head of the pack. There was a small shuffle as shorter girls made their way to the front.

Colette projected her voice a little louder. “Today we have a combined class. It is the first of many combined classes. We get many new Helpers each day, unfortunately we just don’t have the time or resources to give you individual attention.” Colette moved toward the racks of weapons, and they all moved with her. “This class is very important. Arguably one of the most important classes you will ever have. You need to pay attention, this class will save your life.” Colette pulled out the first weapon, a vicious looking spear. “Now, can anyone tell me what this is?” Colette went through each and every weapon, teaching them how to safely wield them and impressing the fact that the weapons were to be taken seriously, before moving onto less common weapons, such as everyday household items. As Colette taught them the various ways to inflict harm using cutlery, Alexsia realized, with much chagrin, that knowing the differences between dinner forks would, indeed, help someone. Colette taught them the basics of self-defense next. Where to strike an attacker if he crept up from behind them, how to gauge out eyes and where to kick, when the only weapon you had was yourself. Hours ed by with them listening and practicing. At some point, lunch was brought in. They all ate in near silence, having worked up quite the appetite. When Colette was satisfied with the progress they had made, the sun was already beginning its descent. She led them back to the dining hall, leaving them there with the promise that they would begin practicing how to use the weapons the next day. Several of the younger girls shrieked in delight at hearing that, before scuttling off to their various bedchambers. Alexsia rubbed at a sore spot between her shoulder blades. “What did you think about the class?” Cetta asked, appearing at Alexsia’s side. “It was very informative,” Alexsia said. Truth be told, she couldn’t picture herself kicking a man in his private area, let alone using any one of those horrifying weapons. In fact, she felt rather anxious. Before the class, she had imagined - well, she wasn’t quite sure what she had imagined, but this was not it.

The very fact that these people thought it necessary to teach them how to wield such ghastly weapons told her everything she needed to know about the kinds of dangerous situations they were about to be thrust into. Margaux, on the other hand, had loved every moment of the class. She had hung onto Colette’s every word and had, by far, demonstrated the most enthusiasm in gauging out the practice dummy’s eyeballs. In fact, she was walking ahead of them right now, whistling merrily, hands in her pockets and a spring in her step. “What about you?” Alexsia bumped her elbow against Cetta’s arm lightly. “Did you enjoy the class?” Cetta gave a small nod, but the shine had gone out of her eyes. “Caleb and I have had to fight for our survival for most of our lives,” she whispered. “Today’s class was nothing new.” Alexsia opened her mouth and then closed it. She didn’t know what to say and she certainly did not want to press the other girl. She hadn’t known Cetta for long, but she knew that Cetta was already one of the most honest and open people she had ever met. She had a feeling that once Cetta decided to trust her, they would be friends forever. She bid Cetta farewell as she reached her bedroom door, with a request to save her a seat at their dinner table later. She was closing her bedroom door when she saw Klia slip quietly inside her own room, shutting the door behind her. Alexsia had barely noticed Klia during the day’s class. She had kept so quiet and small the entire time that Alexsia had even forgotten that she was there. She wrestled with herself for a full minute before wrenching her door open again and striding across the ageway to Klia’s door. She lifted a hand, fingers curled, and was just about to knock when she heard Klia’s quiet, ragged sobs. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she turned and headed back to her room.

Chapter 6

They began the next day’s class with fencing. Before splitting them into groups, Colette doled out protective gear, masks, and weapons, which looked like swords but had extremely thin and narrow blades. Alexsia was paired with Margaux, who was sizing her up. “En garde,” Colette called out, naming the starting position they were to take. Alexsia gripped the hilt of her weapon, which Colette had called a foil, and angled herself uncomfortably in the proper stance. Colette walked amongst them, correcting their stances and grips on their weapons. “This is just practice, girls,” Colette called out, as she gave the signal to begin. “The goal is to parry, not best your opponent.” Margaux lunged and Alexsia deflected. “ your footwork, like we practiced,” Colette raised her voice above the rising din of grunts and groans. Alexsia felt the sweat already beginning to dampen her brow. She couldn’t even wipe it away with the thick gloves on her hands and mask over her face. Margaux was grinning as she continued to lunge and strike, Alexsia barely managing to deflect. Margaux jammed the point of her foil into the thick padding of the protective gear over Alexsia’s chest and she stumbled back. Margaux tapped the side of her foil against Alexsia’s neck. She was dead. Colette appeared at their side, watching. Alexsia stepped back into the starting position and narrowed her eyes at Margaux. Margaux gave her a good-natured smile before retreating into the starting position herself. And then she lunged. Alexsia whirled out of her path, her braid whipping against her back as she came to a sudden stop and struck. Margaux didn’t miss a beat. She thrust her foil up to meet Alexia’s in mid-air, her footwork impressive.

Alexsia stepped her right foot over her left. Margaux stepped her left foot over her right. Slowly, carefully. It was like a little dance. Margaux lunged, Alexsia parried, their blades running along each other as they moved. Alexsia was so lost in their duel that she did not notice the hush that fell over the room, or the circle beginning to form around her and Margaux. They circled each other, their blades whipping through the air and meeting in a clang. Margaux favored her left side, Alexsia noted as she lunged for her again, leaving her right side vulnerable. Deflecting the blow, she smiled. When Margaux lunged again, she was ready. Alexsia dodged the blow, the foil missing her by a quarter of an inch and tapped the side of her foil against Margaux’s right side. She was dead. The clapping roused Alexsia from whatever daze she had been in, and she looked around at the circle in surprise. Margaux pulled off her gloves and mask, tossing them to the floor. She stretched out a hand and Alexsia shook it. Colette nodded from her position on the side. “While that leaned more toward swordplay instead of fencing, you both displayed remarkable footwork. I did, however, instruct you to parry, not try to kill each other,” Colette tutted in disapproval, then turned to the other girls. “Can anyone tell me what Margaux did wrong?” Margaux lifted her hand sheepishly and a few girls giggled. “I left my right side open for attack.” Colette nodded. “And what did Alexsia do wrong?” The girls exchanged glances, confused. Then Klia spoke, her voice quiet. “Margaux beat her the first time. Alexsia let her pride and anger cloud her vision. She still doesn’t even realize that she’s standing right over a bomb.” Alexsia glanced down, ripping her mask off. Indeed, she was standing over one

of the small inactive disks Colette had placed around their training area earlier that morning to teach them to remain alert. She huffed in frustration as Colette nodded. “Always keep an eye on your surroundings. Never lose sight of where you are.” With that, Colette broke the circle apart, shooing the girls back to their own practice. Alexsia ran a hand over the pieces of hair that had fallen out of her braid and gotten stuck to her sweat-dampened skin, smoothing them back against her scalp. She collapsed onto the floor, pulling her knees up to her chest. Margaux crouched down beside her. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You won’t make the same mistake again. That’s why we’re here, in training, so that we can learn how to do better.” Alexsia glanced at the other girl. “How do you manage it?” she asked dully. Margaux’s brows drew together in confusion. “What? Training?” “No,” Alexsia rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “How do you stay so positive? So carefree? You’re always just strolling along, content with just being.” Margaux’s smile didn’t move as she stretched out her legs and braced her hands on the floor beside her. She was silent for so long Alexsia thought she was not going to respond, but then she said, “Because I am content with just being. After not being in control over my own body for the past four years, I am finally free.” Margaux’s eyes shifted to a pair of girls who were parrying. “I had been living on the streets of Normandy from the time I was ten years old. My mother was a drug addict who could never keep a job, my father had been dead for over eight years. One day, a man came looking for my mother, but she wasn’t there. He said she had a debt to repay and if she couldn’t fork out the cash then he supposed I would do.” Her eyes shuttered as she relived the memory. “He took me to a house filled with many other girls. At night, men would visit and do what men do best. I tried to escape, so many times, I tried…” her voice turned hoarse. “But I couldn’t. I never even got as far as the front door. It went on like that for four years, until the night I finally said enough was enough.” She

turned to Alexsia, eyes shining. “I grabbed a blade and I waited for the next man who would come through the door, vowing that I would never be violated again. But I was a weak young girl, and he was a man, used to preying on small, helpless women.” She shrugged. “Suffice to say I ended up here, thinking I had died but now realizing the endless stretch of freedom that awaits me. So, you tell me, Alexsia Solenia, why I should not be content with just being.” Alexsia stared at Margaux - beautiful, brave Margaux - in awe. “Did your mother ever look for you?” Margaux shrugged. “Hell if I know, or even care. She’s been dead to me for ages.” Alexsia dusted her hands and got to her feet, scooping her mask and foil up. Offering a hand to help Margaux up, she said with a grin, “Let’s go again.”

After lunch, steaming piles of veggies and steak, Colette escorted them to another room, one level above their training room. This room was a far cry from the other one and barely had any space for free movement. The space was filled with wooden desks and plastic chairs. Dog-eared books, glass orbs and vials filled with pastel-colored liquids adorned bookshelves and cabinets. Colette stepped past the threshold and motioned for them to follow. “Please, find a seat. Madame Bergusin will be arriving in just a moment.” Alexsia slipped into the seat next to Cetta. “How was fencing?” she asked. “Miserable,” Cetta moaned. “I had Klia for a partner. It was like fencing with a wall.” Alexsia chuckled, but then her smile faded as she ed Klia’s broken sobs through the door. She bit her lip. “Do you think we’ve been unkind to her?” “What do you mean?” Cetta asked. “Well,” Alexsia lowered her voice, leaning closer to Cetta so no one would hear her. “I heard her crying yesterday, after class.” Cetta cleared her throat and looked around. Spotting Klia on the other side of the room, next to Margaux, she said, “Listen, Klia’s not adjusting well. She had a life before. She had a husband and a baby. She was happy.” Alexsia drew in a breath. She hadn’t known. She knew Klia was her age, but she looked so young to have a baby. To be taken away from a loving home and family, knowing that they grieved her death while she was still alive, in some way, but unable to go back to them, Alexsia imagined that it must be worse than dying itself. Cetta rolled her eyes. “I felt sorry for her too when I found out, but then I realized that she’s not the only one who’s died. We’ve all died, we all had lives and loved ones, but you don’t see anyone cutting us any slack, do you?” Alexsia shook her head. Cetta, harsh as it was, had spoken the truth. If Klia did

not let go of her past life and find some way to adjust to this new existence, she did not know what would become of her. Just as Alexsia was about to ask Cetta if she knew how Klia had died, Madame Bergusin walked in, her long cloak swishing as she strode to the front of the room. Alexsia supposed it was a good thing she hadn’t asked Cetta. She didn’t think it was an entirely appropriate question or any of her business. If Klia wanted to tell her, she would. Madame Bergusin removed her cloak with a flourish and draped it across the back of a chair, before taking a seat. She crossed her legs and lifted a palm. There were gasps and shouts and the sound of chairs scraping back as some of the younger girls leaned forward to better see the tiny ball of liquid drifting above Madame Bergusin’s palm. It was there and then it was gone. Disappearing in the blink of an eye, as though it were a mere hallucination or trick of the light. Then, a girl shrieked as it appeared behind her friend’s ear. It travelled across Margaux’s desk next and then appeared above Cetta’s head, before dropping back into Madame Bergusin’s palm, with a wet splash. Madame Bergusin shook the water droplets off her palm and turned to face them with no hint of a smile on her face. “This was just a fraction of my power. No doubt a fraction of the power each of you possess. Today, you will discover your power.” Madame Bergusin flicked a finger and a stack of shallow metal dishes floated from their place atop the bookshelves to land in front of each girl. The vials of colorful liquids followed next. “If you would please all spill the contents of the vials, gently, into your bowls,” Madame Bergusin said. “It works much like Sorting, only instead we will be peering into the very depths of your souls.” Alexsia unscrewed the cap of her vial and poured it into the dish in front of her, marveling as the shimmering liquid pooled to each end of the dish and settled. “As I explained to you all the very first time we met, your power is not a random force plucked out of nowhere, it derives from within you,” Madame Bergusin said. “It is rare for a Helper to have more than one power, the most common of which are Elementals. You will find that personality types influence Elemental powers greatly. A more ionate and tempered person will find themselves

possessing the power to draw fire, while a more quiet, reclusive person will be gifted with water.” At this, she drew that tiny ball of water again. “A grounded person will be in touch with root magic, while the free-willed will command the attention of the wind and the skies.” Madame Bergusin paused, cutting them a fierce glare. “This does not mean that you can go around setting fires to forests and causing torrential downpours. There are limits to your magic. Stretch yourselves too far and you will feel the consequences, not on your body, but your mind. Push your magic too far and it will begin to feed on your brain, until there is nothing left of you but an empty shell.” Alexsia turned to Cetta, who gave her a concerned look in return. “But if you use your powers properly, you’ll be fine,” Madame Bergusin said cheerily. “What happens to Helpers who use their powers to do bad things?” a small voice from the back of the classroom called out. “You will kindly raise your hand when you wish to speak,” Madame Bergusin said sternly, but answered the question. “We have measures in place to deal with Helpers who abuse their powers. Hopefully, none of you will ever have to deal with our Enforcers.” Another hand raised slowly. “Yes?” Madame Bergusin said, turning to the girl seated behind Margaux and Klia. “How many powers do you have, Madame?” she asked, in a timid voice. “Two,” Madame Bergusin responded, flicking a tendril of the girl’s hair with the wave of a finger. “And that brings me back to our lesson. I will thank you to keep all further questions for the end of class.” she said, as another girl raised a hand. “Do you all have your dishes in front of you?” There was a murmured yes throughout the room. “Alright then, we can begin.” Madame Bergusin stood up and made her way to

the first desk. “I’d like you all to take your left hand and place it into the liquid. Let it rest for five seconds and then remove it. What you will be left with will be an impression code and a percentage. Let’s begin now.” Alexsia and Cetta shrugged at each other, lifted their left hands and dunked them into the liquid. It was cold and tingled at her skin. The liquid formed an impression around each finger, hardening with each second. After five seconds she lifted her hand. What was left in the dish was a mold of her hand, three codes engraved within:

PTL HLR TLK “How come you have three?” Cetta frowned, leaning over to look at Alexsia’s imprint. “And where are your percentages?” Cetta’s own mold just had one code – RT - the percentage next to it reading 100. Alexsia shrugged. There were breathy oohs and ahs from the girls all around them as each of them received their own codes. Madame Bergusin was doing rounds at each table, commenting on the codes. “Ah, our first fire Elemental,” she said to a petite girl, seated at the very front. “Water, water, fire, 15% root and 85% telekinesis,” she said in approval. She went on through the tables until she landed at Margaux’s desk. “Wind,” she smiled down at Margaux, the first genuine smile Alexsia had seen her display. Margaux beamed. “Fire,” Madame Bergusin said to Klia, who started and shoved her hands below her desk, as though afraid she might suddenly combust. Madame Bergusin shook her head. “You must not fear it or it will control you.” Klia stared at her in wide-eyed terror and Madame Bergusin shook her head once more before moving to the next table. Reaching their desk, she surveyed Cetta’s

mold and said, “Root,” before moving to stand behind Alexsia. She heard Madame Bergusin suck in a sharp breath as she reached for her mold. “A Silver,” she murmured, in barely concealed awe. “Silvers are what we call those who are gifted with more than two powers, none of them being Elemental,” she said more loudly, as she placed the mold back in front of Alexsia and turned to face the others. “It’s very rare to have more than two powers, even more so when none of them are Elemental.” She cast a strange look at Alexsia. “I’m sorry,” Alexsia said. “But what do they mean? The codes?” Madame Bergusin clicked her tongue. “Silvers are gifted with equal amounts of each power. HLR - that’s a healer. You should be able to stitch back some nasty wounds and remove quite a few toxins from the body. Telekinesis, I’d wager you can lift a table, maybe…” she titled her head. “But the real winner is this,” she said, pointing to the first code. “Portal.” She gave a chuckle that had no real warmth in it. “There hasn’t been a portal power for 70 years.” All eyes in the room, turned to her. Cetta was staring at her as though she had grown a second head, Margaux was... well, Margaux was grinning. Alexsia felt her ears heat. “It’s an equal power so, with some practice, you should be able to move between locations and transport things to you. As long as you’ve seen it before. Nothing too big though, maybe the size of a chair.” Alexsia gaped at her. Transport items, lift tables, stitch wounds? This was all too much. She needed a paper bag or some fresh air. “Don’t worry,” Madame Bergusin said, seeing her grey face. “We’ll teach you how to safely use and control it.” She didn’t have time to protest or request that she be excused as Madame Bergusin had already moved on to the next table and recommenced calling out the various Elemental codes. There were no other Silvers.

Once everyone had received their codes, Madame Bergusin called it a day. The sun had already dipped below the horizon when she escorted them back to the dining hall. She left them there without a farewell. Cetta grabbed her elbow and spun her around to face her. “This is crazy,” she said. “I’m so jealous. I don’t even know what root power is.” Alexsia rubbed her eyes and headed for the back of the buffet line to grab a tray. Dinner had already begun an hour ago. Cetta and Margaux followed her, grabbing trays of their own. “Don’t be,” Alexsia said. “I wish I only had one power.” Cetta and Margaux exchanged looks that said they thought she was crazy. “Where’s Klia?” Margaux said, suddenly, looking around for the girl. “Probably crying in her room,” Cetta said. Margaux sighed, “We should find a way to cheer her up.” “Why?” Cetta said, curling her lip in distaste. “Because she’s our friend.” “Is she?” Cetta raised a brow. “Yes,” Margaux said firmly. “Let’s go talk to her after dinner,” Alexsia suggested. “Maybe if she knows what we’ve all been through, she won’t feel so alone.” Cetta and Margaux nodded. After a quick supper, with everyone sore and aching for a much-needed bath, they trooped toward Klia’s bedchambers. Margaux rapped softly at the door. After several seconds of silence, Margaux knocked again, and said “Klia, please open up, it’s only us. We just want to talk.”

They waited a full minute with no answer. Cetta looked at them in dismay. Margaux bit her lip and knocked again. When there was still no answer, she twisted the doorknob and gently pushed the door. “We’re coming in, okay?” she called out as the door swung open. Cetta screamed. Klia lay in a pool of blood on the floor, her forearms slashed from wrist to elbow. Discarded a few feet away, lay a steak knife.

Chapter 7

Hera lay sprawled across the plush sofa at the foot of Greta’s bed, a book propped against her thighs. “I have no clothes,” Greta grumbled, rifling through her closet. Hera turned the corner of the page she had been reading, to mark her spot, and swiveled to face her friend. “You have more clothes than me and Aeryn combined,” she said, naming Greta’s twin sister, a member of the Royal Guard, who was currently accompanying the Prince’s father, Adrian Arbora, on a diplomatic visit to Lord Aisel of the North. Greta huffed, sliding through hanger after hanger, each beholding a more beautiful dress than the one before it. Hera shook her head and turned back to her book. “I wish you would come tonight. It’s not as though she’s going to suddenly recognize you,” Greta said. Hera’s nostrils flared slightly. “I already told you,” she said, forcing her tone to remain neutral. “I’m not going.” Greta grumbled and then came to sit next to her friend, scooting her legs up so that she had room to sit. She gazed at her thoughtfully. “Just change your hair and you’ll be fine. I think Petra would like it if you went.” Hera closed her eyes. She could still smell the burning flesh and see the orange flames, a memory from a lifetime ago. Hera was part nymph. Part, as in, their line had gotten so diluted that the only magic she retained was the ability to change her hair color. She had lived quite

happily on Pneros for the first eight years of her life, until the Surs had ordered the hit on anyone with even the slightest hint of magic in their veins. She had been smuggled out of the Pneros in the back of a produce van, with several other children, the night the soldiers had come for them. She had crossed oceans before her ninth birthday and had wound up in Arianon, stealing from vendors when they weren’t looking and swiping pies left to cool on windowsills. She hadn’t seen her family since. Petra had taken her in one night, two years after she had escaped from Pneros, having seen her rifling through the garbage for the half-eaten apple a commuter had thrown away. She had petitioned to the Council to let Hera stay with her and work as her assistant in the library. Hera loved the old lady like her own grandmother, but she just wasn’t sure if she was ready to sit through the festivities being held in the Great Hall, in honor of Taria Sur, and pretend that their family had not destroyed hers. She shook her head adamantly. She didn’t know what the engagement between Taria and Fenix meant for their Kingdom, but she had a feeling, deep in her bones, that it was no good. Arianon was home to many magical creatures, nymphs being the least of concern. If Taria were to bring her policies on magic to the Kingdom, there wouldn’t just be bloodshed, there would be an outright war. Fenix did not appear to care much for power, but she had no idea what kind of game he was playing when the balance of so many lives hung on this alliance. Greta rolled her eyes and stood up. “I think I’ll wear the blue gown; it makes my boobs look great; don’t you think?”

Alexsia stared blankly at the peeling paint in the corner of the wall. She had been sitting outside Maria’s office for so long her butt was beginning to go numb. Margaux had been called in to the office shortly after Cetta had given her statement to a vicious looking man, wearing a harsh suit. An Enforcer, she had heard Cetta whisper, upon his arrival. Cetta’s blood curdling scream had sent the Workers, who had lingered in the dining hall after they had finished their dinners, to come running. After that, it was a blur of activity. Maria was called in, had taken one look at Klia’s prone body on the floor and the steak-knife lying next to her and called in the Enforcer. They were ushered away from the bedchambers and dining hall, up a set of stairs and past several offices before finally reaching Maria’s. Margaux and Alexsia had been ordered to wait outside while the Enforcer took Cetta’s statement. Thirty minutes later, Alexsia was still seated on the hard plastic chair, chilled by the cool breeze drafting through the hallway, the skin around her fingernails picked raw. Cetta had been released fifteen minutes ago and had been escorted straight back to her bedroom by a Worker, her glossy eyes the only sign of communication as she had walked past. She couldn’t believe that Klia - quiet, timid Klia - had done that to herself. She had known that Klia was unhappy, they had all known. But she never expected her to do this. She had just thought that Klia would adjust in her own time. What had she even done to herself anyway? She was already dead, Alexsia supposed she couldn’t possibly die again. Could she? Alexsia startled as the door beside her opened with a squeal and Margaux stepped out, escorted by another Worker. She met Margaux’s eyes as she exited the office and was surprised at the emptiness in her usually vibrant gaze. “You may come in now, Miss Solenia,” Maria called from within the office. Alexsia stood up slowly, stretching her limbs out and walked into the office. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched behind a long, mahogany desk yawning its way across the office. Maria and the Enforcer were seated behind the desk, piles of papers stacked in front of them, along with some sort of boxed, metal device.

A Worker stood silently in the corner of the room; his face drawn. “Good evening, Miss Solenia,” Maria said. Her hands were folded in front of her, a saccharine smile on her face. “You may take a seat.” She gestured toward the chair placed in front of the desk. The Enforcer did not smile, he did not speak, he did not even so much as narrow his eyes at her. His arms were folded across his board chest, his face a neutral mask. Alexsia almost tripped on her own two feet as she made her way across the office and seated herself in the chair. Her heart had suddenly sped up and her palms had become sweaty. She wiped them surreptitiously on her pants. She wasn’t a suspect, she knew, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was under interrogation. The Enforcer’s eyes tracked her every movement, down to the fingers she was currently wringing in anxiety. Maria clicked a button on the device, and it began whirring softly. “Oh, don’t worry about that,” Maria said, catching her gaze. “It’s just going to record our conversation so that we can listen to it again later, if we need to.” Maria rifled around the papers on her desk. “Do you know this woman?” she asked, holding up a colored photograph of a laughing woman, her pale hair shimmering in the catch of the light, as the baby in her arms slept. Klia. But not Klia. She had never seen Klia smile the way she was smiling in that photograph. She had certainly never seen Klia laugh. Alexsia nodded, unable to speak through the lump in her throat. She didn’t even want to know how they had gotten that photograph, or what photographs they had of her, or of Margaux and Cetta. “Can you please tell us who this is?” Maria pressed, still holding the photograph. “It’s Klia,” Alexsia said, unsticking her tongue from the roof of her mouth. She didn’t understand why they were asking her this.

Maria nodded, satisfied at her answer. “And can you tell me where you were tonight?” Alexsia looked between Maria and the Enforcer, confused. What exactly were they asking her? Maria dropped the picture. “Don’t worry. These are standard questions we have to ask when something like this happens.” When these pesky little Helpers slit their wrists, without thinking of who is going to clean up the mess, were the words she hid behind her smile. “Just answer the question, Miss Solenia,” she prodded. “It’s Alexsia,” she said, automatically and Maria’s smile faltered. She folded her hands together and leaned back in her chair. Waiting. Alexsia took a deep breath. “We were with Madame Bergusin until well after dinner had already begun. We were escorted back to the dining hall once class had finished. We decided to eat dinner before heading back to our rooms.” “And where was Klia during this time?” Maria asked, leaning forward in her seat. “I don’t know,” Alexsia rubbed at her burning eyes. She had been up for so long, had had such a long day. “Margaux noticed that she wasn’t with us in the line. I suggested we visit her after dinner to make sure she was okay.” “And why would you think she wasn’t okay?” “Well, everyone knew she wasn’t okay,” Alexsia said, fighting to keep from rolling her eyes. “You could tell just by looking at her that she hadn’t adjusted yet. She was very unhappy.” “Ah,” Maria said, leaning back again. “And after dinner, you went straight to her bedroom?” Alexsia nodded. “And what made you open her door?”

Alexsia shrugged. “Margaux knocked a few times, but she didn’t answer.” Maria nodded and scribbled something down on the notepad in front of her. “And what did you see when you opened the door?” The image flashed through her head again and she had to inhale deeply through her nose to stop herself from gagging. She closed her eyes. “Klia. Dead. On the floor.” “And how did you know she was dead? Did any of you go inside the room and touch her?” Alexsia’s eyes snapped open. “Of course not,” she ground out. “We knew she was dead because her wrists were opened to her elbows.” Maria’s brows raised. The Enforcer had still not moved an inch. “Alright, Miss Solenia,” Maria said, flipping her notebook closed. “I think we’ve covered everything.” She pushed her chair back. “What’s going to happen to her?” Alexsia said softly. “To Klia.” Maria sagged against her chair, her eyes betraying a hint of emotion. “To her body?” Maria asked, knowing that’s not what she meant. Alexsia was silent. Maria glanced at the Enforcer, who finally uncurled his arms from his chest, but made no move to answer. “Klia has committed a cardinal sin,” Maria said. “When you arrive here, at the City of Lost Souls, it means that you have lost your tether to the mortal world. But you are kept alive in this form, through your soul’s tether to the Heavens the birthplace of your soul, where the very essence of your being was formed, nurtured, and kept safe until your human body was ready.” Maria bit her lip as though unsure she should even be telling her this. “By forsaking her solemn duty, Klia cut her soul’s tie to the Heavens, the only thing that was still keeping her anchored to this world.”

Alexsia swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. “Klia’s soul will be denied age through the Heavens,” Maria continued. “She will never see her husband or child ever again. Her soul will drift through the Ether, and it will feed on her until she no longer re her name or that she ever even had a family. Until she is fully consumed.” She wondered if the others had also asked this of Maria. Of course, they had. Maria surveyed her once and then clicked a button on the metal box. The sound instantly stopped, leaving in its wake a horrible silence. The Enforcer’s face was stony and unfeeling as he gestured to the Worker to escort her out. The Worker walked to her on silent feet and placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. She startled, shaking herself out of her reverie. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t even begin to process Maria’s words. She heard Maria thank her for her time and invite her to stop by her office anytime she needed to talk, but it was as though she were hearing from behind layers of glass. She let the Worker escort her from the office, past the ageways and down the staircase, but it didn’t feel as though she were truly inside her body. All she could think of was Klia. How unhappy she had been, wishing for nothing more than the pain to stop. Unknowing of what awaited her on the other side. Had Alexsia knocked on her door that day she had lingered outside, listening to her sob, instead of turning away, how different would it have been? The thoughts stayed with her long after she had slipped into bed and fallen into a restless sleep.

Weapons class the next day was a miserable affair. No one spoke to them. It was even worse for Cetta, who, now missing a partner, was paired up with one of the younger girls who flinched every time Cetta moved. You would think we were found slitting Klia’s wrists ourselves, Cetta had said. Margaux had looked at her with disgust. The whispers followed the three of them up until their lessons with Madame Bergusin, where they sat as far to the back as possible. They hadn’t discussed the events of the previous night, nor had any of the others mentioned anything to her about Klia’s soul, but she was certain that they - well, if not Cetta, then at least Margaux - also felt the same twinge of guilt she felt, over not having made more of an effort with Klia. Madame Bergusin breezed into the classroom, wearing a gauzy black gown. A young man followed in after her. He wasn’t wearing the telling blue of the Workers, but rather had on a pair of tros and a black shirt. He paused at Madame Bergusin’s side; his hands folded behind his back as he surveyed the lot of them. “Everybody up,” Madame Bergusin said. She gestured to the tables and chairs. “I want all of the furniture stacked against the wall. With haste,” she added, clapping her hands together. They exchanged wary glances. Margaux shrugged and pushed her chair back. “Grab the end of this desk, Lex,” she said. Alexsia tossed her braided hair over a shoulder and lifted the edge of the table. She and Margaux hauled it across the room and laid it flat on top of another desk. Alexsia dragged their chairs to the opposite end of the room while Margaux helped Cetta move her desk. Once the furniture was stacked against the walls, Alexsia beheld the room. It wasn’t as spacious as their training room, but she had enough space to move without bumping into Cetta or Margaux on either side of her. Madame Bergusin stood at the front of the room. “Today we will be learning how to harvest your powers in their most raw form. How to shape them.”

The younger girls tittered. “The most important thing to , Madame Bergusin said, “Is that you are in a safe space. This room is designed to withstand magic. So, don’t panic, you are not going to burn anything down. This is Caril.” She gestured to the man beside her. “He is a very skilled Helper, one of the best actually.” She beamed at him, and he gave her a small smile. “Caril, like Miss Solenia over there...” Madame Bergusin pointed at her, still standing at the back of the room. Her ears reddened in response. “...is a Silver. One of the powers he possesses is the ability to stifle magic. So, you needn’t worry about losing control. Caril will ensure that no harm comes to anyone.” The girls all nodded, eager to begin. “The first thing you need to know is that your magic is a living, breathing part of you,” Madame Bergusin said. “Just as surely as you know that your arm will move if you will it to, so too will your magic move. You must reach within yourself, to where it lies slumbering, and awaken it. You will feel it if you concentrate.” Alexsia did feel it. She felt it like a phantom limb. And arm that should have been there but wasn’t. It moved and recoiled and slithered within her, a great deep wave, waiting to crest. She felt the power sliding through her veins, coursing through her blood, sparking with current. But when she tried to reach for it, to grab it, it dissipated as though it were no more than vapor. “When you find it, don’t chase it,” Madame Bergusin was saying. “Let it come to you.” Alexsia closed her eyes, allowing herself to forget that she was in a room filled with strangers. She drowned out all sounds and thoughts and just felt. There it was again. It shifted and surged, reaching and falling, twisting and turning. She let it move through her, felt small pinches of the power zap at the tips of her fingers and toes, heard the lightning crackle through her veins, and then a shrill scream sounded. Alexsia’s eyes snapped open as she scanned the room for the source of commotion. One of the younger girls had set herself on fire. Her friend screamed as Caril, calmly, placed a hand on her shoulder. Her flames extinguished in the wink of an eye. The girl was unharmed, not a hair on her head disturbed.

She smiled coyly at Caril, her eyes practically mooning-over as she batted her eyelashes at him in thanks. Cetta rolled her eyes. “Glad one of us is having fun,” she grumbled. “What’s the matter?” Margaux asked her. Cetta huffed, “I don’t even know what my power does. How am I supposed to awaken it if I don’t even see its use?” “Root power,” said a voice behind them, “is very useful.” They whirled around to see that Madame Bergusin had crept up behind them during the commotion. “Your power is intricately connected to the soil,” Madame Bergusin explained. “Your connection to nature and the intangible being is what you must search for. Feel it like you would the dirt beneath your fingers. It is an invaluable gift, one which can create as well as nourish. Do not dismiss it so quickly.” Cetta nodded gravely, a look of shame washing over her features. Madame Bergusin turned her stare onto Margaux. “And have you managed to find the source?” Margaux nodded, her eyes glimmering. “I can feel the air around me, around all of us, as though it were a living creature.” “It is a living creature,” Madame Bergusin said. “Everything is alive.” She turned to face Alexsia, peering down at her. She raised her eyebrows. “And you?” Alexsia lifted her hands. “I felt it, just for a moment, and then it was gone.” “Hm,” Madame Bergusin said, reaching for her hand. A flash of metal and a flicker of pain. Alexsia yanked her hand out of Madame Bergusin’s grasp to see a shallow cut on her palm, a thin line of red blood blossomed from the slice. “I find practical teaching produces the best results,” Madame Bergusin said, wiping her knife on the sleeve of her gown before tucking it into a pocket.

Alexsia was about to tell her exactly what she thought of her practical teaching when Cetta gasped. “Look,” Margaux breathed, staring at Alexsia’s hand. The skin around her palm had begun to itch. She glanced down at the cut. Small fibers of skin were beginning to stretch across the wound, crisscrossing over each other in a latticework. The skin stitched together, forming a rubbery red scar, which faded after a few moments. Alexsia twisted her palm, examining it from all angles. The scar was gone, in fact, the skin had healed so completely that she wasn’t even sure the exact location the wound had been. “Your magic is not gone, Miss Solenia,” Madame Bergusin said. “It is very much alive and real. Keep reaching for it.” And then she was gone, moving on to the next girl.

Flynn had avoided his cousin for the past week, having only briefly glimpsed him entering a Council Room. He knew that he would need to make an effort to speak to Fenix, and soon, before the tension between them became strained. But it was much easier to avoid his cousin and drink gallons of ale with Tren, at Madame Rosita’s pub. Tren, Flynn’s oldest friend and his most trusted spy in Queen Vessia’s court, had arrived in the Kingdom a few days ago, and Flynn had taken the opportunity to show his friend exactly what he had been missing out on while he had been away in the South. They were seated in a private booth at a pub a few blocks from the Palace. Flynn’s guards milled around outside, having been dismissed from Flynn’s immediate side. He had his sword strapped against his thigh if there were any altercations within the pub, but Madame Rosita ran her bar with an iron fist. People knew better than to brawl or start trouble in here. Flynn grinned at his friend, thumping him on his back. “It’s good to have you back.” Tren clinked his mug of ale against Flynn’s own mug. “It’s good to be back. Groveling like a simpering fool to a gutless Queen has its downsides.” Flynn circled the ring of condensation his mug had left on the table. “I know the feeling.” Tren glanced at him, took a swig of his ale, and said, “It’s been that bad here?” Flynn’s brows crinkled. “Actually, no.” He looked at his friend. “Things have been... quiet. I expected a lot more pushback from Taria on certain policies, but she’s been quiet so far. Well, as quiet as she can be.” “Quiet is good,” his friend said. Flynn shook his head. “Quiet is dangerous.” He wondered what Taria was up to. It was no secret that magical beings had been hunted to all but near extinction in Pneros. He wondered if she was biding her time, waiting until she was formally wedded to Fenix to introduce her

policies. “So, what’s been happening in Vessia’s court,” he asked Tren, needing a break from the strain the Kingdom’s politics was placing on his mental health. Tren chuckled. “Vessia’s pregnant.” “Again?” Flynn laughed, not shocked in the slightest. It was little secret that Vessia had taken several husbands. Not one to follow traditions, she popped out a new child every couple of years. “What is this now, her sixth?” “Seventh,” Tren grinned. “You know, Tren,” Flynn began, a smirk on his face, “there have been many a rumor about you and Vessia. I wouldn’t be surprised if that kid comes out with hair brighter than sunshine.” Tren scoffed, running a hand through his shiny hair. “I wouldn’t go near Vessia with a ten-foot pole.” Flynn was about to ask his friend who exactly he would go near, when a loud booming echoed outside. It was followed by a high-pitched screeching and then the entire building rocked. Flynn was on his feet in a matter of seconds, his sword in hand. He raced outside the bar, Tren on his heels. The booming sounded again. Whatever it was, it was a few blocks away. Flynn sprinted, his guards a few paces behind him. “Hold up, Flynn,” Tren shouted, but he had already rounded the corner. Tren swore loudly and ran after him.

Chapter 8

Hera was busy stacking shelves when Greta’s blonde head popped up between two books. “Missed me?” she laughed. Hera rolled her eyes but smiled. She hadn’t seen Greta in a couple of days, not since the night of the festivities. “Of course,” Hera said, wedging a book between the gap Greta’s head still occupied. “It’s been very dull without you.” “Ow,” Greta grumbled, as the book caught on her nose. She slipped around the shelf and plopped onto a soft couch, rubbing at her nose. “I heard Tren’s back in town.” Hera fought to keep her tone neutral, as she surveyed her friend. Greta rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t care less.” Hera had to bite her lip to stop from laughing. Greta’s mother was a skilled healer in the Palace. Greta had grown up in the North Wing of the Palace, surrounded by healers and potions. With her blond hair and hazel eyes, she had been a beauty from a child. Tren, though he trained fiercely with the soldiers had been gangly and awkward, but that hadn’t stopped him from bringing Greta a single rose every day for a month before she had finally told him that she would never be interested in him. He had gone off to Queen Vessia’s court not long after that. He came back two years later with a wicked tan, a chiseled body and zero interest in Greta. Oh, she had paraded around the Palace every single day of his visit, dressed in her finest gowns, hoping he would spot her. Hera grinned at the memory of the day Greta had forced Hera to accompany her to the gardens, where the Prince and Tren had been walking.

Greta had worn a fine white gown that day, the bodice trimmed with elegant lace and a fan clutched in her gloved hands. They had masqueraded outside until the Prince had ed by, Tren at his side. Greta had made a show of fluttering her fan and laughing loudly at nothing in particular. Hera had heard the Prince try to persuade his friend to remain at the Palace for a few days longer. Tren’s eyes had flickered over Greta before he had said to the Prince, loudly enough for any eavesdropping ears to hear, Thank you for the invitation, my friend, but aside from your scintillating company, there is simply nothing worth my time here. Hera chuckled. “What are you laughing at?” Greta’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Nothing,” Hera said, quickly shoving books onto the shelf. “Speaking of Tren,” Greta said, fingering a tasseled pillowcase, her tone too casual. “I heard a rather scandalous story that Vessia’s new baby is actually his.” Hera shot her friend an incredulous look. “You did not.” Greta shrugged delicately. “That’s what I heard.” “Oh, Greta, you mustn’t believe everything you hear,” Hera said, casting her attention back to the shelf. If Petra had to walk in and see how empty the shelf still was, she would have her head. Especially if she was caught gossiping with Greta instead of doing her job. Greta sniffed and turned her face away. She stared out of the window for a long moment, squinting her eyes, before getting up and running over to the windowsill. “What is it?” Hera asked, a moment before a loud booming echoed through the Palace walls and the entire Palace shook. The books she had spent hours painfully organizing tumbled from their shelves. Hera ran to Greta’s side at the window and peered out. “Holy Heavens,” she breathed.

The streets were crowded as shoppers and shopkeepers alike bolted down the streets, away from whatever they were running directly toward. Flynn skidded to a stop outside a bakery and listened. The booming sound had stopped. It was quiet. Then the ground vibrated. Teacups left on tables set outside the small bakery clattered to the cobblestone and shattered. Tren came up beside him, not a drop of sweat on his forehead. A shrill screeching rent through the air and the booming sounded again, much louder now. Flynn paused to listen. He hadn’t realized it before, the consistent booming, it sounded like... “Heavens,” he breathed. “What?” Tren asked, also listening. “It’s footsteps,” he said, as a massive shadow fell over Tren’s face. Flynn looked up at the monster cresting over the buildings and swore. It was gigantic, its face alone was the size of the bakery he was standing next to. Small sunken eyes were set against a dark snout. It’s mouth, a mere slash across its face, opened in another piercing screech to reveal a set of vicious metal teeth, each one the size of a dagger. Its body was a mottled grey, and clung loosely to its bones, sagging in heaps and folds, as though it had been thoroughly underfed for a very long time. Clawed hands grasped at the edges of a building, sending scaffolding crashing to the ground. “Run back to the Palace,” he tossed over his shoulder to his guards. “Tell them to send backup.” The creature stopped shrieking, its snout pulling up as it sniffed the air, its beady eyes scanning the ground, until they finally rested on them. “Lots of backup.” The guards shuffled backward slowly, not wishing to draw the creature’s attention to them, but it was too late. The creature had already seen them. It ripped its claws from the building and hauled itself closer, the booming starting again.

“Flynn,” Tren said, shaking his arm. “Flynn, we need to do something.” The ground shook as the creature neared, its small eyes never leaving them. Flynn’s eyes snapped to Tren’s, his brain whirring at a thousand miles an hour. Higher ground, they needed to get to higher ground. If they stayed down here, that thing would simply pick them up and feast on them. Flynn scanned his surroundings, the bakery to his right, a shoe shop to his left... and further down the street, a narrow ageway with a side door leading into a large building. Flynn began to run, not pausing to see if Tren was following. The creature, not liking the movement, screamed loud enough he thought his ears might bleed. Flynn bolted down the street, turned so sharply into the ageway that his shoulder banged painfully into the brick, and yanked at the side door, which, mercifully, was unlocked. Flynn slid a silent thought of prayer to whoever was looking down on him from the Heavens and sprinted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Tren bounded up the stairs alongside him, grinning. “What are you smiling about?” Flynn said through his teeth. “It’s just been a long time since we’ve done something like this,” Tren said. It had been a long time. This would be the sixth year that Tren was serving in Vessia’s court. And truth be told, Flynn had allowed himself to become comfortable in a life of politics and deception. They were far from their years spent in the front lines. The gleam of sweat beginning to form above Flynn’s brow, from the exertion of running up the flights of stairs, was indication enough of how much he had been neglecting his training. The building shook, and Flynn grabbed the banister to steady himself. He had no idea how the two of them were going to take on a monster of this size, with nothing but their wits and swords. It would eat them in one bite. They reached the rooftop door and Flynn slammed his weight into it, wincing at the twinge in his shoulder.

The door didn’t budge. So much for the Heavens looking out for him. “Together,” Tren said, stepping back. Flynn followed, and together they kicked at the door with such force that it splintered off its hinges. Flynn hurtled onto the rooftop, gulping in mouthfuls of cool air. The creature was spinning around wildly, its claw-tipped feet stepping on carriages and uprooting trees. Horses, unclipped from their carriages, cantered around savagely, neighing in protest. Flynn cringed as the creature scooped one taloned hand into the horse’s side and swallowed it whole. The creature straightened, scraping its fingers against the side of their building, and met Flynn’s stare, shrieking in fury. Tren unsheathed the beautiful sword he had strapped against his back and hefted a dagger from the inside of his boot. Flynn twisted his grip on his own sword. “Just like old times?” He could hear Tren’s grin. “Just like old times.” Tren launched himself off the roof, arcing for the creature. He fell in midair for a moment, and then his dagger found purchase in the hollow of the creature’s neck. The creature whirled and bucked, but Tren held on. He swung himself up, until his leg dangled off the creature’s neck and angled his sword. Aiming for the creature’s eye, he twisted his sword and plunged. It missed by an inch. The creature was howling, its claws raking lines through its own body in an attempt to catch him. Tren dug his dagger deeper into its neck. It yowled in pain, and twisted to its right, aligning itself with the building. Flynn grinned and thrust himself from the ledge, his sword held high, the precious gems set into its hilt glinting. The creature tried to swipe at Flynn, but it was too late. The sword had found its mark, burying deep into the dip between its ribs. Flynn held onto his sword as it sliced down, down, through the creature’s midsection, cutting

through muscle and sinew. Flynn felt bile rise in his throat as hot innards spilled over his body, the stench enough to make his eyes water. But he held on, his grip tight, as the sharp edge of his sword slashed its way through the creature. The creature swayed, it’s movements slow and unsteady. Flynn spat blood that did not belong to him, from his mouth. It was time to get off this ride. “Jump!” he heard Tren shout, just as the creature gave a final sway. Flynn braced his feet on one side of the gaping wound in the creature’s midsection and pushed off. Swinging on the hilt of his sword, he aimed for an empty patch of sidewalk, before letting go. He tucked his knees in, just as he had practiced hundreds of times before, and rolled to a stop. Tren, although gasping for breath beside him, was not too tired to make jokes. “I still kick your ass at jumps. Good to see some things never change.” Flynn flashed his friend the middle finger as he watched the creature tilt to its side and slam into the shoe shop. What an unlucky day to be a business owner. “You stink bad, man,” Tren remarked, once the dust had settled and the creature had stopped breathing. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Flynn was coated in blood and guts. He would need three showers every day for the next week to wash this smell off of him. His clothes? They would need to be burned. “Worse than that time in Kolta?” Flynn asked. Tren grinned. “Nah. But close.” They began walking back to the Palace but paused at the pound of horse hooves clipping through the alley. “Ah, the backup arrives,” Flynn said sarcastically, rubbing his sore shoulder.

Tren smirked.

On the ninth day, Alexsia finally began to feel as though she were making progress with her magic. She had cut and healed her palms over and over again, so much so that the pain no longer ed, feeling the tendrils of magic form tiny stitches of skin. She watched the magic, studied it, until on the fifth day, she had managed to grasp the living, writhing thing and control the stitches herself. After she had mastered that, she tried preventing the magic from closing around a wound, just to challenge herself. She had lasted all of ten seconds before the magic won out and the skin stitched itself closed. Looking for someone outside herself to practice on, Margaux had happily volunteered to play guinea pig. She had sat with Margaux in her bedroom for countless hours after dinner, pricking Margaux’s fingers repeatedly with a small needle, until she had understood the difference between her own skin and someone else’s. When it wasn’t her own skin, the magic did not automatically heal. Alexsia had to reach within and grab the slumbering creature, pulling it out from its cavernous depths, and shape it into fibers of skin. She had to create the latticework of stitches and seal the wound manually. It took some time and was much easier to do with smaller cuts and shallow scrapes. With more practice, she knew she could speed up the process. Margaux and Cetta had also made great leaps with their own abilities. Cetta had produced tiny flowers of her own, using nothing but a handful of dirt and Margaux could create breezes and winds which tugged the ends of Alexsia’s braids. Nothing major yet, but Madame Bergusin had told her that she would one day be able to create twisters. Not that she should, unless absolutely necessary, she had quickly added. But while Alexsia had made great leaps with her healing magic, she hadn’t made much progress with her other powers. Her telekinesis was shaky, at best. She had once managed to make a vase wobble, but that was it. The other girl in class with the telekinesis power, Jenina, had made entire desks move. Madame Bergusin had given her a warm smile and advised her that Jenina had 100% telekinesis power, so she should stop hosting a pity party for herself and focus on her own abilities.

Alexsia’s portal power on the other hand, was practically non-existent, but not for lack of trying. She sometimes felt like it was a waste of time to keep focusing on it when the time could be much better spent in developing her healing skills. She woke up the next morning, groggy and tired, having spent most of the night tossing and turning, dreaming about wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding, when she did manage to fall asleep. Weapons class had ended the day before, with rifle practice. Alexsia still couldn’t quite hear out of one ear, but Colette had warned them not to worry too much about that. “It’ll come back after a few days,” she had said, grinning. Alexsia slipped on her usual training pants and tunic, grabbed a pair of running shoes from her closet and made her way to the training room. Colette had stopped appearing to escort them from the dining hall four days ago. The training room had been transformed. A track ran along the walls, the usual weapons remained stacked against the wall, but different machinery had now been brought in and set in front of the room. Margaux and Cetta were already there, staring at the machinery in distaste, their arms crossed. “What’s happening?” Alexsia asked, by way of greeting. “You’re late,” Cetta said, checking her watch. “Had a long night,” Alexsia muttered, surveying the other girls, some of whom had plucked up weapons and were already sparring with each other. “What’s going on? Where’s Colette?” “She came in, told us classes were over and not to bother her again. Apparently, Maria’s given us the green light to start our missions. We leave in three days,” Margaux said. Alexsia gaped. She wasn’t nearly ready, not mentally or physically. “Colette’s given us access to the training room for the next three days. We’re to continue training ourselves,” Cetta added.

“You can’t be serious,” Alexsia said, looking at the training room in surprise, suddenly aware of what the new machinery had been brought in for. Cetta nodded gravely. They hadn’t discussed what their missions were. Alexsia had come close to asking Margaux several times before but had always stopped herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to know what her friend was being sent to do, if it was dangerous or could get her killed. She had a feeling the others felt the same. She had come to care for the girls a great deal more than she thought she would. Knowing that she would be parting from them in just three days... she swallowed past the lump in her throat and blinked at the track. Well, if they were all leaving in the next few days, they had better make the most of it, she supposed. She smiled at them, through the sadness biting at her heart, and gestured to the weapons rack. “Want to spar?” Margaux’s eyes twinkled mischievously as she turned and headed for the rack. She picked up a foil and tossed it to her. Alexsia caught it with ease. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Solenia.”

Chapter 9

“Yes, but where did it come from?” Taria Sur asked for the seventh time, pacing the length of the Council Room. Flynn rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and cast an exasperated look heavenward. Tren sat at his side looking equally tired. You would think after a long, hard day of slaying monsters they would get some reprieve, but no. Flynn would battle that creature all over again if it meant never having to have this conversation. They had been picked up and brought straight to the Palace, little over an hour ago. Officials had been dispatched to analyze, take samples, and dispose of the creature’s body. Flynn hadn’t had more time than to wash his hands and face and strip off his dirty clothes before he had been summoned to the Council Meeting. Taria had taken one look at him, one whiff of the smell emanating from him and removed herself to the furthest end of the room. Fenix sat at the table, the smell not seeming to bother him. His hands were laid flat on the desk, and he seemed deep in thought. Councilman Mullison sat around the table with twelve other advisors, all of whom were pointedly trying not to stare at him and Tren. Tren was flexing his knuckles, examining a small cut above one of his fingers. He had remained silent for the most part, as Flynn had recounted the day’s events. Taria huffed at the silence. “I just think it’s very strange for a Teriot to suddenly appear out of nowhere. Surely somebody must have seen the thing approaching the Kingdom?” she fumed. “It wasn’t a Teriot,” Tren said, and fifteen pairs of eyes turned to him forcing him to shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Well, it can’t have been,” he clarified.

Taria narrowed her eyes at him. “And how exactly do you know that?” she asked. Tren rolled his eyes. “Because they were banished in the First Wars.” Taria gave a humorless laugh. “Okay. And when was the last time you checked your Wards?” She cut a scathing look at Fenix. “In the past thousand years, I mean.” Fenix stiffened, but didn’t say anything. “All I’m saying,” Taria went on, palms up. “Is that nothing like that…” she paused and pointed out the window. “…has been seen in over a thousand years.” “Listen, Taria,” Flynn said with a deep sigh. “We won’t know anything for sure until the lab gets back to us, but that thing out there was definitely no Teriot.” “How do you know, Flynnigan?” she ground out. “Heavens, Taria, haven’t you opened a history book?” Flynn burst, to Ether with the niceties. “The Teriots enslaved humans for hundreds of years. That creature today couldn’t tell a horse from a human. You really think it capable of outwitting the human race?” “Maybe it wasn’t a Teriot,” she said. “But something like that doesn’t just turn up one day out of nowhere. It had to have come from somewhere. Wherever it came from or whatever it is, there’s bound to be more of them. I want to know where it came from, but I’m not sticking around here until more start coming.” She snapped her fingers at a guard, who rushed to her side immediately. “Tell Iona to pack my bags, we’re leaving.” Flynn leaned back in his chair, his mouth slack. Even Fenix was staring at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious, Taria,” Fenix said, pushing his chair back. Taria gave him a withering look. “You better believe my father will be hearing about this. Giant creatures running amok in this Kingdom,” she muttered, seizing her cloak. “But our alliance...” Fenix grabbed at her wrist.

She looked down at his fingers circling her wrist and he removed them. “Fix this problem and then we can talk about our alliance, King,” she snapped. And then she was gone, her robes billowing after her. If this was all it took to send Taria back to Pneros, Flynn might have set the creature loose himself. Ages ago. Flynn shook his head and glanced at Tren, suddenly exhausted. “I believe you owe me an ale.”

Alexsia blinked in dismay at the spoon before her. She picked it up and turned it over in wonder. Cetta squealed in delight. She hadn’t even tried to portal it to her. She had merely been sitting at lunch, thinking of how she was supposed to eat her soup with the fork she had accidentally picked up at the cutlery table, when the spoon just appeared beside her plate. Sure, she had been desperately trying to portal something, anything for the past eleven days, but nothing had ever come of it. Staring at the spoon, her mind began churning. The things she had been trying to portal had been much larger, truth be told. She had imagined vases and glasses or, one time, a hairbrush. She had never thought of something this small. Perhaps she had been pushing herself too hard. Even though Madame Bergusin had told her should be able to portal through an object the size of a chair, it was likely she had started off too big. When she had been practicing her healing, she had begun with tiny pinpricks to her fingers. She could have kicked herself for being so silly. It was like exercise, Madame Bergusin had said one afternoon. You don’t suddenly wake up ready to run a marathon, you must start off small and increase the pace every day. She had told them to think of their powers like a muscle which needed to be toned and stretched. Margaux clasped her on the back, congratulating her. She waved it off and dunked the spoon into her soup. “So, are you guys ready for tomorrow?” she asked, keeping her tone light. Margaux’s eyes glimmered. “I’m excited to get out of here. Obviously, I’ll miss you guys,” She added quickly. Cetta’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t believe you in the slightest.” “Come on,” Margaux grinned. “Aren’t you in the least bit curious to see what’s out there? I mean, back on Earth, we didn’t even know for sure that there was life on other planets.” “Really?” Cetta’s brows rose. “So, you didn’t have Helpers or anything back home?”

“What? And you did?” Margaux leaned forward, eyes bright. Cetta nodded slowly, looking between Margaux and Alexsia. “Didn’t you guys have magic on Earth?” “No,” Alexsia said. “This was the first we’d heard of it.” Cetta looked at them in distress. “No way.” Margaux nodded. “If magic existed there, I never saw it, not in real life anyway.” “Well, that makes sense then, I guess,” Cetta said. “Each planet has its own genetic makeup and structure. If the planet has magic, then it attracts magic. Maybe the genetic structure of Earth doesn’t recognize magic. Growing up on Heroesal, magic could be found in the skies and seas, rolling through the hills, and floating on winds. People didn’t possess magic, but the nature did. It was beautiful.” Cetta’s eyes drifted someplace far away. “So, you knew about all this then?” Margaux asked in disbelief. “Well, not everything,” Cetta replied. “But I had met a Helper right before... before she died.” Cetta bit her lip. “I just didn’t know she was a Helper at the time. I Caleb was so surprised to meet a person who could possess the type of power that we only knew to be held by nature.” “Huh,” Margaux said. “Weird.” Cetta shrugged. “Wherever we’re being sent must be filled with magic, or there would be no sense in sending us there.” Alexsia felt butterflies rise in her stomach. Not the nice kind which made you feel giddy, but a swarm of them, which made her feel like throwing up. To answer Margaux’s question, no, she was most definitely not curious to see what was out there. In fact, she had a rather bad feeling about it.

Dawn broke the next morning, and Alexsia promptly got up. Having tossed and turned all night, she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. She was anxious about leaving and wanted to get it over with. She made her bed in a mechanical fashion, smoothing over the edges and fluffing the pillow she would never lie on again. She picked out an outfit carefully, methodically. A pair of tros, a long-sleeved shirt and running shoes. A logical outfit, for wherever she may find herself. She left her hair unbound, the dark waves streaming over her shoulders and down her back. When she was done brushing her teeth and had splashed some cold water onto her face, she gave her room a once-over. Her eyes landed on the manila envelope that she had discarded on the bedside table almost two weeks ago. She rooted around inside the envelope until her fingers landed on the ring. Alexsia dropped the ring into her pocket, left the envelope, with the rest of its contents still in it, on the bed and walked out. They met in the dining hall. During her days in the City, Alexsia had grown accustomed to seeing the same faces in the dining hall, but today, there was a whole new group seated in clusters around the hall. “New Helpers,” Cetta said, sidling up to her. Her arms were crossed, and a disdainful expression was on her face. “Did we look this scared when we first got here?” Margaux chuckled as she came up from behind. “Some of us still look scared.” Alexsia forced herself to smile, despite the roiling nerves building in her stomach. “You alright, Lex?” Margaux asked, giving her a once over. “You look a bit pale.” Alexsia gave her best reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I just skipped breakfast is all.” Margaux nodded. “I think you might still have time to...” she trailed off as Maria walked into the dining room. “Never mind.”

Alexsia was glad that Maria had chosen now to make her appearance. While she would miss Margaux and Cetta terribly, she was tired of the anxiety, the training day and night, not knowing what she truly was to face. At this point, what she really wanted was to complete her task, earn her freedom and find her mother. “Klia should have been here,” Margaux said softly. Alexsia felt a pang of guilt for not having thought of the girl at all for the past week, but nodded along with Cetta, in agreement. Maria, who had paused to talk to a young boy who had run up to her, patted him on the back as he scampered away and walked up to their group. She gave them all a once over, her eyes lingering on Alexsia, Margaux and Cetta for a beat longer. The younger girls who had been shuffling nervously stood straight at her attention. She gave them a warm smile. “I would like to start off by congratulating you all on making it this far,” she said. “It has not been an easy journey for most of you. From physical training to harnessing your powers, you have each put in a tremendous amount of effort. We thank you for your contribution.” Some of the girls blushed at her words, others muttered low thank you’s back at Maria. Alexsia remained silent. “If you would all please follow me, I will escort you to the Portals,” Maria said, beckoning. She turned on her very high heels and began to lead their procession out of the dining hall. Maria’s heels clacked on the marble tiles as she led them down a corridor, up a flight of stairs Alexsia had not noticed before, and then down another corridor. They stopped at one of the metal box contraptions which lifted you into the air and dropped you off at either the next level or level below. Maria pressed a button and the doors slid open. She gestured them inside. Alexsia paused on the threshold but was pushed in by the throng of girls around her. The space felt too small, she couldn’t breathe. And then the doors were closing, and everyone was pressed together so tightly... too tightly. Alexsia’s head swum, and a bout of nausea closed in. Then the box was moving. Her heart dropped into her stomach. Margaux clutched her hand.

Alexsia looked down at their intertwined fingers and took a steadying breath. And then it was over. Margaux released her hand and gave her a slight push out of the box. Alexsia didn’t know what she had done on Earth to deserve Margaux, but she was grateful for the other girl. “We’re almost there, girls,” Maria said, turning at a corner. Five doors down, they stopped in front of a large glass door. The words “Portal Room” were labelled in standard font above the door. “Please form a line,” Maria said. “In any order, it doesn’t matter.” As they arranged themselves into the line, Alexsia found herself wedged between Margaux and Cetta. The latter in front of her. Cetta’s hands shook slightly at her sides, the only sign of her nervousness, despite her overall demeanor which suggested otherwise. Cetta had been putting up a brave front, she realized. Horrible as it was to be relieved that Cetta was just as scared as she was, she was indeed comforted by the thought that she was not the only one feeling this way. The door to the Portal Room swung open and a raven-haired Worker stepped out. “This is Josephine,” Maria said, gesturing to the Worker. “She will be assisting with the Portals today.” Josephine gave a small smile. “The process is simple,” Maria continued. “When I say so, you will each step into the Portal Room. Josephine will set the Portal to the location of your assignment, and you will step right into the location as though you were simply crossing from one room to the next.” Cetta’s hands wobbled. “The process is painless,” Maria quickly added, at the sight of all the worried looks. “It really is as simple as taking a step. Josephine will control everything. There is nothing to worry about.” “I’m very good at my job,” Josephine said, and some of the younger girls giggled nervously. “Alright, who’s up first?” Maria asked, turning her attention to the first girl in

line, who, had suddenly turned a nasty shade of grey. Josephine gave her a smile and led her into the room. “What a sorry lot of Helpers this group are,” Margaux muttered from behind her. Cetta, having heard, whipped her head back and shot a glare at Margaux. “We can’t all be heroes like you, Margaux.” Margaux’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Alexsia felt a cold draft breeze past. She placed a hand on Margaux’s arm. “She’s just nervous.” Margaux nodded, and the cold air dissipated before Maria could notice that someone was using their magic. The line began to move much faster after the fourth girl had been called up, and before long, Cetta was next in line. Maria glanced inside the Portal Room, waited a beat, and then called, “Next.” Cetta turned glossy eyes on them. She clasped Alexsia’s hand briefly and then let go. “Be safe,” was all she said, before she stepped into the room and vanished from sight. Alexsia’s voice caught. There had been so many things she had wished to say to Cetta, and nothing at all. But now the girl she had come to call her friend was gone, and she did not know when she would see her again. A phantom hand squeezed at her heart as she realized that she was next. She turned to Margaux and embraced her briefly. “Thank you,” she said, not wanting to leave without expressing her gratitude to the girl who had remained constant in a tide of uncertainty. “For everything, Margaux. I won’t tell you to be brave because you are so much more than that.” Margaux’s eyes welled. An emotion she had not seen Margaux display, crossed her face. “Miss Solenia, you’re next,” Alexsia heard Maria say.

“We will meet again,” Margaux said, her eyes bright. Alexsia gave her a warm smile, blinked against the tears forming in her own eyes and stepped into the Portal Room. The minute she stepped into the room; every other noise died out. It was as though somebody had placed the muffled earphones they wore during rifle practice over her ears. She glanced around the white, sterile room. The Portal was set in the center of the room, upon a raised dais. Three curved poles jutted out from the dais, ringing a glowing sphere in the middle. Josephine sat at a desk, a screen in front of her. She glanced up at Alexsia and asked, “Name?’” Alexsia pulled her stare away from the mesmerizing sphere and cleared her throat. “Alexsia Solenia.” She heard clacking as Josephine typed onto the small keyboard in front of her. “Ah, here we are. Arianon,” Josephine said. More clacking and then the Portal shimmered. The sphere began to glimmer and ripple as a blurry image started to form. “Go on,” Josephine said, not unkindly. Alexsia glanced at her and then back at the Portal. She took several steps forward, until she stood at the base of the dais. The image in the Portal swirled gently, a mixture of browns and greens. Alexsia thought she could make out the shape of what looked to be a desk, but the picture kept moving too much that she couldn’t be too sure. She climbed onto the dais and beheld the shimmering sphere, less than an inch away from her. A cool breeze, not unlike the one Margaux made a few moments ago, kissed her cheeks. She took a deep breath and stepped into the Portal.

Chapter 10

She was in an office. The Portal had disappeared the exact second she had crossed over, leaving no remnant of the City of Lost Souls, save for herself. A dark desk sat in front of her, piled high with files. A half-eaten sandwich lay discarded on one side of the desk and dozens of balled-up papers littered the floor. The window behind the desk revealed a cloudless blue sky and grassy plain, dotted with neat rows of flower beds. She jumped at the sound of voices outside the door. “…shouldn’t have been able to, but it did,” a male voice was saying, as the doorknob turned. She recognized him instantly from the photograph. Fenix Arbora strode into the room, peering intently at the page in his hand. A short, balding man who looked to be in his late fifties, trailed in after him, a folder clutched beneath his arm. Alexsia shrank against the wall, wishing with all the might in the world that she could disappear. The short man stopped dead in his tracks and stared at her. “Who are you?” he said. Fenix’s head snapped up at the question, and his eyes landed on her. By the Heavens, he was even better looking in person. The short man was in front of her now. He tugged at her elbow as he tried to escort her out of the room. “Miss,” he was saying. “You can’t be in here. This is his Majesty’s private office.” Alexsia ripped her gaze away from Fenix and shook her head. “I have business with the King,” she said in a clear voice, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated. She had a task to accomplish, one she had spent weeks training for. She was not going to let anything, let alone this small man, stand in her way. Fenix crossed his arms. “And what business might you have with the King,

Miss...?” “Solenia,” she said, pulling her elbow out of the short man’s grasp and stepping forward. “Alexsia Solenia. I’ve been sent from the City of Lost Souls to provide aid. I’m a Helper.” Fenix stared at her for a long moment. She could have sworn a flicker of annoyance flittered over his features, just for a second and then it was gone. “I wondered if they’d send someone,” he finally said.

Flynn was on his way to the North Wing, to get his shoulder assessed by a healer, when he was flagged down by Councilman Romney. Romney’s entire face was red and sweat glistened at his temples, as though he had been running. “What is it?” Flynn said, striding toward the other man. Romney huffed out a breath and ran the back of his sleeve over his forehead. “I’ve been trying to catch up with you,” he panted. “The stairs,” he clutched his heart. “They’re not good for me.” Flynn had half a mind to escort the man to North Wing as well. He was about to ask the man if he needed to sit for a moment, when Romney braced a hand on the wall and said, “The lab results are in.” “And?” Romney shook his head. “It’s not good.” Flynn’s heart stopped altogether. If that thing had been a Teriot... “Not a Teriot,” Romney said, and Flynn closed his eyes in relief. “But it was one of the lesser creatures banished in the First Wars - a Zelog. Not particularly bright, but the Teriots used them for their brute strength.” Flynn’s eyes snapped open. A creature banished in the First Wars had managed to cross over the Wards and enter the Kingdom? It was unheard of. The Wards had not failed them in over a thousand years. “What does this mean then? What of the Wards?” Flynn asked softly. Romney, who appeared to have finally caught his breath, straightened up. “The Wards have been checked, Prince. They’re intact. The Zelog shouldn’t have been able to come through.” “But it did,” Flynn hissed. Romney took a step back, waving his hands. “We have men patrolling the borders of the Wards at this very moment. They reported not ten minutes ago that there were no holes. Although...” Romney paused. Flynn’s fingers twitched at his side as he refrained from strangling the man. “Although what?” he growled.

Romney gulped. “They’re thinner. The Wards. Intact, but much thinner than they were twenty years ago. The Zelog was very...malnourished. It’s possible that he was weak enough that he was not recognized as a threat at one of the thinner patches on the Wards.” Flynn’s brows crinkled. “But the Wards are supposed to prevent anything on that side from crossing over into the Kingdom, threat or not.” Romney lifted his hands. “It’s just a theory, Prince.” “Does Fenix know of this?” “Councilman Mullison is briefing him right now.” Flynn nodded. “I need to speak with him immediately.” “Who, Mullison?” Romney asked, confused. “The King,” Flynn said, fighting against rolling his eyes at the man. Romney nodded. “Shall I run ahead and find him?” Flynn surveyed the man. He didn’t think Romney should ever run again in his life. “No, I know where he is,” Flynn said, rubbing at his sore shoulder. He would have to get it looked at another time. He turned to leave, but then paused and turned back to Romney. “Find Tren. Tell him to meet me in the West Wing Council Room in fifteen minutes. I need to see these Wards for myself.” Romney nodded and scurried away. Flynn began the long descent down the stairs, toward Fenix’s office. He would have to run this expedition past his King, of course. It was good that Taria had left, he thought as he turned from corridor to corridor. The news of the thinning Wards would not have gone down well with her. He paused at the door to Fenix’s office. He could see Mullison standing inside and hear Fenix speaking softly.

A clear voice rang out from inside the room. “Solenia. Alexsia Solenia. I’ve been sent from the City of Lost Souls to provide aid. I’m a Helper.” “I wondered if they’d send someone,” Fenix said softly as Flynn entered the room and beheld the woman standing near the wall. She was easily one of the most beautiful women Flynn had ever seen. Long dark hair fell in waves over her shoulders, the ends of it skimming her waist. Piercing blue eyes met his as she turned to look at him, her pink lips parted slightly in surprise. But what astounded him the most was the defiance in her stare. She was looking at him, at all of them, in a way which suggested that they not test her. “Ah, Flynn,” Fenix said, breaking the silence. “You’ve arrived just in time to meet Miss Solenia.” “Alexsia” she said quickly. Flynn made himself move. “Charmed to meet you... Alexsia.” He reached for her hand and brushed his lips softly against it. A deep blush, the prettiest shade of pink, crossed over her cheekbones as she pulled her hand out of his grasp. Fenix coughed, loudly. “Well, now that you’ve met the resident rake, my cousin and crown Prince of Arianon, Flynnnigan Phelps... Please take a seat.” He gestured to the pair of plush velvet sofas in front of his desk. Councilman Mullison stirred from his corner. “Apologies to interrupt, my King, but should we call a Council meeting to discuss the, er…” he looked at Alexsia uncomfortably, “…earlier business?” The business with the Wards, is what he meant. “That’s what I’ve come here to discuss with you, cousin,” Flynn said, slumping into one of the soft couches. Alexsia remained at the wall, not having moved an inch. Fenix glanced at his cousin, then shook his head at Mullison. “I want reports every hour from the men at the borders.”

Mullison nodded, bowed once and then left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Fenix turned to face Alexsia. “Please, sit,” he said, taking a seat at his own chair behind the desk. The girl surveyed the closed door for a minute, as though she were contemplating running right out, but then strode toward the couch and perched herself on the very edge of the seat. “Where are you from?” Fenix asked her, softly. She fidgeted for a moment, but then said, “Earth.” Flynn whistled low and loud, and Fenix looked at him, annoyed. “I heard there’s no magic there,” Flynn said, waiting for those blue eyes to turn on him. “There isn’t,” she said, simply. “Why did they send you?” Fenix asked, his eyes tracking her movements. She shrugged. “They didn’t say. I was just given this,” she fished around in her pocket for a few seconds, pulled out a small silver object and set it on the desk. It spun for a moment before finally settling. A ring. Fenix’s eyes went wide as he reached for it, turning it over and over in his fingers. “What is it?” she asked, her eyes betraying a hint of curiosity. “I don’t know,” Fenix said, looking at his cousin, a silent question hanging. Flynn shook his head. “I’ll ask Adrian when he gets back. Maybe he’s seen it before.” Fenix nodded and handed the ring back to her. She placed it into her pocket. Flynn looked at his cousin, at the dark circles which had become more pronounced over the past week.

His cousin was surveying Alexsia intently, she stared right back at him, no hint of fear in her eyes. “I appreciate the offer,” Fenix eventually said, his tone measured, careful. “And I understand that you must have travelled a long way for this, but I don’t think you can help us.” “And what makes you so sure of that?” Alexsia said. “Is it because I’m a girl?” Fenix shook his head. “No, you don’t understand. I know the powers your kind possess. It’s not that we don’t want the help. We just don’t truly understand the problem ourselves.” “Then let me help,” she said. Fenix shook his head again and opened his mouth, but she cut him off. “Look, I don’t particularly want to be here, but I don’t have a choice. I can’t leave until I do my job. So, let me.” Flynn had to hand it to her, the girl had moxie. “Tren and I are heading to the borders, tomorrow morning,” Flynn said. “Alexsia can come with us if she wants,” he added, giving her a wink. Fenix looked at him in disbelief. “What for? We already have men patrolling.” “Romney told me that they’re getting thinner. The Wards,” Flynn said. A shadow cast over Fenix’s eyes and Flynn knew that Mullison had already told him their theory. Fenix nodded slowly, “I should go too.” “Then it’s settled,” Flynn said. He stared at the watch strapped around his wrist and swore. He shot Alexsia an apologetic glance as he pushed up from the couch. “Hopefully Tren will excuse my tardiness,” he said, giving Alexsia a smile. “It’s not every day I get to meet such a lovely creature.” Fenix rolled his eyes.

“I’ll see you all tomorrow then?” Flynn said, his tone questioning. She glanced at Fenix, who hesitated but nodded. “I suppose,” she replied. Alexsia turned those eyes on him and he felt his heart stutter in his chest. He quickly strode out of the room before he could do something stupid.

Alexsia watched the Prince leave. He unsettled her, to say the least. His storm grey eyes had looked at her as though she were a particularly juicy fruit that he wanted to take his time eating. Fenix cleared his throat and she turned back to face him. “I will have someone escort you to your rooms,” Fenix said, pressing a button on a small metallic device set on his desk. “If you feel up to it, you are welcome to us tomorrow morning, but you are under no obligation to do so, Alexsia. In fact, I advise you not to come.” She narrowed her eyes at him. She would them. She would do whatever it took to accomplish this task. A knocking sounded at his door and Fenix said, “Enter.” The door pushed open, and a portly woman stuck her head in. “You buzzed, Your Majesty?” Fenix smiled, much warmer than he had been seconds ago. “Yes, please take Alexsia to the guest rooms,” he said, gesturing toward her Fenix looked at Alexsia. “Lura will take care of you. If you have need of anything, Lura will arrange it.” The woman pushed the door wider, gave Alexsia a bright smile and beckoned that she follow her. She gave the woman a tentative smile and got up. “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Alexsia said, glancing at the King. “Fenix. You can call me Fenix,” he said and quickly busied himself with the files on his desk. She didn’t look back at him as she followed Lura out of the office and down a carpeted hallway. “So, you’re a Helper, then?” Lura said cheerily. A slight man dressed in finery rushed down the hallway, a teapot upon the silver platter in his gloved hands. Alexsia jumped out of the way before the man could

barrel right into her. Lura chucked. “Not quite what you’re used to, I’ll bet. I knew a Helper once, years ago. Frightened little lamb, she was. Fire elemental too. Dangerous combination that, if you ask me, power and fear.” “Where is she now?” Alexsia asked, dodging a cart set against the side of the wall. “Oh, she left,” Lura said, matter-of-factly. “Left? As in left the Palace?” “Heavens, no,” Lura said. “Hopped right into a Portal first chance she got and headed straight back to the City.” Lura opened a side door and stared down the steps. It was dimly lit and smelt faintly of peas. “Servant’s stairwell,” Lura gave her an apologetic look. “It’s the quickest way to the South Wing.” Alexsia brushed off her apology with a quick smile. “How did she manage to go back? The Helper, I mean.” “I’ll bet they didn’t tell you that you could go back,” Lura said, winking at her. “You’re not supposed to, though. A couple of months after she left, I found out they had stripped her of her powers and downgraded her to a Worker. It was quite the scandal.” The stairwell opened up into a kitchen, the space a flurry of noise and activity. The smell of peas much stronger now. Women bustled up and down the kitchen, carrying pots and pans and trays heaped with fruits and vegetables. More women stood at large basins; water drenched up to their elbows as they scrubbed dishes while gossiping heartily. “Who’s that, you’ve got there, Lura?” a nearby woman asked, wiping the flat of her knife against her apron. “You’d do well to mind your own business, Veina, but if you must know, she’s a new Helper,” Lura beamed proudly, looking at her. Several of the other women paused their business to stare at her.

She gave them all a tentative smile. “Get back to work,” Veina snapped at them. “You don’t get paid to sit around and gawk all day, do you?” The other women grumbled, but turned back to their jobs, the noise slowly picking up again. Veina lifted a chopping board, piled high with diced carrots and scallions, and tipped it into a deep pot. She used the edge of her knife to scrape any remaining vegetables off the board before looking at them again. “Well, what can she do?” Lura glanced at her. She didn’t urge her to answer but Alexsia could tell she was curious. “I’m a healer,” she said. While she had had a breakthrough with her portal power, she didn’t feel comfortable enough with it to let people know just yet. Veina nodded thoughtfully. “We need more healers, what with everything that’s going on around here these days.” Alexsia did not miss the warning look that Lura gave the other woman. Veina, however, did not appear to be phased. “You should introduce her to our Greta. I’m sure they will find much in common.” “What a wonderful idea, Veina,” Lura said. She turned to Alexsia. “We’ll have you settled down here in no time at all.” “Are you hungry?” Veina asked her. Alexsia’s stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl in response. She hadn’t realized how starving she was. She had skipped breakfast that morning as well, her nerves having been far too great to eat. Veina chuckled, grabbed a large wooden spoon and doled out heapfuls of stew into a bowl. She chucked a teaspoon into the bowl before handing it to her.

“Sit,” she said and gestured to a stool. “Eat. I want to know everything about where you came from.” Alexsia grinned at her as she took the bowl, the smell was delicious. Her stomach gave another loud growl in protest. And so, she sat, and she ate, and she talked about her life on Earth. The noise in the kitchen died down, as the other women paused in their gossiping to listen to her stories about her mother, who had been an artist and the various schools Alexsia had attended, the bakery down the road from their house and the ship that had altered the course of her destiny. When she had finished a second round of stew, and answered all their questions, she said, “What did you mean when you said you needed more healers around?” Lura, who had also taken a seat around the table, set her own bowl of stew down as she glanced at Veina. The older woman peered down at Alexsia. “I’ll take it they didn’t tell you much at the City?” She shook her head. Veina switched the gas off at her stove and sat down, wincing as her ts creaked. “You haven’t seen much of the Kingdom yet, but it’s beautiful,” Veina began. “There hasn’t been a war on our shores in well over three hundred years. We live in peace with the other Kingdoms in Vessus. Well, we try to.” She rolled her eyes. “But for all our efforts, things have been stirring within the Kingdom. A darkness. Not one week ago, a creature that was said to have been banished far from the Kingdom, managed to escape through the Wards.” There it was again. That word. Wards. The Prince had mentioned that they were thinning. It was what they were leaving the Kingdom to see tomorrow. The bad feeling in Alexsia’s gut writhed. “Caused great havoc in the Square, too. My sister’s shop was very nearly destroyed,” one of the ladies leaning on a nearby countertop, muttered. Veina nodded. “We’re grateful to have you here, to help protect our Kingdom. No amount of effort is too small.” Alexsia stared around the room, at all the hopeful expressions the ladies were

giving her, and felt her stomach tighten. She hoped she could live up to their expectations. Lura looked around the room and glanced back at Alexsia. She clapped her hands once and stood up. “Well, I think it’s time I showed our newest addition to her room, I’m sure she must be exhausted from the day she’s had.” Alexsia gave her an appreciative look, thankful that Lura had spared her from having to make promises she wasn’t sure she could keep. Alexsia stood. “Thank you... for the stew. It was lovely to meet you all, I do hope I see you again soon.” “You’re welcome down here anytime at all,” Veina said, and the other women nodded in agreement. She plastered a smile on her face as she followed Lura out of the kitchens and down another staircase. “Thank you for that, Lura,” she said, once she was sure they were out of earshot of the kitchen. Lura tutted softly. “I know how much pressure you must be under. They force you girls to grow up so quickly.” Alexsia could have sworn a hint of sadness colored Lura’s words. “Were you close to her? The previous Helper?” Lura sighed, her features sliding in and out of focus as they ed the sconces hanging on the stairwell walls. “She had only been here for a month, but... I had just lost a child the week before she arrived. I formed an attachment to her.” Alexsia gasped softly. ‘I didn’t mean to pry,” she said. “Or upset you. I’m very sorry.” Lura clicked her tongue. “Nonsense. It was a very long time ago.” They reached a door at the base of the staircase and Lura pushed it open. “Here we are,” she said. “The Southern Wing.” Alexsia forgot their conversation as she stared in wonder at the opulence of the Southern Wing. Magnificent carpets swept the length of the hallways and

priceless paintings in gilded frames adorned the walls. Brilliant, sparkling chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting shimmering refractions against the gold flecked roof. “It’s beautiful,” Alexsia breathed, her eyes still on the chandelier above her head. “It’s the Royal Wing,” Lura said, winking at her. “Let me show you to your suite.” They ed several mahogany doors, the lengths between the doors widening with each room they ed. Lura eventually stopped before a door with the word “Guest Suite” etched in curlicue upon it. She fished around inside a pocket and drew out a small key, which she slotted into the doorknob and twisted. The door swung open to reveal nothing short of luxury. The room must have been twice the size of the apartment she had shared with her mother in Liverpool. A large lounging area greeted her first. Lime green couches framed a chic coffee table. A bookshelf, filled to her delight, was set against a wall. A dining table large enough to seat eight could be seen behind the lounge set, and a small kitchenette, armed with a coffeemaker and kettle, peeked out from an alcove. The bedroom housed a king-sized bed, on a slightly raised dais. Pale, gossamer curtains ringed the bed in shimmering waves. A window to the left revealed the most spectacular view of the Palace gardens, and in the distance, Alexsia could make out an ocean. She closed her eyes as the breeze brought the faint, familiar scent of saltwater. “Do you like it?” Lura asked, her brows crinkling in concern. “I love it.” Alexsia beamed. Lura’s shoulders sagged in visible relief. “His Majesty will be glad.” Alexsia wandered over to the bathroom and sighed in longing at the porcelain tub. She couldn’t wait to sink into it later and allow the hot water to wash away all her troubles. Well, temporarily at least.

Lura, who had disappeared back into the bedroom, clicked her tongue in disapproval. Alexsia stuck her head out of the bathroom. “What’s wrong?” she asked. Lura had opened every single drawer in the large cupboard stacked against the furthest wall. “It’s empty,” she said. “We will order new clothes immediately. They’ll probably only arrive tomorrow morning though...” she trailed off, examining Alexsia. “Come closer,” Lura commanded. Alexsia silently obeyed. Lura walked around her, eyeing her carefully. “I suppose you would fit into one of Greta’s gowns,” she finally said, more to herself than to Alexsia. “I suppose it’s better than nothing. You can’t go to dinner tonight dressed like this. No offense.” “Dinner?” Alexsia gave her a quizzical look. “With the King, of course,” Lura said, still deep in thought as she walked circles around Alexsia. “You’re a guest, you will dine with the King.” “Ah. Of course.” “Would you prefer I order you some gowns and slippers, like the rest of the young ladies wear these days, or are you more... comfortable in this?” Lura said, casting a disapproving look at her pants and sleeved shirt. Alexsia looked down at her outfit. If she was to be protecting the Kingdom, like Veina had suggested, she would need free range of movement. While she had loved the gowns she had owned back home, she had to it that during her weeks training at the City, she had become quite used to the feel of the pants and loose-fitting blouses. “I think I would be more comfortable in these clothes,” she told Lura. “But a gown or two wouldn’t hurt either. For special occasions.” She winked. Lura winked right back at her.

“I’m sure you would like to bathe or rest,” Lura said. “You can wait here while I see Greta about lending you one of her dresses. Unless you would like to come with? She’s a lovely girl, I’m sure the two of you will become fast friends.” Alexsia smiled apologetically. “I was actually hoping you could steer me in the direction of a library. There is a library here, right?” The thought had hit her the moment Veina had mentioned the Wards. If she hoped to accomplish anything during her time here, let alone figure out the problem plaguing Arianon, she would need a thorough history lesson on the Kingdom; especially if she was to accompany the King and the Prince on their expedition to the Wards the next morning. Rather than bother every person she met with incessant questions, what better place to search for answers than a library. Lura’s eyes sparkled. “I’ll escort you there at once.”

Chapter 11

Hera snapped her book shut with a satisfied sigh. She loved a happy ending. She glanced at Greta, who was poring over a book on wattle root, for a tonic she was making to help alleviate the nasty cough that had been spreading throughout the Kingdom. “Quit staring at me,” Greta grumbled, without looking up. “I’m not,” Hera said. She stretched her arms high above her head, yawning widely, and then got up to place the book she had just finished back in its rightful spot. She glanced around at the empty library and began pacing the length of the shelves, suddenly very bored. Greta looked up at her, a finger placed lightly against a spot in her book. “I can’t concentrate with your endless marching up and down. This is a library for Heaven’s sake, Hera.” Hera pouted. “Fine, perhaps I’ll go see if Petra needs help with anything.” “Fine, do that.” Greta turned back to her book and Hera stuck her tongue out at her friend. “Right back at you,” Greta said, her eyes never leaving her page. Hera whirled around and was about to march herself right out of the library when she spotted one of the King’s maids, identifiable by the green collar ringing the edges of her uniformed skirt and shirt, bustling through the library with a pretty brunette girl right behind her. Greta lifted her head at the approaching steps and a smile began to form on her face. “Lura?” she said. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I do hope you’ve come bearing more of Trana’s oatmeal cookies.”

Lura, and the girl behind her, paused in front of Greta’s desk. Lura gave Greta a bashful smile. “Not today, unfortunately,” she said. “But I will tell her that a batch has been requested. She will be pleased.” Greta tilted her head to her girl standing behind Lura. “And who’s this?” The girl stepped out of Lura’s shadow and struck out a hand. “Alexsia Solenia. I’m a Helper,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.” Greta balked at her hand as though it were poisoned. “Charmed.” Alexsia’s hand began to lower, awkwardly. “You’ll have to excuse Greta,” Hera said, stepping forward. “She hates anyone prettier than her. Took her three whole months to even warm up to me, and I’m not nearly as good looking as she is.” A blush crept up the sides of the Alexsia’s face, deepening Greta’s scowl, which Hera cheerily ignored. “What can we help you with, Lura?” Greta asked, the scowl still on her face. Lura glanced between Greta and Alexsia, at the slight shake of the head Alexsia gave her and smoothed down the front of her shirt. “Alexsia just arrived this morning from the City. We haven’t had time to order her new clothes yet.” Greta’s eyes narrowed. “Seeing as you’re about the same size as her,” Lura continued, ignoring Greta’s glare, “I was wondering if she could borrow a dress of yours for dinner tonight.” Greta sniffed and examined the other girl. “Her breasts are simply far too large, Lura, I’m certain they won’t manage to fit inside one of my dresses.” Alexsia gave a not-so-subtle eye-roll. “Not a problem at all,” she said, rendering a fake smile before turning to Lura. “I really have no qualms with wearing what I’m wearing now to dinner. If the King has a problem with it, then I will gladly tell him exactly where he can place his opinions.”

Hera snorted loudly and Greta glowered at her. Realizing that Greta would rather swallow glass than offer the girl one of her dresses, Hera said, “You can borrow one of my dresses. Us busty girls have to stick together.” “Much appreciated, but -” Alexsia began to protest. “I insist,” Hera cut her off. “Then it’s settled,” Lura said. “Thank you for the generous offer.” She glanced down at the pocket watch dangling off one of the belt loops on her skirt and tutted. “I’m afraid I must be off. I have an appointment to which I must attend. I will leave you here with the girls. I’m sure Miss Ieves will point you in the right direction of whatever book you’re looking for.” Hera nodded. “That is what assistant librarians do.” Greta rolled her eyes and focused her attention back on her book. “Alexsia can accompany me back to my rooms later, to fetch the dress,” Hera said. Lura gave her a grateful look, handed a small key to Alexsia, and left the library, her pocket watch swinging with every step she took. “So,” Hera said, turning to face the new girl. “What are you looking for?”

Greta didn’t so much as look at her again. She sat at her table engrossed in the tome in front of her. But Alexsia could sense her body language, feel the discomfort radiating from the girl. She wasn’t sure why Greta disliked her so much, and so instantly too, especially when Veina and Lura had spoken so highly of her. It couldn’t have been over something as vapid as looks. Nevertheless, Alexsia did not have the luxury or the time to deal with petty dramas amongst girls. Hera was much nicer. With her light brown skin, a winning smile and hair the strangest shade of pale green, Alexsia had instantly liked her. Hera had shown her the section on Arianon’s history, pointing out which books held useful information about the Wards and which ones bored you straight to sleep. Alexsia grinned as Hera piled books into her arms and helped her carry them out of the library. “I’ve never met a Helper before,” Hera said, peering at her over the stack of books in her arms. “In the flesh,” Alexsia said, doing her best not to trip over her shoes. Being clumsy while navigating through an unfamiliar place and holding a tower of books was not the best combination. She would be mortified if she were to go tumbling down a hidden set of stairs. “It must be so weird, being on another planet,” Hera said, guiding them down a wide age. “It is weird, but also a lot more familiar than I would have expected things to be.” “How so?” Hera asked. “Well, for one, there are people here,” Alexsia said. “When I thought of life on other planets I imagined horrific alien creatures, sucking the life out of their planets before moving on to colonize the next.” “We have those here, too,” Hera said. “We just don’t like to them too much. Really hurts the tourism industry.” Alexsia grinned; she liked Hera.

When they reached her door, Alexsia balanced her books on one knee as she shoved the small key into the doorknob. The door swung open to reveal the room beyond in all its opulent glory. Hera whistled long and low. “Fancy.” They set the books down on the coffee table and Hera plopped down on one of the lime couches. “So, this is how the other half live,” she said. Alexsia chuckled. “Believe me, I was shocked too. My entire family home could have fit into just this lounging area.” Hera’s eyes shuttered momentarily, so quickly Alexsia thought she had imagined it, and then Hera returned to smiling brightly. “I heard Helpers have powers,” she said, wiggling her fingers mystically. “I’m a healer,” Alexsia said. “I can patch up scrapes and wounds. Nothing major, but with some practice, I’ll get there.” “Ah,” Hera nodded. “Greta’s quite a skilled healer, too, you know.” “Lura mentioned that, yes. Seemed to think having that in common would help us get along but...” she trailed off, not wanting to say anything bad about Hera’s friend. Hera brushed her off, waving a hand casually. “Don’t mind Greta. She’s under a bit of pressure right now. And I wasn’t lying when I said that she only warmed up to me after three months. She’s... a difficult person, but when she decides to be your friend, she’s loyal to a fault.” Alexsia chewed the inside of her cheek, she wasn’t planning on being here for three months, but she nodded anyway. “We should get going,” Hera said, pulling herself off the couch. “I want to show you the dresses before it gets too late.” “I really appreciate it, Hera,” Alexsia said. “But it’s really not necessary. Lura was the one insisting on a dress for dinner.”

Hera gave her a stern look. “I won’t hear any of it. You can’t be expected to dine with the Prince and the King in this. We may come from different planets, but we still have common etiquette here,” she huffed. Alexsia grinned and stood up. As she did so, her hand brushed against Hera’s bare arm. At the , her knees wobbled violently beneath her, before giving out completely. She doubled over at the current of pain that swept through her entire body and her magic recoiled, as though struck. Pain so vivid and clear, a memory that did not belong to her. It was too much; her magic hissed and spat at the heat of the flames, at the noxious smell of burning flesh and the face of a man she did not know. Alexsia felt the ground slip out from underneath her and then...darkness. When she awoke, two hours later, Hera was gone. A pale lilac dress hung from the arm of the couch, its wisps of fabric swaying in the salty breeze.

Flynn was on his way to offer the Helper - Alexsia - a tour of the Palace when he heard the bells ring. He stopped dead in his tracks. The bell rang once. A warning. Twice meant evacuate at once, an attack was on its way. It rang for a third time and then went silent. Death. Flynn hurtled through the corridor in the opposite direction to which he had been going. He was halfway to the South Wing...if he took a shortcut, he could make it to Fenix’s office in under thirty seconds. He skidded to a stop at a wall on which several unlit sconces hung. He scanned them, looking for the slightly smaller one. When he spotted it, he pushed his index finger beneath the slim crack between the sconce and the wall and pressed the small button lodged within the space. The wall hissed slightly and began to lower into the floor, revealing a dark, damp stairwell. Flynn brushed aside the cobwebs that had since sprouted along the entryway and felt around the interior wall for the button which would light the sconces that travelled all the way down to the bottom of the stairwell. When they had been much younger, he had explored every inch of the Palace with Fenix. After Fenix had read a book which had mentioned one of several hidden stairwells within the Palace, they had armed themselves with real daggers and had gone searching for every hidden ageway. A whole network of tunnels stretched beneath the Palace. They had been designed for safety reasons, to evacuate if the Palace was under siege or for the royal family to make an undetected escape, if threatened. These ageways were certainly not designed for the purpose with which Flynn was now employing - as a shortcut to Fenix’s office. Feeling the raised button along the inside of the wall, Flynn pushed it. The space lit up dimly and Flynn did not hesitate as he crossed the threshold and began sprinting down the stairs two at a time. High above, the wall slowly raised itself back into place. Flynn reached a fork in the stairwell and continued right, hoping his memory still served him well. He took a left at the next fork then continued right, until he

reached another door. He pressed the button at the side of the door and stepped back as the door hissed into the ground. The door was still lowering itself when he jumped over it. Flynn barreled into his cousin’s office, breathless from the descent, his chest heaving up and down. Fenix, seated behind his desk, looked up at him, a grave expression on his face. “Who is it?” Fenix shook his head and began to stand. Flynn crossed over to the desk and stared the King dead in his eyes. “Who?” he demanded. Fenix sank back into his chair, his eyes shuttering. “There’s been an attack on Cailiff. Lord Aisel is dead.” An attack on Cailiff? His father had been visiting with Lord Aisel on diplomatic business. If Aisel was dead... Flynn gripped the sides of the desk, his eyes bulging. “What of my father?” Fenix shook his head again. “We haven’t heard word, but...” “But what, Fenix?” “The entire castle was burnt to the ground. There were no survivors.”

Greta’s eyes were red. She had been crying for hours upon hearing the news. Hera grabbed the empty box of tissues and chucked it on top of the other boxes in the bin, pulled the lid on a new box and set it beside Greta. They were in the North Wing. Greta’s mother sobbed quietly next to her daughter. The healers within the Wing had given Greta and her mother a tonic to help them sleep, but it had not kicked in yet. The healers had closed off the section and given them their privacy. Hera would have left too were it not for Greta’s ragged begs that she stay. And so, she had made herself as useful as possible, replacing tissues, ensuring they drank every drop of the tonic and continued to lie against the beds that had been set up for them when the news had trickled in. Lord Aisel of Cailiff was dead. He had burnt to death along with everyone else that had been in the Cailiff castle - including the Prince’s father and Greta’s twin sister, Aeryn, who had formed part of Adrian Arbora’s guard detail. Hera couldn’t believe it. That someone would attack an entire castle filled with innocent people - cooks and cleaners and visitors who had nothing to do with the North - just to get to one man. Hera felt the loss of Aeryn deeply. She had been friends with Aeryn before Greta had come around to her; she had loved her like a sister. Aeryn had always been the most mature of their bunch. Where Hera was happy to sit with her nose in a book and Greta was content to sit in the North Wing, experimenting with her potions and tonics, Aeryn had wanted to save people. She had wanted to protect. But no one had been there to protect her. Hera blinked away the tears beginning to form in her eyes. She had to be strong today, for Greta, and so she cast her mind away from thoughts of Aeryn. She thought of the new Helper, Alexsia. She had picked her up and laid her flat on the couch after the girl had ed out, careful not to touch her bare skin. Hera had checked her pulse and made sure she was breathing before she had left. When she had brought the dress back to her room, the girl was still asleep. She wondered if she was awake now, and what she thought of Hera.

But Hera couldn’t have stayed in that room after she had felt those memories from that horrible night all over again It was as though she had been plunged back into her eight-year-old body. She could not bring herself to stay with the other girl, after she had relived the warmth of the flames that had engulfed their home, like it was little more than kindling. And she could not stay there having seen her father’s face with so much clarity. The pang of guilt over having forgotten his features so easily had been enough to make her double over and dry heave. She felt her pocket vibrate and pulled out the small paging device. A message from Petra flashed on the screen, asking her if everything was okay. She sighed and stuffed the device back into her pocket. She would have to go see the old lady soon and make sure everything was still running smoothly in the library. She turned back to her friend. Greta’s sobs were beginning to soften as the tonic spread its way through her body. Already her features were slackening as sleep took over. Hera wiped the remaining tears from Greta’s cheek and tucked the blanket closer around her. Hera looked at her friend for a moment as she tried to rub the headache out of her temples. Greta looked angelic in her sleep, with her golden hair fanning out against her pillow. Hera wished she could take the sadness away from her friend and stuff it deep within the hole in her own heart, already filled with the many names of those she had loved and lost. She sighed deeply, ducked past the opaque screen, and headed back to the library.

Chapter 12

Alexsia had been poring over a book on Arianon’s history, with fascination for the past hour. She was amazed at how different their world ran. For one, everything on Arianon was powered by what they called the Resources - mineral composites buried deep within the soil, extracted using a very complex and highly technical process. They were used for everything in Arianon, from powering Portals to running coffee machines and keeping the Wards up. The Wards. They were fantastic. They had been designed by the Derian brothers during the First Wars, when the humans had revolted against their masters - the Teriots. The Teriots had been lured out, far from the Kingdom and trapped in the badlands of Vengeti, never to be seen or heard from again. So much time had ed since the reign of the Teriots that they had been all but forgotten. Left to survive in the barren plains of the Vengeti with no food or water, theorists speculated whether they even still existed. Alexsia ran a hand over an illustration of the Teriots. They were depicted on one side of the page as beautiful men and women with long, flowing hair and porcelain skin. On the other side, however, they were monsters. Large and scaly, with blood dripping from their maws and giant hooked claws, they feasted on the organs of a young girl who had been cut from chin to navel. Their shadows were elongated, the form an entirely different, but similarly grotesque shape. A soft knocking issued from her door, and she jumped. Shaking her head, she shut the book and quickly made her way across the room. She wasn’t sure who would be visiting her at this hour. Lura had returned earlier this evening and had explained that dinner had been unfortunately cancelled due to the attack in the North. She didn’t know the Prince well, but losing a parent was not something she wished on anyone. Of all the people she had expected to see outside her door, the green-haired girl from the library was not on the top of her list. She had heaved almost as soon as she had awoken, just barely making it to the bathroom in time, the smell of

burning flesh stuffed deep down her nose and throat. Hera had some serious explaining to do. Hera stood outside her door, a sheepish smile on her face. “Hey,” she said, her arms swinging awkwardly at her side. “I just wanted to check if you were alright.” Alexsia narrowed her eyes at Hera and then pulled her door open wider, tilting her head to the side in invitation. Hera ducked into the room, her eyes landing on the books scattered haphazardly over the couches, the pale dress still slung over the arm of the couch. “I’m sorry for just leaving like that earlier,” Hera said, her back to Alexsia. “I just didn’t expect to... feel those memories again.” Those were memories? Hera had lived through that? No wonder it had felt so real. Alexsia crossed to the couches and began clearing away the books. She sat down on one end of the long couch and patted the seat next to her. Hera glanced at the seat, at the proximity to Alexsia and chose the seat on the furthest end of the couch. “No offense,” Hera said. “But I don’t particularly fancy a stroll down memory lane again.” “It wasn’t a picnic for me either,” Alexsia snorted. A long silence stretched out, before Hera eventually said. “How did you do it?” Curiosity seeming to get the better of her. Alexsia shrugged. She had thought about it for hours after she had awoken, turning theories over and over in her head, each one more ludicrous than the other. But since Hera had mentioned they had been memories...an idea had formed. “I’m a healer,” Alexsia said. “When we touched, my magic reacted. It felt your

pain and anguish and pushed against it. Maybe...” Her mind was racing a million miles a second. “Maybe it can heal more than just physical wounds.” If her magic had sensed Hera’s emotional pain and had tried to push against it, perhaps it was a skill she could work on. Hera flinched as though she had hit her. “I’m not a science experiment. You can’t dig around in my memories,” she said, standing up abruptly. “No, Hera,” Alexsia replied quickly, holding her hands up. “It’s not like that. I didn't even know I could do that.” Hera looked at her through narrow eyes and breathed slowly out of her nose. “I’m sorry you had to relive that,” Alexsia said. She really was sorry that she had forced the girl to experience for the second time what had probably been the worst moment of her life. She winced at the memory. Hera’s eyes shuttered and her features relaxed. She sank back onto the couch and pressed her hands over her eyes as she took a breath. Her pale hair fell around her face in curls, but she made no move to push it back. “It’s just been a long day, you know. With Greta and everything. I’m sorry for snapping,” Hera mumbled. Alexsia bit the inside of her cheek. Lura had mentioned Greta’s twin sister who had been in Cailiff when the attack had happened Alexsia sighed. “You know what will make you feel better?” Hera lifted one palm and peeked at her. “What?” “Tea.” Hera cracked a small smile and nodded. Alexsia gave her a sad smile before getting up and heading to the kitchen. She busied herself by pulling two cups from a cupboard above the kettle and setting the water to boil. She grabbed a pack of teabags and was examining the ingredients - strange ingredients she had never heard of before, to her

disappointment. She had been hoping for some chamomile to soothe her before bed. Hera spoke so softly, Alexsia almost didn’t hear her. Almost. “My family is dead,” Hera confessed. The kettle whistled loudly over the stovetop and Alexsia hurried to move it, flinching as, in her haste, the hot water sloshed over the top of the kettle and onto her hand. She grabbed a towel from the countertop and dabbed at her hand before turning to face Hera. “The memory you saw. It was the night they died.” Alexsia didn’t know what to say, so she poured the water with a shaking hand and set the mugs down on the coffee table before facing Hera again. “We were hunted. Anyone with a drop of magical blood in their veins. I watched my neighbors burn, and then the flames came for us. When there was only space in the back of the produce van for one more child... I left my family to burn as well.” “Tonight…” she continued, “…was the first time since I was ten that I ed my father’s face, really ed it. I am ashamed of myself.” Hera’s voice was ragged but her eyes were dry. “You were a child,” Alexsia said softly. “There was nothing you could have done.” Hera gave a humorless chuckle. “I am no longer a child and yet I have still done nothing.” Alexsia wished she could place an arm on the girl in comfort, or offer a hug, but she stayed on her side of the couch. “I haven’t even set foot back in Pneros since then. I’m a coward.” Alexsia nudged the steaming mug toward Hera. “You don’t have to save the entire world to be a hero. Sometimes just waking up in the morning and deciding to carry on is brave enough.”

Hera glanced at her for a long moment, as if deciding whether to trust her or not. Alexsia blew on her mug. “I felt your pain, Hera. I know how much it hurts. But at some point, you’re going to have to acknowledge the pain as the living, breathing creature it is and let it out of its cage. If you don't, it’ll keep you locked up right in there with it.” Hera gripped her mug tightly, her knuckles turning white. “What do you know of pain, Alexsia?” “More than you know,” Alexsia said, thinking of Margaux...thinking of herself. “I’ve lost my mortal tether to the world. My humanity is gone. At least you still have a life, your family gave you that. Don’t waste it feeling sorry for yourself.” Hera was silent for a beat, and then she blew out a long breath and pushed her hair back. A single curl sprang straight back against her forehead. “I think we’ll be good friends, Alexsia Solenia.”

Alexsia awoke the next morning to Lura shoving a steaming plate of eggs and toast in front of her face. A mug of strong-smelling tea was set on her bedside table. She was exhausted. She and Hera had stayed up well past midnight, talking about anything and everything. She had been delighted when Hera had revealed her heritage, albeit distant to the water faeries who lived in the great oceans and lakes of Vessus and had changed the color of her hair from pale green to neon pink with violet stripes, before allowing it to fade back to its pastel hue. “Rise and shine,” Lura sung as she pulled back the curtains and weak sunlight poured into the room. Alexsia shielded her eyes with a hand and rolled over, pulling the covers above her head. Lura tutted, stalked toward the bed, and ripped the covers away. “The King and his men leave in an hour precisely, which means, if you’re still planning on accompanying them, you’ll have to get a move on.” Alexsia groaned and rubbed her eyes. Lura was right, she had to get moving. She glanced at Lura, who was standing near her chest of drawers, packing things into them. Her clothes had arrived. Alexsia leapt up and rushed to the cabinet, peering within. Lura chuckled, “You like clothes?” “Love them,” Alexsia murmured, staring at the different garments Lura had already packed into the drawers. She pulled out what looked to be a pair of tight fitting, stretchy pants. She ran her fingers over the soft material in wonder. Laying the pants on the bed, she rummaged around for a blouse. When she was satisfied with her outfit for the day, she headed to the bathroom. She emerged twenty minutes later, her skin steaming. She had been careful to keep her hair dry during the bath. She pulled it free from its clip now and set to braiding it tightly to her head. She didn’t need any errant hairs distracting her

from whatever they were doing today. She got dressed quickly and was pulling on a pair of running shoes when Lura strode back into the room. Lura looked at her in surprise. “You’re ready?” Alexsia nodded and bustled past Lura, yanking the main door open and gesturing between Lura and the door. “After you.”

Flynn choked on his tea, the liquid spilling out the sides of his mouth, as Alexsia approached their table. Fenix looked at him in disgust, but Flynn saw his cousin’s eyes widen at the approaching Helper. She was wearing a pair of tight black pants which clung to every curve and dip of her lower body. Her loose-fitting blouse swayed in the breeze and her plaited hair lay across one shoulder. She shoved the braid back, impatiently, as she neared, speaking softly to the handmaid next to her. They stopped right outside the breakfast hall and continued their conversation. After a few moments, the handmaid gestured to the breakfast table and Alexsia glanced at them. Flynn’s heart stopped. Just stopped beating. “Don’t even think about it,” Fenix muttered, turning back to his toast. Flynn pulled his gaze away from Alexsia and glared at his cousin. “Think about what?” “That,” Fenix said, pointing his piece of toast at the girl. “It’s not happening.” Flynn raised his brows. “Is that an order, Your Majesty?” Fenix rolled his eyes and stuck a knife into a pot of jam. “She’ll leave once she realizes she can’t help us. Don’t waste your time.” Flynn set his teacup down with a clatter and narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “I know what this is.” “Pray tell, Flynnigan,” Fenix said sarcastically, buttering his toast with the flat of his knife. “You’re interested in her too. You just don’t want me competing with you,” Flynn said. Fenix’s knife slipped from his fingers and fell onto his plate. His cousin looked at him for a beat and then roared with laughter.

Wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, Fenix said, “There’s no competition, you can have her.” Flynn didn’t understand. The girl was gorgeous, and his cousin had had his fair share of trysts with beautiful women in his earlier days. His virtue wasn’t a concern. He scratched his jaw. “Why?” “What do you mean, why?” “Why don’t you want her?” Flynn questioned and Fenix just shook his head. Flynn shrugged. “Whatever. Besides, you’re engaged, Fenix, you can’t have everything.” Fenix raised a single brow. “This girl really must have you in a bend if you’re encouraging my engagement.” “I’m not,” Flynn said. “I’m merely stating a fact. Or has your common sense finally kicked in and you’ve decided to renege on whatever agreement you’ve made with the Surs? How is dear Taria, anyway, cousin? I haven’t heard of your betrothed since our lovely encounter with the Zelog.” Fenix glared at him, a nerve struck. “Watch it.” He turned back to his toast as Alexsia entered the hall. “Morning,” she said, coming around to take a seat opposite Flynn. “Good morning, Miss Solenia,” Fenix said, any trace of irritation he had harbored toward Flynn disappearing. Flynn snorted and Fenix frowned at him. “Morning, Lexi. Can I call you Lexi?” Flynn said, reaching across the table for the teapot. “Um, sure,” she said, pushing the teapot toward him. Fenix’s frown deepened but he didn’t say anything.

“You sleep well?” Flynn asked. “Great,” she said. “Thank you.” “Toast?” Flynn pushed a plate piled high with buttered toast toward her. “No thanks,” she said, lifting her hands. “I’ve already eaten.” “Lura’s taking good care of you, then?” Fenix asked, his eyes on her. She nodded. “Very much so.” Then she turned to Flynn, her tone softer, “I heard about the attack. I’m very sorry for your loss.” Flynn grimaced slightly but nodded in thanks. “We’ll find whoever is responsible. An attack on Cailiff is an attack on Arianon.” Fenix nodded in agreement. Fenix had lost his father when he had been all but one year old. Adrian, having served as King until Fenix had come of age nine months ago, had been more than just a father figure to him, he had also been his mentor. Alexsia bit her lip and Flynn’s attention snagged. Fenix, sensing his cousin’s distraction, rolled his eyes and pushed up from the table. “We should get going,” he said, glancing at the sky, which was beginning to darken. Thunder rumbled far off in the distance. “I want to get there before it rains.” Flynn looked sharply out the window at that, drained the dregs of his tea and stood. “I’ll get Tren and head out to the horses.” “Horses?” Alexsia squeaked. “Haven’t you ever ridden one?” Flynn asked. She shook her head. He gave her a devilish grin. “You can ride with me.”

Chapter 13 1779

Iocho sat on her high throne, her hands folded on her lap. She surveyed the quiet room coldly, her eyes flicking every now and then to the servant girl kneeling at the foot of the throne, the girl’s forehead was a mere centimeter away from the tiled floors. The queen smiled; her servants were nothing if not obedient. The door creaked open a fraction, the sound like an ugly screech in the still room. The queen’s gaze fixed itself to the slender man standing in the doorway. He was a beautiful boy, her son, she remarked casually, but it was not only her looks he had inherited, but also her nature. She had named him Amorphous, after his father, and like his father, Amorphous possessed great strength and character. He was sure to litter the ground with more bodies than the queen herself had ever dreamed of, if only he knew what he was and the power he held. One day she would explain it all to him and show him how to unlock his gifts. One day he would be grateful for what she had done. She turned a proud smile in his direction. “My son, what news have you?” Amorphous moved closer into the room, shutting the door behind him. He gestured to the servant girl, silently asking his mother for privacy. Iocho exhaled, “Leave us, slave.” The girl stood up at once and bowed low before retreating from the room, the torn clothes hanging limply from her slight body. Amorphous watched her leave, his expression unreadable, before turning his curiously bright green eyes onto his mother’s face. It was the only odd feature in her son’s face, she noted dully. He certainly hadn’t gotten his eyes from her, and definitely not from his father. “There is war in the North, mother,” he said calmly. Iocho’s smile did not falter as she responded.

“And is it assumed that I care?” “No,” her son regarded her warily. “But it is assumed that you will care once the Wards break.” There was a flicker of something foolish men would mistake for fear in her eyes, but Amorphous knew her better than that. He forged swiftly ahead. “If you would allow me to accompany a troop of soldiers out to the Wards, I will ensure they are not damaged beyond repair.” “No!” his mother exclaimed, standing up, her hand inched toward her neck, and she fidgeted with the whisper-thin necklace, her brain whirring. She paced back and forth across the room, muttering words Amorphous could not understand. Iocho turned her back to her son suddenly, her pacing had ended. She held her palm open, away from his view and gazed at the stone in her hands. Crystalline liquid shimmered inside the glass, setting fractured pieces of light across Iocho’s face. The crystal fell out of her hands before she felt the dagger pierce the spot between her shoulder blades. Amorphous reached down in one fluid motion and scooped the crystal off the tiled floors; his face pained. Iocho grinned despite the burning in her back. “My Amorphous, surely you know that I cannot be killed.” She fell to the floor under the weight of the dagger in her back and blood pooled around her. It would be a matter of minutes until the blood stopped; and a handful of years left of Amorphous’s life if he did not return it to her, for he had touched the crystal and she had cursed it long ago. Amorphous sighed deeply as he gazed at his mother’s sprawled shape on the floor. It was the sigh of someone who had gained a victory they did not much want. “I know, mother, but you can be banished, can you not? You are weak enough right now.” Iocho’s eyes widened and Amorphous saw a flicker of what was most definitely fear. Iocho was good at concealing her emotions, but not from him. He knew his mother well. “I knew you would do this one day, my son. I am proud of you for it, you lived

to my greatest expectations for you. But what I am not proud of is your relationship with the servant girl. She will be killed for this, along with you.” Amorphous drew in a sharp breath. Iocho tried a smile, but it came out twisted. “Yes, I know of all that transpires in my kingdom.” “Then surely you knew that there was no war in the North,” he said. “No,” Iocho said. “I trusted that not even you would lie of that.” She crawled back onto her throne and spat a mouthful of blood in her son’s direction. It landed on the steps, leaving a dark stain. She was stalling for time, waiting until she regained enough of her strength to kill him. He would miss his chance if he didn’t act right now. Amorphous gripped the crystal tightly in his hand, resolved to put an end to his mother’s reign. “I banish thee, Iocho Greywell,” he spoke loud and clear, with purpose. “I banish thee to a life of misery and damnation. You will be imprisoned in a wall of your own making, in your very own Ice Tower.” He felt the power of the crystal surge in his palm as the Glycandic gold inched its way up Iocho’s body. She began to freeze upon her throne, the golden tint spreading from the stone dais and up the sides of her throne. A hint of a smile flitted across her cold face, even as she struggled for breath. Amorphous clenched and unclenched his fists as he watched the metal slowly snake up his mother’s body. Eventually, it had covered enough of her that escaping would be impossible. Iocho gave a cruel grin. “I’ll see you soon, my boy,” she said, before the Glycandic ed over her face, sealing her completely. Amorphous shuddered at the statue on the throne and glanced at the crystal in his palm. He had loved his mother, despite himself. She had been cruel and intolerable at best, murderous and treacherous at worst. He knew of the immense power held within the small crystal and did not relish at the thought of using it again, but he could not risk anyone else stumbling upon the Tower and finding Iocho within. With a heavy heart, he clenched his fingers around the crystal and resolved to

place a barrier over the Tower, one not unlike the Wards themselves. He cast one last disparaging look over his mother’s prone form. “I disown the name of Graywell,” he spoke to the golden throne his mother had killed so many for. “I henceforth claim Amorphous Aronson. Let my descendants live to be great leaders.”

The ride was long and bumpy, and the darkening clouds threatened to spill over at any second. Alexsia had been uncomfortable as Flynn had mounted the horse behind her and grabbed the reins. But her discomfort had quickly changed to mortification as the horse had begun galloping and she had found herself being thrown repeatedly back against him. Fenix rode slightly ahead of them, a trail of guards flanking him. As the horse bounded, and she slammed back against Flynn’s hard chest, she regretted not saying yes when Fenix had asked her if she wanted to ride her own horse. Although, she didn’t know how to ride a horse and would, no doubt, have slowed them down. Tren kept to their side, grinning mischievously but not saying much. They had left the Kingdom three hours ago and had already crossed through a lush forest and past several streams. Alexsia’s body was stiff and aching from the ride, but she didn’t dare complain to this group of soldiers. They would just laugh and tell her she should have listened to them and stayed behind. Fenix nudged his horse to a slower canter and the rest of the procession followed. Alexsia scanned their surroundings; the vegetation was starting to shrink and the air tasted drier. The forest they were in was beginning to thin out into an open clearing up ahead. Flynn swigged from a waterskin at his side and ed it to her. She was beyond propriety at this point, she thought half-heartedly, as she grabbed the skin and chugged. “How far are we?” she asked no one in particular. “Almost there,” Fenix said, his hand cupped above his brows as he stared ahead of them. Flynn nudged their horse, and it began cantering faster. They rode until they reached an empty stretch of land. It was deserted. Dry, arid land yawned as far as the eye could see, not a speck of greenery sprouted beyond. There weren’t even insects out here, as if they knew there was no life this far out.

“Where are the men?” Fenix asked. “There are supposed to be men patrolling these borders. Where are they?” He looked at his guards. They shrugged, lifting their hands in supplication. “Deserters?” Tren suggested. “All of them?” Fenix shook his head and barked at a guard. “Ride ahead and see if you can find out where the men are.” The guard gave a quick nod of his head and rode off. Flynn slid off the horse and reached a hand to help Alexsia dismount from their horse. She stood on sore, shaky legs, her bones cracking as she stretched from the long ride. “We’re here? Where are the Wards?” Alexsia asked, not seeing anything but dead land. “You’re looking right at them,” Fenix said. “They’re invisible, but if you had to touch it,” he chucked his waterskin a few feet forward and it bounded right off, “you’d feel it.” Fenix dismounted his horse and patted it softly before turning to Tren and his guards. He began speaking to them about patrolling the border and testing for weak patches. The guards reached for their satchels, into which small pebbles had been piled. They would go around, throwing them against the Wards, checking which bounced back and which went through. Once they determined where the problem was, they could work on focusing more of the Resources toward powering that patch. Alexsia looked at the land, it went on forever. They would be here for easily the rest of the day. She sighed and whirled around to face Flynn, holding out her hand. He looked at her hand, confused. “Give me a bag, I’ll help,” she said. He gave her a you’re-not-serious look. “Look, we’ll set up a tent, you can wait in there until we’re done.” She gave him an incredulous look. “I came to help. I’m not sitting and doing

nothing.” “Give her a bag, Flynn,” Fenix said, walking past them, a bag in his own hands. “We’ll start here. Tren’s group is starting further up, go with them.” Flynn looked between the two of them for a moment, before moving. He reached across their horse, to the satchels roped against the saddle. Hefting a beautiful dagger in one hand, he expertly sliced at the rope, freeing a satchel. He tossed it to Alexsia, and she caught it expertly. He didn’t say anything as he swung back onto the horse and nudged it into a gallop, kicking up dust as it went. Alexsia coughed at the dust, her eyes watering. “He’s a drama queen,” Fenix said, his gaze trailing his cousin, who was now a speck in the distance. He gestured up ahead at the remaining guards. “After you.” Alexsia walked a long way beside Fenix, tossing pebbles against the Wards and watching them rebound with satisfaction. Fenix didn’t say much, he didn’t try to pry into what life had been like on Earth or what powers she had. He left her alone. It was nice for a change, to be in the company of someone yet still feel alone. The thunder rumbled closer, threatening, but the rain did not spill. They would probably have to camp here if it began to rain. They had brought tents and supplies and food to last at least a week. She was suddenly very glad for the outfit she had chosen to wear. Flexible and light, it allowed for free range of movement and if they were to be stuck here for a while longer, she would be comfortable. Alexsia felt Fenix stop beside her. He had tossed a pebble at the Wards, and it had rebounded back, but with less tenacity than before. He threw another stone against the barrier. It rolled off weakly. Fenix reached into his pocket and dug out and x-shaped cross, which he stuck into the dirt in front of the weak patch. Their group had found several of these

weak patches in the hour they had been walking the length of the Wards, but never one that was completely open. The Wards, for the most part, appeared to be in good order, just needing some attention here and there. But Fenix looked tense as he surveyed the litter of crosses that lay in the dirt. “What’s wrong?” Alexsia asked, breaking their silence. But Fenix didn’t answer. He just shook his head, straightened up and continued on. Alexsia frowned and contemplated throwing a pebble at his head. Deciding against it, just barely, she followed him. “If I am to be of any assistance, I’d like to know what the problem is,” she demanded, in her most authoritative voice. Fenix paused and slowly turned to face her. “I’m not wasting my time explaining anything to a child who is just filling out some grand delusion of what an adventure is supposed to be like. When you realize that everything here is not this great, exciting quest, you will be gone within the week,” he said. “Now, I’ve let you stay here so you can accomplish whatever it is you think will make you this great hero, but don’t get on my nerves. I’m not as patient as you think I am.” He strode toward his guards before she could respond. Alexsia flinched, the words cutting to the bone. He thought her a child? One who was simply taking up space in his Kingdom on a thrill seek? She was so angry, her fingers twitched at her side. Here she was, risking her soul’s tether to the Heavens and instead of receiving a thank you, he was implying that she was delusional? The anger churned in her stomach, and she felt her magic uncoil within her, slithering to the surface. Her fingers sparked at her side and then a pebble was hovering in front of her face. It floated there, lazily. With half a thought, she sent it careening through the air. It whizzed straight through the Wards. Alexsia jolted. She rooted around in her bag for another pebble and hastily flung it against the same spot. It bounced right off. She didn’t understand what had just happened. Did she imagine it?

She threw three more pebbles against the barrier, each one rolling off. “How did you do it?” Fenix asked, his voice at her ear. In her panic, she hadn’t noticed him sneaking up behind her. She jumped and shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.” “I saw it go through.” She took a step forward, but his hand closed around her elbow, and he turned her around. “How. Did. You. Do. It?” he demanded. He was so close she could smell the peppermint on his breath. She shook her arm, but his grip remained firm. The thunder rumbled loudly and then the Heaven’s opened up. They were drenched in under a minute. Fenix loosened his grip on her arm momentarily and she pulled away. “I don’t have to explain anything to you,” she spat over the rain streaking down her face. “And I suggest you don’t waste your time trying to figure it out. I’ll be gone soon enough.” She spun on her heel and followed the guards back toward their horses. They would set up camp within the shade of the Vengeti forest and wait the rain out. Flynn and Tren’s group were probably already there, waiting for them. When she had walked far enough away from him, she couldn’t help but look back at Fenix. He was still standing in the same spot, motionless, letting the rain wash over him. And then her eyes fell on the figures behind him. She squinted through the heavy rain at the dark shapes approaching. Fenix turned at their approach, drawing his sword, but he was too late. They had closed in on him, forming a circle. Alexsia did not see him cut through one of the figures as she had already begun sprinting toward him.

The rain had turned the dirt beneath her feet into mud, and her shoes made wet, squelching sounds as she ran. She shouted for help, but the guards had long since ran off into the forest, her screams lost in the din of the rain. And so, she ran and ran, and she did not notice the root within the mud. Her shoe caught and she fell face forward into the cold mud. She lifted herself up on her hands in time to see Fenix began dragged off, unconscious. And then a heavy foot stomped down beside her, splashing flecks of mud across her face. She closed her eyes at the spray and did not see the heavy club swing down against her head or feel the sickening crack as it met the bone.

Chapter 14 1781

Amorphous clutched the sides of the throne, his knuckles white, his forehead dripped with sweat as he wheezed a rasping, broken cough. Blood dripped off his chin, but he couldn’t be bothered to wipe it away. He stared, wide eyed, at the clock that ticked down the seconds left until his demise. He had hoped otherwise, but now knew without a shadow of doubt. He knew the consequences of taking the crystal. He knew when he had taken it from his mother, seven years to the day, that the price to be paid would be his life. He prayed that his life alone would suffice. The door creaked open a fraction and the pale face of his wife emerged. She pushed the door further open, their baby boy cradled in her arms. Her eyes widened at the sight of the blood trickling from his lips, but he brushed away her concerns. “Do not bring him in here, Imogen. I do not want him contracting the illness,” Amorphous said, although he knew it was futile. The boy could not contract this illness when it was not an illness in the first place. It was a curse, and no matter how hard Amorphous tried to deny it, he knew in his heart that the boy would meet the same fate that he himself would. Imogen lowered her eyes, quiet as always, yet did not remove the boy. She waited, still. Amorphous knew that she would wait there silently for hours if he did not take the boy from her. She knew the art of silence well; her slave habits had not quite died even after all these years as queen. She would have to rule alone until the boy was ready to rule in his mother’s stead. The child was asleep in his mother’s arms, not stirring...blissfully innocent. “You need to hold him one last time before…” Imogen broke off, and looked away from her husband’s gaunt face, her eyes filling with tears.

Before I die, Amorphous finished in his head. He gave a curt nod, unfurled his fingers from their vise-like grip on the throne and beckoned for the child. Imogen moved forward and gently handed him the bundle. Amorphous stared down at the tiny, sleeping face of the child he would not know, the man who would one day rule this continent, and sighed. “Logan Aronson, you will be great,” Amorphous said and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. Glancing at his wife, he began, “Imogen, I…” his voice cracked, and he could no longer continue. She met his gaze, the tears streaking down her face. “I know,” was all she said.

She knew she was awake before she opened her eyes. The stone beneath her was icy and it cut into her skin. She heard voices whispering softly, but she couldn’t make the words form into a coherent sentence. She blearily cracked an eye open, but she might as well have kept it closed for all that she saw. It was so dark she couldn’t even see her breath turn to mist in front of her face. She pushed herself into a sitting position, groaning at her stiff muscles. “Oh, good. You’re awake,” Fenix’s voice floated across the space. “Are you hurt?” She lifted a hand to the back of her head, to the dried and crusted blood there, but felt no wound. She shook her head, then realizing he could not see her, said, “No, are you?” Fenix didn’t answer. “Where are we?” she said, looking around the cold, dank space. “I don’t know,” Fenix answered. “What were those things?” She shuddered at the memory of those dark, hulking shapes. The rain had been so heavy that she hadn’t gotten a good look at them, but, upon second thought, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “Sylphs,” Fenix said. “I hadn’t expected them to be so far out from the forest. They usually prefer to stay in their caves.” “You knew those things were out there?” Fenix paused and then said, “Arianon is home to many magical creatures. They mostly stay within their own territories and leave us alone.” “So, why did they bring us here?” Fenix’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “The next time I dine with the Chief Sylph, I’ll be sure to ask him.”

Alexsia leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. She didn’t feel inclined to speak to him anymore. A soft whispering echoed once more and Alexsia whipped her head toward the sound. Despite not wanting to speak to Fenix anymore, her curiosity won out. “Who is that?” she asked quietly. “The men who were supposed to be patrolling the border. They were captured and brought here. They’ve been here for days. Only half of them still remain.” “What happened to the rest?” “Tell her what you told me, Marcaus,” Fenix said. “The Sylphs come every day,” the disembodied voice of Marcaus said. “You don’t see them until they grab you. We lost Kufan and Gregor just yesterday.” “And here I was thinking you had deserted,” Fenix said. Marcaus chuckled softly, “I wish.” Alexsia heard a rustle of clothing as Fenix adjusted himself, and a quiet hiss of pain. “What’s wrong?” Alexsia said, trying for all her might to see him through the darkness. “Nothing,” he said, annoyance coloring his tone. “Leave me alone.” She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. The air was so cold it burned her throat. She wished she had just a flicker of light, and maybe some water. But... she could. Yes, she had only used her portal power once before. And granted, it had only worked on a very small item, but she could picture the tiny candles that were set decoratively above her bathtub in her chambers at the Palace. And she ed the small matchbox that had been in the cabinet, next to the box of strange tea she had made for herself and Hera. She focused very hard, ignoring the draft that swept through the cavern and raised the goosebumps on her arms. She reached in for that sleeping creature, but

it did not stir. She huffed in frustration, shook her shoulders loose and tried again. She tried to how she had felt that day in the City when she had summoned the spoon. She hadn’t really been trying to do anything, she just really hadn’t wanted to walk all the way to the back of the dining hall to grab a spoon. And so, she exhaled, cleared all thoughts from her mind and surrendered herself to the present. She let the cool air drift over her skin, ignoring the raised hairs along her arms and the numbness at the tip of her nose. She forgot about Fenix, sitting injured across from her or the Sylphs that might decide to drop in at any moment. And then, like a spark in darkness, her magic spooled out in warm rivulets. She felt it slither down her arms and legs until it danced at the tips of her fingers. Half a thought and her fingers coiled around the cylindrical candle. Another thought and the matchbox appeared in her lap, its weight setting comfortably against her thighs. She closed her eyes in relief, the magic subsiding as quickly as it had come, curling itself back into a tight ball in her chest. The warmth she had felt mere moments ago, faded instantaneously. With numb fingers, she pulled at the matchbox, her fingers feeling around in the darkness for a matchstick. She pulled one out, her fingers shaking so badly it threatened to upset the rest of the matchsticks and struck against the side of the box. Too hard. The matchstick snapped in half. “What are you doing there?” Fenix called out suspiciously. She ignored him. She rooted around the box for another matchstick and struck it against the side of the box, this time more gently. The flame caught, casting a wide glow around the room before dimming into a small flicker. She heard several gasps and then the whispers started up again. She ignored them all as she tilted her small candle toward the angle of the flame, shielding it as best she could from the draft. She breathed a sigh of relief when it eventually caught.

“Alexsia,” Fenix had been calling her name since she had lit the matchstick. She looked up at him and gasped. They were clearly in a cave, a very jagged, slippery, wet cave. But someone had renovated it. Strong metal bars were affixed from ceiling to floor, separating them from the other men. Fenix leaned heavily against the bars, favoring his left side. His hair was matted with blood and a nasty gash on one cheekbone had begun to turn yellow. His right arm was bent in an odd angle and lay draped across his stomach. “What did you do, Alexsia?” he asked so quietly, his face a mask of deadly calm. “I...” she sputtered and tore her gaze away from him, back to the candle she held in her hand. She shook her head as if in a daze and tried to regain her composure. She was a healer, for Heaven’s sake. She couldn’t go off fainting every time she saw a bloody wound. “It’s nothing,” she finally said. “I can portal things, small things,” she clarified. “That’s your power?” Fenix said, his mouth opening slightly. “Uhm, one of them.” “One?” He gave her a disbelieving look. “What else can you do?” Well, it was bound to come out sooner or later. And she couldn’t very well leave him here like this. Even if it scared the ever-loving daylights out of her, she had been practicing and practicing, albeit only tiny pinpricks on Margaux, but she knew more or less how the process worked. She blew out a breath, watched it mist over and then said, “I’m a healer.” Fenix narrowed his eyes. “A healer?” “Yes.” She didn’t dare attempt to stand with the rough, jagged edges of stalactites dripping from the roof of the cave, but she did an awkward shuffle across the floor, careful not to slip and cut her palms right open.

When she was close enough to Fenix to touch him, she stopped. “May I?” she said, lifting the candle feebly. He regarded her with a dubious look but nodded slightly. She lifted the candle and examined his cheekbone, his arm, the wound on the side of his head (which was still slowly leaking blood). She bit her lip as she contemplated exactly where she was going to start. “Why do you do that?” he suddenly asked. “Bite your lip like that? It’s an obvious tell that you’re distressed.” The flicker in the light cast shadows over his face, turning his eyes from a bright chartreuse to dark olive. “Is it that bad?” he said, softer. She shook her head, unable to trust her words. “Then leave it be.” “You can’t be serious?” She leaned back to survey him fully. “Deadly,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the bars. “I have to treat this,” she said, gesturing to the wound on his face. “It already looks infected.” “Do you know how to?” he asked calmly, the portrait of relaxation. “Pff. Do I know how to,” she did her best to sound confident, but the wobble at the end of her sentence gave her away. Fenix cracked an eye open and weighed her for a full minute. Sensing that she would not be deterred, he exhaled and sat up straighter, wincing as his bad arm jostled with the movement. “Have at it, then.” His face was expressionless as she moved closer and gingerly placed a hand on the side of his face, right below his wound. She felt for that magic coil within her and allowed a tendril to snake out of her fingertips and into his skin, just as she

had practiced with Margaux. It was different healing other people. With someone else, it was like a dance. She had to introduce the magic to their body so that it might begin to understand the layers of their skin and the essence of their being. Once that information had been absorbed, the magic would do its part in constructing new layers of skin, nerves, and veins. Every person was different, their bodies a complex and unique mesh of fibers and sinew. Where Margaux had felt like storms and cyclones, Fenix felt like a rushing river and a deserted shore all at once. The infection of the wound left a coppery tang in her nose and a bitter taste on her palate as she focused on dissolving it. She had never done anything like this before, but she simply could not graft the skin and close the wound with the infection still inside his body. She bit her lip harder, unconsciously, as she focused her magic. Fenix kept completely still and silent, unflinching even when she poked and prodded at the wound. Bit by bit, the bitterness receded as her magic leeched into his body, until all she could feel was the ebbing and cresting of soft waves, his soul’s essence, clear of the muddying infection. Next, she got to work on building the skin and pulling it taut over his cheekbone. It was like healing twenty of Margaux’s pinpricks. She was exhausted by the time it was over, but she sat back proudly and marveled at the red skin. She doubted it would even scar. Fenix lifted his good arm and tentatively ran a finger over where the wound had been. “Thank you,” he murmured. The words sounded strange and foreign, as though he were not very much used to having someone do something for him. She shrugged and leaned forward again. “Let’s see this head now.” He tilted his head to the side as she worked on staunching the blood flow and grafting the skin that would cover the wound. When she was done, a sheen of sweat on her brow and a rumbling in her stomach, she ripped a strip of fabric off the end of her blouse, rolled it into a ball and handed it to Fenix. He took it, giving her a quizzical look.

“We’re going to have to set this arm,” she said. He nodded and gripped the ball. He opened his mouth, then closed it with a snap. He looked like he was debating something. “What is it?” she asked. “Tell me something,” he said suddenly, his eyes intent. “Something about your home planet,” he added, as an afterthought. She surveyed him, wondering if perhaps she had fed too much magic into his body, but he seemed alright. She saw the slight gleam in his eyes, the hesitation there. Perhaps this was his way of asking her for a distraction before she set his arm. She nodded and he stuffed the fabric into his mouth. “Earth was beautiful. Hot in summer and cold in winter. Winter was for books and tea. Summer was for lemonade and chaperoned walks with Jimmy Carlisle. But truthfully, that had been in my younger days,” she said as she adjusted his arm carefully, aligning the bone with the t. “My mother had gotten sick a while ago, an incurable ailment, the doctor said. My days quickly turned to which medications she needed and how often she should take them and was she eating enough. She wasn’t herself by the end,” she said sadly. With Fenix’s arm now limp in her hands, she popped the bone back into the socket. He clamped down on the fabric, groaning loudly as he rolled his shoulder. Alexsia sat back and pulled her knees to her chin. Fenix spat out the wad of cloth and loosed a breath. “What happened?” he asked after several minutes of silence. “She died. I had her remains scattered in the ocean.” “No,” Fenix said. “I mean, what happened to you? To the lemonade and chaperoned walks?”

Alexsia gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “The Heavens clearly knew you needed me more than Jimmy Carlisle.” “Did you love him?” Fenix asked. “Who, Jimmy?” Alexsia laughed. “Heavens, no.” Fenix closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “How did you die?” The question was so simple, so matter of fact. No pity laced his tone. So, she would give him a simple answer. “On a ship. On my way to relatives.” He cracked an eye open. “I didn’t take you for a ship girl.” She raised a brow. “And what did you take me for, King Fenix?” The corners of his lips lifted in a half smile that tugged on something long forgotten within her. “I don’t think of you long enough to take you for anything, Miss Solenia,” he said. The feeling subsided at once. “I should have let the infection spread.” His grin widened.

Somewhere, in the midst of their conversation, she had fallen asleep, but she woke up feeling as though she had not slept at all. Her mouth was dry, and the candle had long since guttered out. Fenix, she knew from his steady breaths, was asleep beside her. She shuffled across the cave and felt around blindly for the matchsticks. Lighting the candle again, she looked around the cavern helplessly. They couldn’t stay here and wait for help. Surely Flynn was out searching for them, but if what Fenix had said was true and the Sylphs did not generally venture out past the forest, what were the chances of them thinking to search in Sylph territory? She hauled the mass of her wild hair into a knot atop her head and thought and thought and thought. They were trapped in here. The heavy bars would be impossible to break through. They couldn’t even stand up properly for fear of being stabbed on one of the deadly stalactites above. No, they would have to bide their time and wait for a Sylph to come. Marcaus had said that they came every single day for someone. The next time it came, they would be ready. As though he had read her mind, Fenix sat up slowly, yawning as he did so, and asked, “Can you portal my sword?” She chewed the inside of her cheek and shook her head. “It’s too big and I haven’t been practicing how to portal larger items.” Fenix clicked his tongue. “What about my dagger?” She shook her head again. “It doesn’t work like that. For me to portal something, I have to have actually seen it before.” “Ah,” Fenix said. “Alright, then, what about Flynn’s dagger? You’ve seen that, haven’t you? Carries it around with him everywhere he goes, keeps it in a compartment in his boot.” “Well, if it’s been kept in a compartment in his boot, I can hardly say I’ve seen it.” Alexsia fought to keep her tone neutral even as she pictured herself lunging across the cave and strangling him.

Fenix frowned. “I’m almost certain he used it.” Alexsia thought back on the afternoon, which, truthfully, felt like months ago. She gasped as she ed. Flynn had used his dagger to cut one of the pebble-bags free. It was a beautiful thing, with a gold crusted handle and a ruby inlaid in the center. “Adrian gave it to him when he turned 16,” Fenix said, at the recognition lighting in her eyes. “He never goes anywhere without it.” “I hope he doesn’t mind us borrowing it,” she said as she unfurled her magic once more. But before she could summon the blade, an oily voice echoed across the cavern. “Well, well, well, look what we have here. The King has decided to pay us a visit.”

Chapter 15 1810

Logan Aronson had long since kicked off his sweaty bedsheets. He now lay amongst the tangled sheets, beads of sweat arched across his brow, watching his daughter read softly to him. Her words were tinged with a faint lisp. Sometimes, she would pause at a particularly difficult word and glance at her father with frustration etched clearly in her large, teal eyes. This was one such time. Her small finger pointed at a word on the page and her eyebrows furrowed together. “Unre- Unreck…” she spluttered. “Unrequited, love,” Logan rasped. Speaking tired him, but he had insisted on spending his last moments with his daughter. Her five-year-old face scrunched up at the word. “But what does it mean, daddy?” “It means that something is one-sided, sweetheart. Something that is felt by one person only.” “Oh!” Her face lit up in understanding. “Like how you love mommy, but she doesn’t love you?” Logan sucked in a deep breath and immediately lapsed into a coughing fit. It felt as though he were being punched repeatedly in the gut. The coughing ceased after a few minutes, during which his daughter waited patiently. Logan wiped at the blood on his chin before looking at his daughter again. “Yes, Marilena. Exactly like that.” Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t like mommy.” “Well, you’re going to have to learn to like her. She’ll be queen soon.”

“No, no, no,” she insisted emphatically, in the way that only a five-year-old can. “Yes, my love. Daddy is going away soon, but you need to promise me that you’ll be a good girl and be nice to mommy. She’s not as mean as you think she is, she just feels love differently. Just because she doesn’t love me anymore doesn’t mean she loves you any less.” Marilena crawled closer to him and placed her head on his chest so that she could hear his heartbeat. It was weak, but it was still there. “I don’t want you to go away, daddy.” He lay a hand on her small back. “Neither do I, love. Neither do I.”

“Where are they?” Flynn barked at a ruddy-faced soldier who had just trudged back to their campsite. The soldiers from the first unit Flynn had called five hours ago had just run through a preliminary sweep of the area. He had known it would be futile. He himself had not managed to find a whisper of a trace of Alexsia or Fenix. The rain had caused shallow pools to form, and mud was everywhere. He could not even track where they had last been. The soldiers from their group had led them in the general direction of where the King had last been, but it was pointless. There was no life out here, past the Vengeti forest. Everyone knew the Wards was a wasteland, even magical beings. But there had been someone else out here. Someone who had captured Fenix and Alexsia. He knew they would not have gone off on their own for this long and without telling anyone, no less. The soldier shook his head and wiped the rain from his forehead. The rain had changed from a torrential downpour to a slight patter now, but it had not done much to ease morale amongst the men. They were cold and wet and out searching without the faintest clue of what they were supposed to be looking for. Flynn heard the heavy clop of hooves as Tren’s group rounded a copse of trees and moved toward them. He sighed in relief, Tren had been gone for over four hours, he had hoped he had not disappeared as well. “Any sign?” Flynn asked, approaching on his own horse. Tren shook his head and raindrops flew from his hair in a golden arc. “We searched right to the western borders of the Vengeti forest. We even crossed over into the Marshes and searched the canyons. The caves were empty.” Flynn’s horse shifted beneath him, restlessly. The group captain from the first unit, cantered up to them on a white stallion. “Prince,” he said, breathlessly, hauling his reins and bringing his horse to stop before them. “My men. We were attacked by a pair of Sylphs on our way back.”

Tren’s mouth set into a hard line as he surveyed the man and Flynn closed his eyes in understanding. “Illusionists,” he sighed. “We might very well have ed their base several times,” Tren muttered, running a hand through his wet hair. “Orders, Prince?” the captain said. Several sets of eyes flicked to him. He coughed nervously, the weight of their missing King hitting him all over again. Without Fenix, he was their leader. Flynn glanced around at the men. The Sylphs, of all things, were tracking them, taking them. For what, he hadn’t the faintest idea. They had not stirred trouble in centuries. Nevertheless, they could not continue searching for something they could not see. “Grahm,” Flynn called out and a bespectacled man rushed forward, a large wooden box clutched in his arms. He looked very out of place in his surroundings, but Flynn had insisted the doctor be brought out with the first unit. “Your Highness,” Grahm bowed low, the wooden box threatening to topple out of his arms. “Rise,” Flynn said and Grahm did, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “How much Sylph extract do you have with you?” The man set his wooden box down on the muddy ground and clipped it open. He surveyed its contents before he said, “Three vials, Your Highness.” “That’ll do perfectly,” Flynn said. “Have them prepared.” Grahm nodded and fumbled around in his box. Flynn turned toward Tren who was shaking his head. “What?” Flynn asked. “I know what your plan is,” Tren clicked his tongue. “But far be it for me to tell you not to do stupid things.”

“You coming with me?” Tren grinned at the Prince. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The light from the candle flickered out. Alexsia could feel the shapes moving around her. They whispered and tugged at locks of her hair or folds of her clothing. When she shivered, it was not from the cold. “King Fenix,” the Sylph drawled. “How often I have pictured meeting you.” “I’d hardly call this a meeting,” Fenix snorted. “Show yourself.” The Sylph laughed, a greasy sound, and a faint clicking echoed throughout the cavern. Some of the men began shivering, their teeth chattering loudly. “We have been waiting for many years, Your Majesty, to be granted an audience.” “Well, as we all know, I’m a very busy man. You should have taken a ticket and waited in line like everyone else,” Fenix said. “I’m afraid kidnapping me is not going to earn my sympathies to your cause.” “No, no it will not,” the Sylph mused. “But I suppose we are not trying to earn your sympathies to our cause.” “Well, get on with it then. I’m not getting any younger.” Alexsia gaped in his direction. Did he want to piss this thing off? But the Sylph was not angry. In fact, it sounded amused by the King. As if this were the first proper conversation it was having in a very long time. “No, King,” the Sylph said, gleefully. “I suppose you are not getting any younger. An unfortunate thing, truly.” It made a sound which sounded an awful lot like a clicking of its tongue. “Heavy is the head which wears the crown. But heavier still for one of your lineage.”

Fenix was silent. “Ah,” said the Sylph. “You Arbora men, all the same, all so... slow.” Alexsia did not have the faintest idea what they were talking about. She berated herself for getting distracted by the Sylph in the first place. She needed to concentrate on portaling Flynn’s dagger. “What do you want?” Fenix ground out. “You know what I seek. Where is it?” Fenix spat in the direction of the Sylph. “I don’t know what you seek. Nor do I care.” The Sylph chucked, low and dark. “Oh, but you will care, young King. Long since have we felt the loss of our brothers and sisters, banished so long ago. Long since have we hidden in our caves, fearing mankind. But no longer, King. We, with magical blood, have sensed the change. Even the wind itself whispers of what is to come.” The clicking drew closer. Alexsia willed herself to block out the oily voice as she concentrated. “Tell me, King... You, with the blood that flows through your veins, must surely have felt it as well. Your blood sings the story of ages old.” The Sylph continued, his voice close yet far away. “It is a story many have died for. One you will die for. We have waited many years. The time is nearly upon us to be reunited with our brethren. We would do you a kindness, young King, and offer a swift death, should you like.” “Or,” Fenix said, “I could offer you death. But I can’t promise it will be swift.” The clicking stopped. Alexsia paused, suddenly acutely aware of the silence. She blinked and when she opened her eyes they were no longer in the cavern. She was dressed in a gauzy white gown, her hair braided in a nest above her head. Fenix stood beside her, resplendent in an armored vest, a long sword in

hand. She blinked at him. He was so clean, his face freshly shaven, the hair atop his head swayed lightly in the breeze, not a sign of the blood that had streaked down his dirt-covered face or a rubbery red scar stretching taut over one cheekbone. She looked around and saw that they were standing in a dimly lit room. Barred gates sealed them from escaping in any direction and soft sand littered the floor under her sandals. Just beyond the grate she could see a group of men, dirtied and bloodied and shackled. They stared off into the distance, unseeing. “Where are we?” she breathed. Fenix closed his eyes, cracked his neck, and sighed. “It was an illusion, Alexsia. We’ve been here the entire time. Sylphs...” he paused and loosed a frustrated breath “…they’re illusionists. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. It just seemed so...real. We were never in that cave. This is my sword.” He sliced it through the air. “I’ve had it this entire time.” he muttered. Her head spun. None of it had been real? “But I healed you,” she spluttered. “That was real,” he said. “They’re just illusionists. They can only show you a picture, they can’t make you feel pain. My arm was broken, that much I knew. You healed it.” Fenix fell onto his haunches to study the sand beneath their feet. He lifted a handful and then let it drift slowly in the breeze. The clicking sounded again and the metal bars of the gate began to lift in a mechanical fashion. “So unfortunate, young King,” the phantom Slyph said, “that you were not afforded the same luxury of time as the others. That your bloodline will not continue...that you will not have the chance to fall in love with your Helper.” Alexsia stiffed. Fenix growled and lifted his sword high as the bars disappeared higher and higher into the stone roof. He advanced forward, gesturing for Alexsia to remain

behind him. She would do no such thing. She threw her magic out, feeling it spark at her fingertips, and strode right next to Fenix, her ridiculous gown swaying behind her. Fenix glanced at her in annoyance and then shrugged, as if to say, do what you please. The entryway opened up into a large pit. After spending hours in the darkness, the light in the pit was so blinding that Alexsia had to shield her eyes. A roaring din sounded as they stepped past the entryway and into the pit. She heard the metal grate behind them clink as it lowered back into the ground, sealing them within. Alexsia blinked several times, allowing her eyes to adjust, and then blinked some more to make sure what she was seeing was real. They were in a deep, sandy pit. High benches, filled with hundreds and thousands of creatures she had never before seen, rose in a circle around the pit. Monstrous creatures with no eyes or hands, jeered at them from their seats. Horrific, scaly serpents and smoky wraithlike beings hissed and called from the stands. Alexsia took a step back and bumped into Fenix. “What is this place?” she whispered. “Is it real or another illusion.” Fenix swallowed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “Oh, it’s real.” “How do you know.” She was still whispering. One of the wraiths threw something at her, a stone. It hit her arm with a painful smack and rolled off. “Okay, real then,” she said. A hush fell over the stadium suddenly and Alexsia tracked the focus of attention. At the end of the pit, a second metal grate was slowly being pulled up. Chains clinked and echoed throughout the stadium, made louder by the silence that had befallen.

A menacing beast slowly crawled out through the door. The crowd held a collective silent breath, waiting. Pale purple in color, it had several long scratches running down its face, as though it had been whipped repeatedly. It had the body of a mountain lion and the face of a jaguar and was roughly the size of a two-story house. But it was very thin for its size. The flesh on its body hung on its bones in rolls of skin. Once it ed the fact that the gate had been opened, the beast dragged its body fully out of its cage, the chains around its hind legs clattering, as it walked around the open space, breathing heavily. It pawed its way over the sand, dipping its head down to sniff at the sand, its ears perking as it turned milky eyes on them. “Alexsia,” Fenix breathed, not moving a muscle. “Get. Behind. Me.” But her legs did not work. The creature stalked toward them, its shoulder blades, so sharp they looked as though they might slice right through the folds of skin, dipping and rolling as it prowled. The crowd began jeering once more and the sound seemed to set the animal off. It opened its mouth, revealing long, razor tipped canines. Saliva dripped down its maw, hot and thick, as it growled against the noise. Its eyes locked on them, tracking Fenix’s movement as he, very slowly, angled his blade. The creature tilted its head and bared its teeth. Alexsia did not dare breathe. And then, a stone whizzed from the benches and sunk itself deep within the creature’s side. Alexsia closed her eyes as it pounced.

Chapter 16 1855

Marilena Aronson ed how happy she had been when her son had ascended the throne. He was one of a pair, and his twin had stood at the side of his throne, regarding him with pride. Although her daughter, Arilera, had been born a full minute before William, tradition dictated that a male heir would take the throne. William had ambivalently accepted the throne on his twenty-eighth birthday after the ing of Queen Gwendolyn, Marilena’s own mother. Her father had been dead for forty-five years now and not a day ed when she did not think of him fondly. William, however, had been petulant with regards to his newfound kingship. He had found the work tedious and the surveillance of the Wards a constant, unrewarding job. He had taken to drinking and often wandered the Palace halls at night. It had not come as much of a surprise when Marilena had found him hanging from the chandelier on the eve of his twenty-eighth birthday, yet the sight of her son’s pale, limp body was still able to haunt her dreams and elicit feverish sweats in the dead of night. Her daughter had coped better than Marilena had. Arilera had accepted her brother’s death without collapsing in on herself and had instead hoped that he was happier now. She had gracefully ascended the throne a month later and set out to govern the kingdom alongside her husband, Phillip Ream. Arilera bore the kingdom three sons and a fourth daughter, all of whom Marilena hoped would grow to be great. It had been ten years now since the ing of William. Arilera, her roots now greying with age, had been a good Queen. She had ruled fairly and with an open mind; yet confessed that she was ready to retire from the throne as soon as her eldest was old enough to ascend.

Marilena would come to within the next six years, but for now she was content.

Flynn was perched high in a tree with Tren at his side. The good doctor had shot them up with Sylph extract an hour ago, and Flynn was beginning to feel its effects. While it wasn’t recommended, Sylph extract in a diluted form would not harm them, but the side effects were dizzying. In its raw form, Sylph extract would cause extreme pain, hallucinations, and death. The diluted shot that Flynn and Tren had taken, would cause mild hallucinations. It would allow them to pierce the veil of illusions the Sylphs created and see as they saw. Which was why they were currently sitting on the highest branch of the tallest tree they could manage to climb within the Vengeti forest, an unobstructed view of the barren wasteland stretching out before them. Flynn could see the group of first unit soldiers wandering aimlessly in the tight circle Flynn had laid out to the captain. The captain had looked at him and laughed. “You want to use my men as bait?” he had asked. But Flynn had been deadly serious. The Sylphs would not be able to resist the lure. “And you don’t expect us to defend ourselves?” the captain said, giving him an incredulous look. Flynn had simply shaken his head. “They’re no use to us dead. They will take the men, leaving a glamour in their wake. Tren and I will see right through it. We will follow them back to their base, rescue the King and set the men free.” It had seemed like such a simple plan, but as Flynn swayed against the wind rustling through the leaves and tried not to glance down, he began to think Tren had been right. This was stupid. “See anything?” Tren asked, a hand cupped over his eyes against the soft patter of rain. Flynn spat toward the ground. Of all the goddamned days for it to rain. “No,” he said. “We need to speed this up before the extract wears off.” “What do you propose we do?” Tren dipped his head in Flynn’s direction. “I don’t suppose you know the Sylph mating call, do you?”

Flynn gave him a sardonic look. “All I’m saying is we’re wasting time up here. Heavens knows what those things are doing to Fenix and Lexi.” Tren hooted, “Lexi, is it?” Flynn flipped him off. “Mind your own business, Tren. You don’t see me digging at you every time you make mooneyes over the Obern girl.” “Who, Greta?” Tren scoffed. “Please. That was over six years ago. And I’ll have you know she falls over herself every time she sees me. It’s pathetic.” Flynn snorted. “Right. Okay.” Tren was about to make a snarky remark about how he had seen Flynn bat his eyelashes at the new Helper when, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted them. A pair of Sylphs, large and leathery, approaching from the west. A hazy shimmer surrounded them. The illusion. Tren jerked his head and Flynn followed his gaze. The Sylphs headed straight for the pack of men wandering near the border of the Wards. They did not glance at the two men sitting within the treetops. “Jackpot,” Flynn said. He tied a string of rope carefully around his waist and tightened the other end against the trunk of the tree. He jerked on the rope, hard. Seeming satisfied, he saluted Tren and leapt off the tree. Tren rolled his eyes and muttered, “Showoff,” before jumping off himself. When they were both on the ground and had cut themselves free of the rope, Flynn turned to Tren. “You know what to do.” Tren nodded. “Apologies if I illusion us into toads, I’ve never done this before.” Tren looked very serious for a moment, his brows crinkling together in concentration. A few seconds ed and then he said, “Done. We should be invisible.” “Let’s test it,” Flynn said, striding toward their campsite. He walked right up to the captain and waved in his face. The man did not so

much as blink. “All clear,” Flynn called over his shoulder. “The question is,” Tren replied drily. “Will it work on them?” They both turned to face the swiftly approaching Sylphs. “There’s only one way to find out,” Flynn said. He drew his sword and headed straight for them.

Fenix whirled so fast; he was a blur. One moment, he was beside her, the creature poised to attack. The next, the creature had leapt, its hind legs sending a plume of dust toward the benches. Fenix pushed her to the ground, whipping his blade so fast, she heard it slice through the air. The blade missed the creature by an inch. Fenix began backing up toward the other wall, his eyes never leaving the yellowed ones of the beast. He was speaking softly, urging it to follow him. He was drawing it away from her, she realized with a pang. The creature did not so much as look at her as it changed track and began stalking toward Fenix. Alexsia’s elbow sung with pain from where she had landed on the stone, but she got to her feet slowly. She could tell the beast was getting antsy with the ruckus caused by the crowd, as every now and then, a fresh rock would find its mark against its skin. Its growl grew louder, until it had backed Fenix into a corner. Alexsia’s limbs were frozen as she watched it swipe a paw at Fenix. He feinted to the right, but he did not have enough space to fully dodge the blow. A claw caught him, swiping through the armor as though it were little more than tinfoil. Fenix was pale - so pale - but he switched his sword to his left arm and ducked, sliding through the beast’s legs, leaving a trail of red blood in his wake. As he slid under the creature, he angled his sword upward, slicing at its soft underbelly. The animal roared as blue blood dripped down its underside and spilled over its legs. It was not enough to kill the creature, but Fenix had injured it. Fenix pushed himself up, grunting in pain, just as the beast whipped around and sunk its teeth into one of his legs. She heard the sickening crunch of bone as Fenix was hauled up. The crowd went mental, stomping and cheering. The creature shook Fenix from left to right, its teeth glistening with his blood, and prowled around the arena. It stopped dead in its tracks when it saw Alexsia. It appeared to have forgotten she had been in there as well. Fenix used its momentary stillness to heave himself up at the waist. He ignored the stinging in his thigh as he lunged forward, drawing his sword up as he went and plunging it straight into the creature’s eye. The beast spat him out, roaring in pain, and he tumbled to the floor. Alexsia, her

limbs suddenly working again, rushed for him, dodging the giant paws of the creature as it stumbled around the arena. The crowd booed and a slew of rocks were thrown from high above. Alexsia had had enough. Pulling Fenix against her and ignoring the wet slick of blood leaking from his armored side and his mangled leg, she hefted his weight against her, uncoiled her magic and simply halted the rocks in midair. She had only ever felt her telekinesis outside the Wards, when the small pebble had floated in front of her and even then she had not ed the use of the power. But, this time, she was angry. She felt the magic bubble in her veins, hot and fluid. With half a thought, she turned the rocks on their head and let them fly into the crowd. The creature, half blind with rage, charged toward them. Flynn’s dagger suddenly in hand, she flicked her wrist the way Collette had shown them and watched it whiz through the air and embed itself deep within the beast’s skull. Another thought and it was back in her hand before the creature had even fallen to the ground. Alexsia hauled Fenix along with her, his eyes were drooped, and a heavy sweat laced his brow. She slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Wake up,” she said. “You can’t die without knowing how horribly rude and incorrigible I find you.” The corners of his mouth tilted, and he stumbled along with her, a sand crusted hand slapped against the gash in his armor. Alexsia dragged him toward the opened grate the - now dead - beast had crawled out of. The crowd, at the hailstorm of rocks she had sent flying their way, had begun to disperse, clearing out of the benches. This whole business had caused quite the commotion and now, Alexsia could see, the grate which had been fully open was beginning to lower back to the ground. She grit her teeth and shot a tendril of power out. The bars froze in midair, but it would not hold long. Already, she felt the magic wavering. She had done more in these past few moments than she had ever done. She gripped Fenix harder and pulled. “We need to go. Now!” she grunted. Fenix did his best to shuffle forward, but he was losing too much blood and she

wasn’t sure if she could heal him and hold the bars at the same time. And who knew how many Sylphs were waiting for them on the other side. “Leave me,” Fenix wheezed. Alexsia let out a huff of air. “And miss the look on your face when you wake up later and realize I’ve saved your life? Not a chance.” They had reached the bars now and Alexsia shoved him under, before sliding through herself. She glanced around the dimly lit room and listened intently for any approaching Sylphs. Not hearing anything, she set to work on patching Fenix up as best she could. She couldn’t heal him properly, but she could close the wound to stop the bleeding. They would have to reopen it later to remove the infected skin and debris that she was sealing in, but at least he wouldn’t bleed to death on their way out. She stitched the wound at his side closed and then did a patch-job on the large gashes on his thigh. Bone still peeked through, but the bleeding had at least slowed to a steady trickle. She pulled him up and slung his arm around her shoulders as she scuffled through the room, looking for an exit. A metal door loomed against the back of the room, and she ignored the crunch of small bones beneath her shoes as she shoved the door. It, mercifully, gave way to a dark set of stairs that smelt like dried meat and rotting flesh. Alexsia fought against the urge to vomit as she took a deep breath and plunged herself and Fenix into the stairwell. The door clanged shut with a loud bang, sealing them in complete darkness. Fenix, for the most part, had done a good job of managing to stay upright and himself down the stairwell. His breathing was still shallow and ragged, and they bumped into the narrows walls more often than Alexsia could count, but they had not encountered any Sylphs as yet. If she wasn’t so relieved at having made it this far, she would have thought the lack of Sylphs during such a daring escape by the King of Arianon to be strangely suspicious. But she did not give it much more thought as Fenix became heavier against her aching muscles. A scuffle sounded from up ahead and she paused, listening. She

would need to set Fenix down if they came. She would not be able to him and defend them at the same time. The noise grew louder, she could hear muffled voices and the clang of metal. She was just about to adjust Fenix’s position when the noises stopped. Fenix groaned lightly and she shushed him at the approaching footsteps. They were light and quick. Alexsia pulled Fenix’s arm away from her and set him gently against the steps. With Flynn’s dagger gripped in hand, she took a steady breath. On her exhale, she let it fly.

Flynn and Tren had followed the Sylphs all the way from the border of the Wards, past the creeks and into the Heartland Woods. The Sylphs had been completely oblivious of their presence, too preoccupied with the prisoners they had hauled from their campsite. The captain, true to his word, had not signaled for a defense and the soldiers had played their part in aiding their capture. They were armed to the teeth beneath their armor, and once they found their way into the Sylph’s base, had begun cutting them down as though they were little more than stalks of wheat in a field. The soldiers had been given a milder version of the extract, but it was beginning to wear off now and there was still no sign of Fenix or Alexsia. They had, however, found some of the men who had been sent on border patrol a week ago, who they had chalked up to deserters. Those same men now followed behind Flynn, with Tren bringing up the rear. They were navigating through what looked to be an underground network, a series of tunnels below a structure above ground, killing any Sylph which crossed their path. They had slain through a great deal of the leathery, spineless Sylphs all rushing in the same direction after a great noise had vibrated through the cavern above them a few minutes ago. It had since quieted. Flynn led their group through another tunnel, their eyesight, enhanced with the Slyph extract, having long since adjusted to the dark. The smell of death and piss was more pungent down this particular tunnel and stuffed itself uncomfortably down his throat. When they had reached the end of the tunnel and could not see what awaited in the tunnel beyond, Flynn held up a closed fist and the men behind him stopped moving in unison. The entire unit holding a collective breath. Flynn stepped forward lightly, the gleam of his sword flickering in the corner of his eye. He rounded the corner swiftly and swore loudly as a dagger sliced through the air, a mere centimeter from his head, and embedded itself deep within the stone. He looked from the quivering hilt of the dagger to the girl who had thrown it with such deadly force to his bloodied cousin slumped on the steps beside her. “You know,” Flynn said, hefting the dagger out of the stone. “In polite society, it’s considered improper to take someone’s things without asking.”

Alexsia squinted through the darkness. “Flynn? Is that you?” “The one and only,” Flynn drawled. “What did you do to my poor cousin, over there? He looks worse than that time in Kolta.” Fenix grinned; his eyes closed. “Never thought I’d be this happy to hear your voice, cousin.” There was a shuffling toward the back of the group and Tren emerged, sporting an oozing cut above his brow. “Not to cut this happy reunion short, but we really should go before Flynn here has to hero us out of another fight.” Flynn grinned. “Bad luck, I’m all out of hero for today.” Tren clapped him on his back and moved to lead their group out of the tunnels. Flynn wiped the blade of his dagger, which was covered in rather nasty smelling blue blood, and stuck it in his boot. He jogged over to the steps and hauled his cousin up. Fenix groaned and clutched at his side at the movement. “Aw, c’mon, Fenix. Don’t be a crybaby,” Flynn cooed as he ed Fenix down the remaining stairs. “You coming, princess?” he called over his shoulder. She cleared her throat and willed her limbs into action, hastily running down the steps after their group. Tren, and the party of soldiers in the front, cut down any remaining Sylphs wondering down the tunnels, but there was no sign of the greasy Sylph who had spoken in riddles she had not understood. They emerged from the tunnels into more darkness. If Alexsia had not felt the cool air on her face, she would have thought they were still trapped underground. Flynn rooted around in his pocket and pulled out a small, glowing orb. He flung it high into the air, it flipped over once and then hovered there above them, casting a pale blue light over their troupe.

“The extract is starting to wear off,” Tren called from the front. “We’ll need to make this quick then,” Flynn hollered back. “How soon until we reach camp?” Tren glanced at the sky, at the constellations spattered there and said, “An hour, at the very least.” “He’s not going to make an hour,” Alexsia whispered. Flynn turned to her. “What do you mean?” “I just patched him up earlier, but we need to clean his wound, or it’ll become infected. His leg...” His leg was already starting to turn green. As if prompted by this sudden realization, Fenix swayed. “This is stupid dangerous, but alright,” Flynn said. He faced the rest of the men. “We have one vial of extract left. Who wants first watch?” Alexsia left their group and walked off a slight distance away. She needed some space to clear her head and figure out how exactly she was going to heal Fenix. She pulled her hair into a loose knot on the top of her head, planted her hands on her knees and took several steadying breaths. A hand clasped her shoulder lightly and she turned around expecting to see Flynn but finding Tren. She was surprised to see him as he had not spoken a word to her since her arrival. But then again, neither had she. “You okay?” he asked her, his brows drawn together in concern. She waved a hand. “Fine, fine. Just, you know,” she heaved a sigh. “It’s been a long day.” “What happened to you guys back there?”

She pushed a few errant strands of hair from her forehead and blew out a breath. “You don’t want to know.” Tren’s golden hair glowed with a faint bluish tinge from the orb ahead. He set down a pack she had not noticed before and drew out some supplies: a waterskin, a few needles and clean cloth. “What do you need?” he asked. “Oh, um,” she rubbed her eyes for a moment and then said. “Water, a sterile knife and we’ll need to cut that cloth into strips.” Tren nodded. “I’ll get on it.” Alexsia took a deep breath, gave herself a mental shake and strode toward Fenix. Flynn had taken the liberty of removing his cousin’s armor and propping him up against a tree. He was examining the gash in his cousin’s thigh when Alexsia approached them. Fenix was shirtless, his tanned skin stretched taut over his muscled chest. Deep purple bruises inked the skin surrounding the raised gash she had hastily stitched together, and yellow pus leaked from the sides of the wound. She had never been particularly squeamish, but the sight of the wound was enough to make her grimace. “How should we do this, doc?” Flynn said grimly. “I’m not a doctor,” she snapped. He raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry,” she said, more gently. “It’s just... I don’t want to mess this up.” “You won’t,” Fenix said, suddenly, his eyes fluttering open for a second before closing again. He swallowed hard and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “You’ve done it before.” “Yeah, well, not on this scale.”

Fenix’s hand closed weakly around her ankle. “What about...seeing my face after...you save my life?” Alexsia clicked her tongue. “Well, there is that.” A ghost of a smile flickered in his eyes. Flynn looked between the two of them, his lips pursed, but did not say anything. “Where’s Tren?” she said, too-brightly, placing her hands on her hips. “Here,” Tren called out, jogging toward them, supplies in hand. She took the knife from him. “Has it been cleaned?” “Best we could do was heat it over a fire. Unfortunately, someone, didn’t approve of me bringing my flask with.” Tren shot Flynn a disapproving look. “Terribly unprofessional to be drinking on the job, my friend,” Flynn shrugged. Alexsia felt the blade gingerly. It was hot, which was good. Hopefully, any lingering bacteria had been killed off in the fire. She weighed the blade in her palm, carefully. Chewing the inside of her cheek, she dropped to her knees. Fenix’s eyes fluttered open, and he stared at her. He gripped her hand. “Do what you must.” “It’s going to hurt a whole lot more than the shoulder,” she said. He gave a single nod. “I know.” She took a few strips of cloth from Tren, rolled them into an all-too-familiar ball and placed it into Fenix’s mouth. His screams would do a lot worse than bite through his tongue. They were still in Sylph territory. The quicker and quieter they did this, the less trouble they would find themselves in. Fenix squeezed her hand and she swallowed against the lump in her throat. Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, she angled the blade against his side and sliced the wound open.

Fenix groaned and leaned his head against the tree trunk. She tried to work quickly. There was so much blood. Too much. It poured out of the wound in torrents and pooled across her slick palms. She stretched her magic out, ignoring the feel of the hot, wet liquid sliding beneath her fingertips and flowing in rivulets across the dips in Fenix’s abdomen. She grabbed the waterskin and poured it over the wound, clearing out any sand and debris that had been lodged within. When she was certain there was nothing still stuck within the wound, she set to work on stitching him up again, working faster than she had ever. When the skin had reformed, she sat back on her haunches, breathily heavily. She wiped a shaking hand over her brow, not caring that she was smearing his blood all over her face. Flynn looked at her in marvel. Feeling her stomach churn violently, she pushed herself up and ran toward a copse of trees, where she promptly collapsed on her knees and vomited her guts up. Flynn, who had followed after, tossed her the waterskin when she was done heaving. She took several calming breaths, rinsed her mouth out and wiped it with the back of a trembling hand before handing the skin back to him. Flynn held a hand out and slowly helped her to her feet. “Okay?” he asked. She nodded. She had to be okay because they weren’t done yet. Fenix’s leg had begun to turn green. She would need to siphon the infection out before rebreaking and setting the bone and then patching up the skin. “You’re doing great, Lexi,” Flynn said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Without you here, Fenix wouldn’t have lasted the night.” She nodded again, released the lip she had been holding between her teeth and followed Flynn back to Fenix. He had ed out, which was just as well considering the world of pain he was about to be in. She cracked her neck and set to work.

Chapter 17 1853

Avon Ream was the youngest of his three siblings, yet he liked to think of himself as the smartest. Dimitri sat upon the throne each night, eight years his senior, getting drunk off of wine and his own stupidity. He lacked the ambition fit for a king and besmirched the Ream name. Avon knew Dimitri had a slew of whores in the Palace and so it was not hard to find him one night, in bed with a chamber maiden, snoring fitfully. Avon had, at the age of fourteen, slit Dimitri’s throat and blamed it on the chamber maiden. Heirus was harder to kill. He had put up a fight, having awoken in the night and seen Avon at his bedpost, ready with his hunting dagger. Heirus’ death was much messier than Dimitri’s and had ended with several badly placed stab wounds to the gut, ribs and finally heart. Avon had himself, come away with a swollen eye and split lip. They had not been able to trace the death back to him, but Avon always suspected his sister, Una knew of his involvement in his brother’s deaths. Avon, having considered killing his sister, had decided to show a rare moment of kindness and spare her. She served no purpose to him dead. The female could not inherit the throne if there was a male heir, and so, Avon had granted her mercy. Avon had found the crystal while ransacking Heirus’ personal belongings and had become enthralled with its beauty. He had no idea of the significance of the crystal, nor its worth, yet he often lay awake at night, turning it over in his fingers, listening as it whispered to him. He seldom removed its chain from around his neck, and as a result, was wearing it the night he was killed. It was a dark and stormy night. Una had just left from dining with him. She had patted him lightly on his back and whispered into his ear her joy at his success at the crown and that she had always rooted for him, her favorite brother. Then she exited the room, shutting the doors behind her. Avon had continued the rest of his meal in silence, picking up his goblet of wine at intervals, until the coughing began. His tongue turned to ash and his body

became numb. His legs stiffened beneath him, and he fell off his chair, clutching at his throat and retching. He gasped desperately as his eyes rolled backward into his skull. He clutched at the tablecloth in an effort to right himself, sending plates piled high with steaming food and turrets filled with sauces tumbling to the floor. In his last minutes, he caught sight of the goblet of wine as it careened toward the ground. It hit the tile with a loud smack, splattering red wine across his face. As he wheezed to death on the cold ground, he licked his dry lips against the wet spatter of wine and tasted the faint note he had not recognized earlier. He should have known. After all, a woman’s best weapon was poison.

It had been a long night. Fenix had been in and out of consciousness, waking up at some point in the night with a loud yell. Alexsia had tried to get some rest, but she had tossed and turned, shivering against the cold night air. She was exhausted from healing Fenix. Re-breaking and setting his bones had proven to be more complicated than she had thought. Bone fragments were, shockingly, not the same as skin fibers. It was more experiment than anything else. Learning how to bond the connective tissue and cartilage had taken hours. She had woken up several times throughout the night to check on Fenix, feeling exceptionally pleased, despite her soulaching fatigue, that he had not developed a fever. When dawn sliced through the sky, Alexsia sat up and stretched against the ache in her lower back. They had gone the entire night without attracting any unwanted attention. Flynn’s soldiers had seen to it that they had remained invisible throughout the night and had taken care of the one or two Sylphs that had managed to stray their way. But as fun as last night had been, she was ready to get back to the Palace and have a proper healer take a look at Fenix. And maybe a hot bath wasn’t such a bad idea, either. She walked over to Fenix, who they had lain on his back last night and covered in jackets and any spare bits of clothing they could find. He was awake and sitting up against a tree trunk. Not the same one as last night. That one had dried blood and gore strewn all over its base. “You’re feeling better, I take it?” she said by way of greeting. “I am,” he replied. “Thank you. For saving my life,” he added. She chuckled and sat down beside him, leaning her head against the trunk. “I suppose you’re indebted to me now.” “Of course,” he said, without missing a beat. “Name your price.” “A good night’s sleep,” she teased and groaned lightly. He chuckled. “That can be arranged.”

Fenix glanced up at the stirring camp. Flynn was pulling on his jacket while Tren doused the small fire they had made last night. Flynn ed by his friend, whispering something in his ear that made him laugh, before making a beeline toward them. He kicked Fenix’s foot lightly and jerked his head toward the campsite. “We’re getting ready to leave. Has Your Royal Highness gathered enough strength to make it back on foot or shall we arrange for a fleet of carriages drawn by golden stallions to take you back to the Palace?” Fenix rolled his eyes and bent his leg slowly, testing. He grabbed the hand Flynn stretched out and allowed his cousin to pull him to his feet. He gingerly placed some weight on his leg, told Flynn to stop mother-henning him and shooed him away. “Are you really going to be alright to walk back? We can arrange for a horse to be brought to you,” Alexsia asked, standing up. The lovely white dress the Sylphs had placed her into had turned black. The once gossamer ends of it crusted with dried blood, dirt and vomit. It would have to be burned. “You’ve done enough, Alexsia. Thank you,” Fenix said and limped toward the rest of the men. As she stood there, her arms hanging limply at her side, she couldn’t help feeling as though she had done nothing at all.

Hera sipped from a carton of chocolate milk, her legs dangling off a hospital bed. Petra had, very suspiciously, given her the day off. The old woman had taken one look at Hera, dusting shelves and had ushered her out of the library with a command to socialize with people her own age. Hera had thrown herself into work over the past few days. With news of Aeryn’s ing and the memories of her own family, she had taken to dealing with the overwhelming grief of it all by stacking and re-stacking shelves first by alphabetical order and then by chronological order. Petra had gotten whiff of her plans to re-organize the shelves by color and had all but thrown her out of the library. So, she had traipsed up to the North Wing to “socialize”. Greta, for the most part, had pulled herself together. She too, seemed to be managing her grief through keeping herself busy at work. Madame Coltry had not cut her any slack and was currently overseeing Greta’s production of grassroot seedlings. It was a time-consuming process and Greta had been studying several textbooks and vials for the past hour, occasionally asking Hera what she made of a particular phrase or commanding her friend to her different tools. Hera slurped against the empty carton and Greta looked up at her. She stretched, the bones in her back clicking as she did and said, “Wanna grab lunch?” Greta asked. Hera glanced at her pocket watch and shrugged. “What do you have in mind?” Greta patted her lips together for a moment and then said. “I’ve rather been craving a…” But Hera did not get to find out what her friend had been craving, as a slew of dirt covered soldiers shouldered their way into the Wing. “What in the Heavens...” Madame Coltry uttered, rushing toward them, her skirts billowing behind her. “This is a sterile place, you cannot simply march in here - Oh, Heavens, it’s the King!” She bowed low. Hera’s carton dropped to the floor with a dull thud. The entire first unit was here. Along with the King, the Prince and...Tren. Hera glanced at Greta, who was

blushing furiously. Alexsia trailed behind them. Dark circles ringed her eyes and a smear of what could have been either dirt or blood painted the left side of her face. Madame Coltry ushered the group into the Wing, barking orders at several nurses and doctors to tend to the King and Prince. But Fenix stopped in his tracks and said loudly, “Alexsia. Look at Alexsia first.” The nurses surveyed him warily but obeyed. They clustered around Alexsia, ignoring her stammered protests and embarrassed refusals. They half dragged her toward the back of the Wing, until she was completely out of sight. Madame Coltry made a great show of fussing over the King, clearing a path to a private chamber while shouting for supplies, food and water to be brought up. Flynn shrugged off any help, insisting that his men be tended to first. Besides, he had said, all he had done was sit and watch Tren hero their way out. Hera sidled up to Greta amid the commotion and nudged her friend. “Go,” she said. Greta’s eyes widened, her gaze never leaving Tren. “Go where?” she whispered. “That cut on his forehead doesn’t look great. Someone needs to tend to that. A healer.” Greta started at the words and shook her head. “Oh, no. He’s made it perfectly clear how he feels about me.” Hera rolled her eyes. “He looks like he’s just been to war and back. He’s got different colored blood all over him. He’s not going to care about showing you up,” she said. Greta gave her a dubious look, but Hera pushed her forward. She stumbled into his path, and he jutted out an arm to right her, before she could fall onto her face. Shooting her friend a poisonous look, she turned to Tren. They began talking softly and Hera moved away, granting her friend some

privacy. She stooped down, picked up her empty carton of milk and, feeling a deep sense of loneliness, headed back to the library.

Alexsia was beyond mortified. The nurses had made her strip down to her underwear and after a very thorough examination, had pronounced her unharmed, save for a mild case of dehydration and overexertion, which could be fixed with a few glasses of water and some sleep. After being told she was free to go, Alexsia hunted down Flynn. He was sprawled across a hospital bed, his feet hanging over the edge of the bed as he punched his thumbs against a small metallic device. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Playing Yule-Go,” he said, not looking up from his screen. “What’s up?” “Where’s Fenix?” He jerked his head backwards to the private room. With a murmured thanks, Alexsia traced a path to the room, ing Greta, who was gently applying a salve to the cut above Tren’s brow. She knocked quietly on Fenix’s door and at his muffled come in, she slipped inside, shutting the door behind her. Fenix was naked, save for the tight black boxer shorts which hugged his hips snugly. A bandage covered his entire midsection, and his injured leg was propped up on top of two pillows, more bandages spanning the length of his thigh. Alexsia quickly glanced away from his body. “If this is a bad time, I can come back later,” she said, backing up against the door. He shook his head. “What is it?” She fidgeted nervously, the doorknob digging painfully into her back. “The Sylph...” she began. “It said some things back there. Things I didn’t quite understand.” Fenix shrugged. “I did not understand it, either. I would not take much stock in its ramblings if I were you.”

“It didn’t sound like ramblings,” she said. Fenix shrugged again and leaned his head back against his pillow. Alexsia moved toward the bed and sat down gingerly at his side. “You knew what it was talking about. There was truth to its words.” “Believe me,” Fenix scoffed. “I am not, nor will I ever, fall in love with you.” “That’s not what I meant,” she said, feeling a blush creep up the sides of her cheeks. “It spoke of your lineage...your blood and a change. It sounded as though it were preparing for something.” Fenix propped himself up on an elbow and glared at her. “Listen, I appreciate your help back there, but I already told you. I don’t know what it was talking about. And even if I did, you would be the last person I would involve in it.” She jerked back in surprise. “Why? Haven’t I already proven that I am not going to run out in a week’s time?” He shook his head and leaned back against his sheets. “It’s not about that. I just don’t need your help.” She sighed. She knew she had told herself that she would not let anything stand in the way of her completing this task, but it was getting more and more difficult. How could you help someone who did not want it? “Is that all?” he asked, dismissing her. She walked out without saying another word. Tears blurred her vision as she hurried out of the North Wing, needing to be far, far away. She rounded a corner and bumped headfirst into Flynn. He gripped her elbow to steady her and then blinked down at her tear-streaked face. “Alexsia,” he said. “What’s wrong?” She pulled her elbow from his grip and carried on down the hallway, heading for the nearest set of stairs. She had no idea where she was going, but anywhere was better than here.

Flynn ran after her and blocked her path down the stairwell. “What’s wrong?” he repeated. She shook her head and wiped furiously at the tears. She couldn’t believe she was crying over this. If Fenix didn’t want her help, then he could float around in the Ether for all she cared. Flynn’s grey eyes narrowed. “Did Fenix do something?” She blew out a huff of air and tried to dodge around Flynn, but his lean frame was unbudging. “Move, please.” “Ah, it speaks,” Flynn teased. Alexsia rolled her eyes. Sensing he was not going to move; she sat down on the steps and pulled her hair from the hasty knot she had tied above her head. Flynn observed her with a quizzical expression and then sat down next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him. A long silence stretched out, during which Alexsia gathered her composure. “All I want to do is help,” she said to the wall. “You have been helping,” Flynn replied. “There’s something bigger going on here.” “There is,” he stated flatly. Alexsia angled her head toward Flynn. “You know?” He rolled his eyes. “What do you take me for, a joke? I’m the Crown Prince of Arianon. Of course, I know.” “And?” She raised her brows expectantly. Flynn surveyed her carefully. “If Fenix didn’t want to tell you...” She groaned and leaned back against the wall. “Then he’s an idiot,” Flynn finished.

She tilted her head toward him and shook her head at the smile he gave her. “We’ve been having a small problem,” Flynn said. “You know about the Wards, right?” She nodded. “I’ve read up on them, yes.” “Over a thousand years ago, the Teriots ruled over Arianon. They were shape shifters. Able to transform themselves into the most beautiful human, or the kinds of monsters you could only dream up in your nightmares,” Flynn explained. “Over time, a group of ragtag warriors rebelled against them. They set up a trap, way out past the Vengeti forest. Although, back then, it was called the Coldland. When the Teriots had taken the bait, the Deriot brothers, funnily enough, who Fenix and I had been named after…” Flynn paused and winked at her and then continued, “…activated the Wards and sealed them in. Once activated, the Wards could not be taken down. Nothing could cross over. The Coldland was a desert land, nothing grew within. After a few hundred years, everyone assumed whatever had been sealed on the other side of the Wards had died out. People began to forget that the there was ever a time when the Teriots ruled over the Kingdom. Their story became legend,” Flynn snorted. “I don’t understand.” Alexsia said. “A few days before you arrived, one of the creatures that had been banished across the Wards, a Zelog, managed to escape through.” Alexsia’s eyes widened. “You can imagine that that would cause a bit of a problem,” Flynn said. “Nothing has ed through the Wards in a thousand years, so why now? Well, you see, the Wards don’t just run off love and gratitude, they’re powered by our Resources. I know what you’re going to say,” Flynn glanced sideways at her. “Why don’t we just zap more of the Resources toward maintaining it. Well, that’s where we get to the meaty center of the problem. We don’t have anymore. So, there you have it, the big secret. That failed expedition to the Wards? We’re just trying to patch up the weaker spots because we don’t have enough of the Resources to strengthen the entire thing.”

Alexsia scrunched her brows. “Why can’t you create more?” Flynn huffed out a breath. “You don’t understand. The Resources are created from minerals we mine from within the planet’s core. We have men excavating day and night, but the mineral deposits are not what they used to be.” “Why can’t you use electricity? That’s what we had back on Earth.” Flynn sighed. “Vessus has a different genetic structure than Earth. We don’t even know how the Wards will react to any power source but the Resources. It’s too risky.” “What happens when the Resources run out?” Alexsia asked, already knowing the answer. “Well, it’s clear there’s still life on the other side and I’d say the Teriots are pretty pissed off at us. Maybe they’ll kill us all,” he said, flipping his palms up. “Well, what are we doing about it?” Alexsia’s voice rose an octave higher. Flynn snorted, “That’s where you come in, princess.” “You can’t be serious,” Alexsia said. “We’re talking about the creation of naturally forming mineral on an entire planet. I can’t create that.” “Look,” Flynn said, “It’s not like we’re sitting around doing nothing. Fenix has made a powerful alliance across the seas. They have technology that might be able to assist us. After all, this is a problem that affects the entirety of Vessus. If the Teriots are freed, they will not be satisfied with conquering Arianon alone.” Alexsia was no longer listening to Flynn. Something had changed in Arianon, she could feel it. The Sylphs knew. Fenix knew. A storm was brewing, and it would be bigger than all of them. If Fenix did not want to tell her, she would have to find out for herself. But, by the Heavens, she would not sit and wait for the Wards to break. She was tired. Tired of being timid and forgiving. She felt her magic stir within her at the spark of anger. She was no longer a fragile Earth girl. She had killed that creature in the Sylph’s lair with just her magic and a dagger. She would not stand to be ordered around by an arrogant King. She was Alexsia Solenia, slayer of monsters and healer of men.

She would fight. She turned to Flynn; her resolve renewed. “Is there a training center here?” “A training center? What for?” “I’ve missed out on a few days since arriving. I need to practice,” she said. Flynn grinned and got to his feet. He reached out a hand to help her up. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Chapter 18 1870

It had been pathetic and miserable bowing to the whims of her childish brother, and Una did not feel a stitch of regret for murdering him. She had poisoned Avon, taken the beautiful crystal he had worn religiously around his neck, and ascended the throne the very next week alongside her husband, Nikolai, without so much as batting an eyelash. Nikolai was the son of Lord Quilon of Cailiff, and their match had been a calculated alliance. She had strengthened her kingdom with Nikolai’s armies and gold and felt secure in the power they held together. Una had ordered the relocation of the Palace healers to the North Wing five years ago, to secure her privacy for the birth of her first born. The healers had not since moved and she was currently bedridden in the North Wing, recovering from the birth of her daughter. Nikolai rarely stopped by the North Wing to see her, and Una knew he loved their children more than he loved her. She had thought that over the years she would cease to care about him yet did not have the heart to pretend anymore. In her earlier years, she had been consumed with rage over Heirus’s death and had enjoyed conquering and spreading her influence throughout Arianon. But, as the years had gone by, she had found that the rage that had once alighted her had faded into a hollow emptiness, for killing Avon had not brought her the peace that she had hoped it would. Instead, she felt more disconnected from the world than ever before. She felt her soul slipping further away from her with each ing breath. Nikolai insisted that their children would fill the void in her life, but Una could not bring herself to be their mother. She knew that she was wasting away, knew the time would come when the beauty of Alexander’s large green eyes or the squealing laughter of Adrian would no longer stir an emotion in her.

Oktavya was her youngest, and would be her last, child. Her stormy grey eyes Nikolai’s eyes - had opened only once, before the nurses had taken her away. Una had doubts over whether she would ever hold the girl again. Alexander had grown with the years and had stopped crying for a mother who would not come. He was content to spend his days with his brother, playing at slaying imaginary dragons. He knew he would soon have a sister and had insisted she be named Oktavya after the Dragon Queen of olden myths. Una, who had not taken the crystal off in twelve years, now rolled the small stone within her fingers, iring the amber liquid within. She did not know where her brother had gotten the crystal from but knew it would be given to her eldest son when he came of age so that it may become a family heirloom, ed from father to son. Her youngest son, Adrian, did not care much for his sister, but Una knew that as the days stretched into years, they would grow to be close to one another. This thought alone filled her with a rare, happy zeal, that if they could not have their mother’s love, at least they would have each other.

Fenix lay still on his bed for a few moments after Alexsia left, his thoughts blank. He knew he had upset her. He did not care. He ripped the bandages from his stomach and swung his legs off the bed. His feet touched the cold tile, and he felt the entire world tilt on its head. He braced an arm against the bedpost and took several deep breaths. A chilled sweat broke out across his neck, and he shivered involuntarily. It was coming more often these days, this feeling. He counted to ten, counted backwards and then counted to ten again. It didn’t help. The room rocked back and forth, and he fought against the urge to vomit. A static buzzed in the back of his head, growing louder and louder. He felt as though he were locked inside a coffin, and no one could hear him screaming. He needed to get a grip. “Enough,” he told himself. Enough. The buzzing began to recede, clearing away the fog in his head until he could hear the insects chirping outside his window again. The world stopped spinning and he lifted his head, blinking away the haze. He let out the breath he had been holding and felt the dizziness leech out of his bones. They had wasted far too much time out at the borders. With the Sylph’s capture, he had lost precious time. He reached for the clothes he had stripped out of earlier and pulled his pants on. He flung a shirt over his head and slipped into his shoes sticking his head out the door. The coast was clear. There was no sign of Flynn or Alexsia or any of the fussy nurse maids who had tended to him earlier.

He hurried out of the Wing, quickly and quietly, not wanting to be seen by anyone. He descended a flight of stairs and turned left, stopping at a dead end. He reached behind a small scone and pressed the button there. When the hidden stairwell had revealed itself, he lit the age and flew down the steps. He reached the South Wing in record time. Flinging his door to his bedchambers wide open, he stalked across to the

bookshelf, falling to his knees before the plush carpet set before the shelf. He pulled the corner of the carpet away, revealing the edges of a loose floorboard. He felt around the edges, digging his fingers into its sides as he pulled. The compartment clicked out with a hiss, opening to reveal a hidden compartment housing a small, well-worn leather notepad. Fenix closed his eyes for a moment and then flipped it open. The pages ruffled open to the exact page he had been looking for. It was a page he had read and reread at least a hundred times. Small notes were stuck to its sides in Fenix’s own handwriting, the ink slightly smudged. Although he could have recalled the age by heart by now, Fenix leaned back against the wall and re-read it. His eyes lingering on the yellow note stuck against the top right. Confirm? He shut the book with a snap. Running a shaking hand over his hair, he chucked the journal across the room. It landed face down with a dull thud and slid across the polished wood until it came to a stop at the wooden chest set before his bed. Fenix’s eyes rested on the wooden chest. With a heavy heart, he crossed over to it. The heavy oak lid creaked as he lifted it to reveal the gleaming weapons inside. He dropped to his knees in front of the chest and lifted the weapons out of the chest one by one, setting them onto the floor in a neat, silver row. When he was done, he took a step back and surveyed them. He had made his mind up. Where he was going, there would be no need for bows and arrows or sharp swords. He ducked and scooped up a small hunting dagger and a yellowed vial: the tiniest items in his great arsenal of weaponry. He reached within the chest one more time and pulled out a backpack. He had packed it the very first time he had read the journal. Flipping the catch open he surveyed the contents. A medic-kit, some canned food, a map of the Plains and a

waterskin. If he left now and did not stop along the way, he would make it there in two days ride. He pulled off his clothes and reached for his gear. The lightweight fabric clung tight against his body, stretchy and fluid all at once. It was strong enough to repel most weapons, temperature regulated and flexible enough to allow for full range of movement. He could have kicked himself for not having worn it on the border patrol, but then again, he hadn’t expected an ambush in broad daylight with an armed guard detail surrounding him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Filling up the waterskin, he dropped it back into the satchel and shoved the hunting dagger and vial inside a hidden pocket within his sleeve. When he was done, he ignored the mess of weapons scattered across the floor, jumping over them as he made his way back to the bookshelf. He slung the satchel across his back, planted his feet firmly against the wooden surface, his shoes gripping instantly to prevent him from sliding, and pushed hard against the bookshelf. The shelf groaned as it scraped against the floor, revealing a small trapdoor at its base. Fenix continued pushing the shelf until it began tilting to the side. He let go as the shelf crashed to the floor, sending a quake across the room. Books spilled across the floor, but Fenix did not care. He was focused solely on the trapdoor the bookshelf had hidden. Fenix did not look back as he pulled at the catch and lowered himself onto a ladder set into the stone wall beneath the trapdoor. He gripped the latch in one hand as he descended the steps, pulling the door closed behind him.

Flynn had introduced Alexsia to a muscled woman named Madelyn. She was one of the many soldiers sparring within the training center. Flynn had sat to the side, watching, while Madelyn bested her, repeatedly. Although, there had been no rule against the use of magic and on their third attempt, Alexsia had halted Madelyn’s kick in midair, sending the woman careening to the floor. She grinned at Flynn, wiping the sweat off her brow. He had never been so enthralled by a single girl in his entire life. “My turn,” he said, lifting himself from the benches. He stalked over to the weapons rack and pulled out a long wooden staff. He expertly twirled it in the air a few times before planting his feet in position and giving her a devil’s grin. Alexsia retied her long hair, which had started to come down in pieces, and caught the staff Madelyn threw to her. “I’ll go easy on you,” Flynn said, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “Don’t do me any favors,” she retorted. He grinned and struck. She deflected, spinning out of reach. Flynn flipped his staff 180 degrees, ducking against her blow. Alexsia’s staff whipped through the air above his head as Flynn struck his own staff against the sides of her leg. She tripped and crashed to the floor. The hand she stuck out to break her fall slammed hard against the ground. She glared up at Flynn. “What was that?” he chuckled, reaching a hand to help her up. “Twenty seconds?” “Fifteen,” Madelyn called out from the sides. Alexsia huffed. Swatting Flynn’s hand away, she got to her feet. Staff positioned, she lunged. He leaned back, bringing his own staff up to meet her blow. He caught her around her thigh, and she slammed against the hard floor.

Flynn tipped his head back and laughed. Alexsia narrowed her eyes and flipped over, sweeping her leg under his in one swift motion. Flynn twisted, the laugh dying in his throat as he fell to the ground. “Touché́,” he said, getting to his feet. Alexsia grinned. “Best of three?” Flynn tilted his head. “And what will you give me when I win?” Alexsia raised her brows. “Mighty confident of you, but alright. What do you want?” Flynn thought for a moment and then a roguish grin spread across his face, his grey eyes alight. “A kiss.” Alexsia shook her head. “Uh uh, no way.” Flynn shrugged. “Huh. Well, if you had any confidence in beating me then you wouldn’t be worried. So, I guess I should be flattered.” Alexsia’s eyes sparked dangerously. “Fine. A kiss. But if I win, I want your dagger.” A corner of Flynn’s mouth tugged upwards. Without warning, he slashed his staff against her side so quickly, she barely managed to deflect. Flynn twirled his staff so fast the action was a blur of movement. It was with the grace of many years of practice that he parried with her. He did not hold back either. He whirled behind her and gripping either end of his staff, pressed it against her neck, not hard enough that she could not breathe, but hard enough that she could not move. “What does the winner get again?” he whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She jabbed her elbow hard into his ribs and he let go with an oomph. She spun around, and using his momentary distraction, thwacked the side of her staff against his back and thigh. He fell forward onto his knees. She smiled as

she uncoiled a tendril of power. The same power that had halted the bars midair in the Sylph’s lair. He froze, on his knees. Gripping the edge of her staff she gently slid it back and forth against his throat. Dropping to her knees next to him, she whispered in his ear, “She gets your dagger.” She released her hold on him, the magic sucking back into her body with a whoosh. “No fair,” Flynn grumbled. “You used magic.” “You should have specified the rules.” Flynn sighed and twisted around. He dug inside his boot for a second and then pulled the dagger out. “A deal’s a deal,” he said, handing it over to her. It was a beautiful thing. Its hilt was a burnished gold, the blade a polished silver. Small opalescent pearls adorned the hilt and the letters EP were engraved where the hilt met the blade. “Who’s EP?” she asked, tracing a finger over the lettering. “My father,” Flynn said. “Family heirloom.” “EP...? I thought your father’s name was Adrian?” “Adrian’s my uncle. Was my uncle. When my parents died, he took me in. Raised me like his son. Raised Fenix too, for that matter.” Alexsia, sensing the shift in the air, tried to steer them back to a lighter topic. “Don’t think for one second that I’ll feel bad for taking your family heirloom. I won it fair and square.” She stuck her tongue out at him and slipped the dagger into her belt loop. Flynn leaned forward, his lips dangerously close to her neck and whispered, “Maybe I’ll win it back.” Alexsia snorted and stood up, dusting the dirt from her pants. She reached out a hand to help Flynn up, just as Tren skidded to a halt inside the training center.

He looked around wildly until he spotted Flynn. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Tren said, rushing over to them. “Fenix is missing.”

Chapter 19 1890

Oktavya’s laugh resounded throughout the cavernous room. She bent forward, clutching her stomach as Edmund tickled her. She swept Flynn up from where he had been playing on the floor and hugged him to her chest. Edmund pretended to heave a great sigh as he dropped onto eye level with the boy. “Your mother thinks she’s thwarted me, Flynnigan. I guess I’ll just have to get through her shield first.” He grabbed his son and spun him in the air, before cradling him in his arms and planting a kiss on his forehead. Alexander watched as Flynn squirmed in his father’s arms, shrieking with glee when Edmund poked him in the stomach. “Give him back, Eddie! Go find your own shield!” Oktavya sung, clapping her hands at Flynn. He automatically responded to her, shooting out his tiny arms in his mother’s direction. Edmund fixed the boy with a mock glare as he handed him to his wife. “Here, Tavvy. I don’t want this traitor anyway.” Oktavya cooed at her son, “I don’t think you’re a traitor, baby.” Edmund smiled fondly at his family before heading to the table where Oktavya’s brother and sister-in-law were seated. Alexander and Camilla had watched the Phelps family with barely concealed curiosity. Their own son would be born in just over six months’ time, and both were still acclimating to the idea of parenthood. Alexander had no doubts that Camilla would make a great mother, he just didn’t know how great of a father he would be. Oktavya’s voice rang out from across the room, “Alex, have you guys settled on a name yet?”

Camilla linked her fingers through her husband’s and smiled warmly at him. “No, not yet,” Alexander said, glancing at his wife. “We have a few ideas, but nothing solid.” “We wanted to keep it traditional though,” Camilla said, squeezing her husband’s fingers. “Something from the family tree, perhaps. Maybe William, or Nikolai.” Oktavya stuck out her tongue and Flynn giggled, bubbles foaming at the corners of his mouth. “Alexander, for the love of all things pure and holy, do not name your eldest son after our dearest, dead father. I think I would prefer him being named after the guy who hung himself on a chandelier.” Alexander laughed. “Dad was...overbearing, wasn’t he?” Oktavya groaned at the memories. “He was the hardest on Adrian.” The room fell silent at her words and Camilla’s grin slowly faded. None of them had seen Adrian in over four years and speaking of him was painful. Oktavya sighed softly and attempted to gloss over the awkward silence. “Why don’t you keep his middle name traditional and find a first name from one of the First War soldiers, like we did with Flynn?’ She tried a smile, but it came out weaker than before. “Edmund’s a history geek.” She looked at her husband fondly. “It was either Flynnigan or Fenix.” The color had begun to return to Camilla’s cheeks by now, as thoughts of Adrian were pushed away. She turned to her husband and smiled. “Fenix Arbora. I like that.”

Fenix breathed in the clear, crisp morning air. He had been riding through the night and dawn was just beginning to appear on the horizon. Threads of gold and red weaved their way in pastel arcs across the sky. He had never felt more alive than the moments he spent riding alone. The ride had been problem-free for the most part. His suit had kept him warm throughout the chilly night breeze and blocked against the pattering of rain in the early hours of the morning. He had only stopped once to chug back some water and stretch his legs. With morning on its way, he would have to stop for an hour or two to eat something and allow his horse, Stryker, to rest. He wondered if anyone had discovered his absence by now. He felt a pang of guilt over not even having left a note for Flynn. He hoped his cousin would not send out a search party for him. After all, Fenix was known to go out on his own every once in a while, when Palace life became too much for even him to handle. Besides, he would be back in the Kingdom in two days. They would survive just fine without him. In fact, this was good practice for them, he couldn’t help thinking. Fenix edged his horse around the jagged rocks jutting up from the ground. They were ing through Blym Springs now, far on the outskirts of the Kingdom. In another hour he would cross over from the Kingdom’s borders into the wilder plains of Arianon. Still apart of the continent, the Plains were unregulated territory. Most of the magical beings that resided within Arianon had chosen the Plains as their home. There was an unspoken understanding between the residents of the Plains and those of the Kingdom. They did not interfere with the Kingdom if the Kingdom did not interfere with them. It was there that Fenix would find the answers he sought. It was there his fate would seal. He nudged Stryker’s side and the horse sliced through the pale morning light.

“Slow down, Tren,” Flynn said as they followed him from the training center. “You’re certain he’s not in the North Wing?” Tren did not slow down. “Positive,” he tossed over his shoulder as he continued walking. “The nurses treated him and ordered him on bed rest. When Greta went to check on him, he was gone.” “This is Fenix we’re talking about.” Flynn matched his friend’s long strides and Alexsia hurried to keep up with them. “I’m sure he’s around here somewhere.” “I’m telling you, he’s not here,” Tren said. “Have you checked his office? His chambers?” Flynn asked. “Where do you think we’re going now?” Tren said. They strode down the opulent hallway of the South Wing until they reached a large oak door. The words Fenix Amorphous Arbora - iral of the Royal Navy and King of Arianon was printed on a gold plaque atop the door. The door was slightly ajar. Tren gave them an I-told-you-so look before he pushed the door open. The room was in shambles. Brilliant silver weapons and armor littered the floor. A bookshelf was upended on its side, all manner of books and pages spewing from it. Alexsia followed Flynn and Tren into the room, stepping gingerly over the debris. Tren whistled long and low. “Look what we have here.” Where the floor was dark wood, a square of lighter wood was clearly visible where the bookshelf had once been. A small silver latch peeked out from between the floorboards. Flynn dropped to his haunches and pulled at the catch. It gave way easily, revealing a stone shaft. A ladder was set into the stone and descended as far as their eyes could see.

“Where do you think it leads?” Alexsia asked quietly. Flynn sighed. “To the gardens. He’s probably long gone.” “Should we go after him?” Tren asked, hands on his hips. Flynn rubbed his eyes and stood up, examining the hole in the floor. “No,” he said, after a long moment. “No.” “Why not?” Alexsia said. “He could be in real danger.” Flynn shook his head. “Look. Fenix has done this before.” Even Tren looked up at his friend, surprise etched clearly on his features. “You’ve been gone a long while, my friend,” Flynn said, clapping him on his back. “He didn’t take the bow or the sword.” Flynn pointed to the bow and sword laying amongst the other weapons on the floor. “Which means he’s not anticipating any danger. He left on his own,” he gestured to the trapdoor. “And he didn’t tell anyone. Which means he wants to be left alone. He’ll come back in a few hours. He probably just needs to clear his head. It’s been a stressful few days.” Tren began talking softly and urgently to Flynn and Alexsia moved away, her eyes on the weapons. She stooped low to inspect a particularly pretty sword when her eyes caught on a book. She glanced over at the bookshelf on the other side of the room, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Leaning over the weapons, she grabbed the book, leafing through its pages. It was heavily marked with handwritten inscriptions, the pages yellowed and frayed, as though they had been thumbed through many times. The book opened up to a well-worn page, its contents filled with black ink and colored notes. “You coming, princess?” Flynn called from the doorway. He had crossed the threshold and stood there with Tren, waiting for her. She glanced up at them, book still in hand.

“What is this?” she asked. Flynn’s brows scrunched and he strode back across the room to reach for the book. He flipped the cover around and rifled to the first page. “Holy shit,” he breathed, Because there, in clear, curlicue writing, were the words Property of Alexander Arbora.

Fenix studied the map, tilting it to its side to better scan the river he was to cross. Stryker cantered forward, his hooves clipping against the hard dirt and soon, the pathway began to soften into sand scattered with tiny white pebbles which disappeared beneath the gently ebbing water of the lake. A white, stone bridge, faded with age and green moss, stretched from one end of the river to the next. Fenix, who had nudged Stryker toward the mouth of the bridge, now paused as below the bridge, a shimmering form emerged. Ripples softly fanned out against the inky water as a head began to form, pushing through the sheet of liquid. It was a woman, with pale silver hair, large teal eyes and a rosebud mouth. As she glided through the water, she rose higher and higher, until the water skimmed her bare naval. Her wet hair, parted down the sides of her shoulders, just covered her bare breasts. She was mesmerizing. "It has been many years since a King has crossed this path," she said softly with a voice like a wind chime. A sound both young and old, it echoed on the wind long after she had spoken. Fenix started forward, involuntarily. His muscles moving of his own accord. He unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth and fought against the haze in his head. "You're a wren. A water demon. No doubt keeper of this bridge." The wren cocked its head to the side delicately. It's pointed ears perking. "How can such a lovely creature as I be likened to a demon?" It moved closer to the shore, gliding through the still water and paused when it was close enough for Fenix to see the fat, wet droplets beading along her dark lashes. "Or perhaps," It gave him a cruel smile. “This form is not to your liking." Its features began to shimmer and morph, sliding like water, until Alexsia looked back at him, dark, wet hair spilling over her shoulders. She blinked with blue eyes that were so innocent and sad. Her pink lips parted slightly, and she bit at her lower lip. Fenix jolted forward, his booted feet splashing against the wet stones. He ignored the biting cold as he waded into the water, until he was thigh deep, his

eyes never leaving hers. When the water lapped against his waist, he paused. With her fingers skimming the top of the water, she crooked one finger, beckoning him closer. "Fenix," she whispered, her eyes heavy with lust. "Come to me." Fenix took a step forward and then another. Alexsia floated in the water just out of reach. The sun poked out from beneath a cloud and the drops sparkling on her skin fractured into a kaleidoscope of colors. Her hair a streaming banner beneath her, glistened with a thousand different shades of golden browns and reds. She was beautiful. He didn't know how he had managed to fool himself into thinking she was anything less. He had known it from the minute he had walked into his office and seen her standing there and had denied it when the Sylph had spelt out what was clearly obvious. "Kiss me," she whispered, those dark eyes fixing on him, freezing, and melting him at the same time. He took another step forward until he was standing right in front of her, the water skimming his chest. She tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes lowering in desire as her hands crept up his sides. Fenix cupped her chin, his fingers stroking her cheeks so lightly and waited for the blush that did not come. He frowned. The wren opened its eyes and examined him. "Kiss me," it repeated, more forcefully, its nails digging into his arms. Fenix smiled and dipped his head. With a flick of his wrist and a flash of metal, he had his hunting dagger unsheathed from inside his sleeve and pressed against the wren's throat. "Good try," he whispered in its ear as he ran the blade along its throat.

They were seated in the library, around a sturdy wooden desk tucked within a cozy nook, to avoid any prying eyes. Alexander Arbora’s journal lay in the center of the table, although none of them had made a move to study it since arriving. Alexsia smiled warmly at Hera as she bustled around the corner to their shelf, a stack of books in her arms. She had been surprised to see the three of them troop into the library. Even more so when they had requested every single book on Arianon’s history and the royal lineage. Hera set the books down on the table and was about to leave when Alexsia said, “Please, Hera. Stay.” Hera glanced around the table, at the Prince and Tren. She had never spoken to them before. It would be a stretch to say that she felt comfortable in their presence. Hera cleared her throat, motioning that she would rather not. “Yes, stay,” the Prince said, his eyes lingering on her. Hera almost choked on her own saliva. “You’ve worked here for years, right?” Tren chimed in. “I’ve seen you reading day and night. You might know something that can be of help to us.” “Of course. Sure,” Hera stammered, taking the seat at the farthest end of the table. She placed her hands on the desk in front of her and then quickly lowered them to her lap, unable to prevent herself from fidgeting. She followed their gazes to the journal set in the middle of the table. She didn’t understand what exactly she was meant to be helping them with. After a few moments, Flynn pulled the journal toward him, opening it to the first page. Alexsia and Tren sat still, unmoving as Flynn began to read. The first few entries spoke of council meetings, suggestions that were voiced and vetoed. It consisted of notes and ramblings on various topics, interspersed with reminders and to-do lists.

But Alexsia and Tren remained patient, listening attentively as Flynn carried on in a monotonous drone. It went on like this for the first twenty pages or so, until January 1890, when the entries started to turn more personal. “This is the third night I have awoken in a cold sweat. The nightmares have become more frequent,” Flynn read. “Camilla has suggested I visit the North Wing. Perhaps she is right.” “February 21st. Last night, Camilla told me she is pregnant. It has been the first night I have been able to sleep without nightmares.” “June 3rd. The nightmares are becoming increasingly worse. The tonic I have been taking has done little to help. I wake up in different places, uncertain of how I got there, with injuries I do not recall obtaining. I fear it is becoming worse.” “This is dark,” Tren said. Flynn nodded. “Who knew old Alex was going through so much shit.” “Fenix knew,” Alexsia murmured. “November 8th,” Flynn continued. “I must find the crystal. It is both cause and key. I have written a letter to Adrian, requesting him to return home. Although I have not yet forgiven his transgressions with...” Flynn halted abruptly. Tren raised his brows. “With?” “With Camilla,” Flynn finished. “Bull,” Tren said and reached over to yank the journal from Flynn’s limp hands. Tren scanned the page, wincing. Alexsia’s brows scrunched in confusion. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Fenix’s mother...and my father,” Flynn said, running his hands through his hair.

“I had no idea.” “How could you have?” Tren said. “It seems to have been a very well-guarded secret. Anyway, it’s not as though he’s your real father.” “He’s more real than my birth father,” Flynn snorted. “You carry on reading, Tren.” Flynn shot a disgusted look at the book. “I can’t anymore.” Tren flipped to the next page and read. “January 17,1981. Oktavya and Edmund have been visiting. Although they have left their own boy with his nurse maids at their home in Indest and are anxious to return to him, we have been unable to pry Fenix away from Oktavya, and she from him. Adrian is to arrive in the next month. He is sailing from Alberron, far in the North, where he has been in hiding these years past. He will accompany me on my quest to rid ourselves of the curse that has long since plagued our line. I cannot allow my son to bear this burden. “What burden?” Hera suddenly said and blinked in surprise as she realized that she had spoken aloud. Three pairs of clueless eyes turned to her. “Never mind,” she said hastily. “Please, continue.” Tren cleared his throat. “February 1st. It’s becoming worse. I can no longer hear my thoughts. Just the sounds of my blood pulsing through my ears and my heart slamming against my ribcage. I am growing increasingly paranoid. I hear voices and see things, tricks of both shadow and light. They whisper to me. I cannot wait for Adrian any longer. I must see to this myself.” Hera let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. She had been picking at her skin underneath the table for the past few minutes and hadn’t realized she had drawn blood. She quickly shoved her hands beneath her thighs, sitting on them, as Tren flipped to the next page. Tren scanned the first few lines and then shut the book with a snap. Flynn narrowed his eyes. “What is it?” Tren shook his head. “It’s blank. The journal ends there.”

Flynn reached out a hand. “Give it to me.” Tren pushed back from his chair, running a hand casually through his hair. “I actually promised Greta I would return for a reapplication of that salve. I should be going.” “Give me the book and you can go,” Flynn said, standing up, his palms flat against the table. “Nuh uh,” Tren said, backing away. “I think I’d best hold onto it.” Hera jumped as the journal suddenly flew out of Tren’s hands and into Alexsia’s outstretched ones. She gave her an apologetic look and said, “I’m not just a healer.” She rifled through the pages, until she found the one she was looking for. Tren stood at the corner of a bookshelf, his hands in his pockets, looking supremely uncomfortable. Flynn moved behind Alexsia’s chair and stooped low, scanning the text over her shoulder. He went pale. “Who’s Oktavya?” Alexsia whispered. “Fenix knew about this?” Flynn’s eyes were dark, like storm clouds before rain, he stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall, his eyes never leaving the journal. Tren came around the table, his palms raised. He gently lowered a hand to his friend’s arm. “Let’s go get a drink, Flynn.” But Flynn brushed him off, blinking furiously. “Fenix knew about all of this, and he let me go on thinking...” his voice broke painfully. “About what?” Hera asked, pushing away from the table. Flynn pushed past Tren and stormed out of the library. Tren hung back for a few

seconds, his arms hanging limply at his sides, unsure of whether he should follow Flynn or not. After a beat, he followed after his friend. Alexsia wordlessly handed the journal to Hera.

Chapter 20 1891

Alexander Arbora raced through the Palace halls, glancing around, wide eyed, at every small sound. He yanked open doors, looking for Camilla and for his son. Eventually, he found them in the master bedroom. Oktavya was with Camilla, their heads bent over Fenix’s crib, talking softly. Neither had noticed Alexander, and they wouldn’t until it was too late. Alexander gripped his hair in tufts, as the voices told him that Oktavya was not meant to be here. He released his white-knuckled grip on his hair with more force than necessary and as he stretched his fingers out, strands of dark brown hair drifted to the floor. He slowly reached to the knife sheathed in his belt loop and drew it out. He scarcely felt the scales of the dragon hide sheath beneath his fingers as he pulled the blade out. The steel glimmered in the orb light, and he stared, transfixed at the patterns. His mind was split. Half of him warred with the other half as logic tried to overthrow the madness. Oktavya is supposed to be here. Nevertheless, it must be done, the voices whispered. He shook his head, hard, and drops of cold sweat slid down his forehead into his eyes. He blinked them away and as he did so, a slew of memories poured through his addled brain. The first time Alexander had seen his sister - how pink and tiny she had looked, bundled up in the North Wing. The way her laugh had the power to shatter glass and repair it anew, how her grey eyes sparkled when she spoke of her family. Oktavya, the air of the family, who had kept them together through their mother’s death and then their father’s. Oktavya running through the Palace gardens as her brothers chased her. Oktavya at seventeen, radiant in their mother’s wedding gown, slipping out of his arm as he gave her away to Edmund Phelps. Oktavya’s blood on his dagger.

Alexander withdrew the blade from his sister’s back with shaking hands. Oktavya crumpled to the floor with a small groan and Camilla fell with her, screaming. The knife slipped from his numb hands and clattered to the floor. Camilla whipped her head around to stare at her husband’s face, the ends of her hair matted with the blood pooling from her sister-in-law’s corpse. She ignored her husband and screamed for a doctor, her voice hoarse. Hysterical. Camilla pressed on Oktavya’s wound, and begged Alexander to help drag her to the hospital wing. Alexander gripped his sister’s arms and hauled her body, his limbs disconnected from his mind. But Oktavya was long dead, and eventually Camilla, panting from the weight, set her friend gently on the wooden floors and wept over her body. Alexander stood at the door, staring numbly at his hands, and at his sister’s body at his feet. Edmund skidded to a halt at the corner of the ageway. “I heard screaming...” he started, and then his eyes fell on his wife’s body. At the blood flowing from the wound in her back. He looked at Camilla, crying softly and then at Alexander. He took a step forward. “What... Is she...?” Alexander lifted his hands in supplication. “I’m so sorry, Edmund. It was an accident.” “You did this?” his voice cracked, tears pooling at his eyes. “You killed her?” “I… ” Alexander glanced helplessly at Oktavya’s prone body. “It was an accident,” he said meekly. Edmund’s fingers twitched at his side, and he drew his sword. Camilla’s head snapped up, her eyes red. “Edmund. Please,” Alexander said, retreating. “You murdered my wife,” Edmund’s voice was chipped ice. His eyes hard. He swung his sword.

Camilla screamed. Alexander retreated into the master bedroom and Edmund followed. “How could you? Your own sister?” he screamed, slashing at the air. He was so angry, his entire body quaked. “Please. I didn’t want this,” Alexander said as Edmund stepped closer to him. But Edmund did not care. He raised his sword high, preparing to deliver the death blow, when Alexander tackled him to the ground. They struggled in a heap and the sword clattered to the side. Camilla watched with wide eyes as Alexander dove atop Edmund. His mind was full of static, all reason disappearing. Alexander slammed his fists into Edmund’s face, over and over again, drawing blood. He pulled his fist back, again and again, until Edmund’s face was a bloody pulp. Camilla crawled into the room and threw herself onto her husband. “Stop, Alex,” she cried. “Please. You’re going to kill him.” Alexander threw her off and she slid across the blood-slicked wood. She watched in horror as he closed his hands around Edmund’s throat. Edmund, their friend. Oktavya’s husband. Flynn’s father. He struggled beneath Alexander, his hands stretching to the sword which lay just out of reach. Camilla was frozen, her limbs unresponsive. Her sobs hitched as she knelt on the wood and watched the light leave Edmund’s eyes.

“It was Flynn’s mother,” Hera said, dropping the journal onto the table. “Fenix’s father killed Flynn’s mother. We all knew the story of how Flynn’s parents had died. Valiantly and nobly, protecting one another and their infant son during an invasion at Indest.” She paused as if deep in thought. “For Fenix to have covered it up. For all these years…” Hera shook her head. “Imagine having your entire story rewritten in the span of a few moments. And on top of that, the betrayal of knowing your closest living family has been lying to you about it.” Alexsia leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath, held it for five seconds and then let it go. “So, what do we do now? The Heavens know where Fenix is off running around. This journal is cryptic at best. Some nonsense about a curse and nightmares? What if Fenix is going through the same things his father went through? From the sounds of that age, it didn’t really sound like his father had wanted to kill Flynn’s mother. It sounded like he had loved her,” Alexsia said. Hera shrugged. “I have no idea what to do. I don’t suppose there’s anything we can do. Fenix is gone, you say? We won’t know anything until he comes back. I say we go get something to eat. When’s the last time you had a proper meal?” Her stomach gave an embarrassingly long grumble at that. The nurses had brought her some stew in the hospital wing earlier, which she had devoured in a few mouthfuls. But it was nightfall now and training with Flynn, then searching for Fenix and finding the journal had worked up her appetite. “What do you have in mind?” Alexsia asked, sliding her chair back. Hera winked. “Follow me.” Alexsia trailed after Hera all the way down to the kitchens. The familiar smell of peas made her smile. At least something was still the same. Hera beamed proudly as she led her toward Veina. The older woman was washing potatoes at the sink but set them down at the sight of them approaching. She wiped her hands on her apron and gave Hera a full-bodied hug and then stepped back to examine Alexsia.

“You’re still thin as a reed,” Veina said gruffly. “Is my cooking not up to your standards?” Hera grinned at the woman. “Don’t give her such a hard time, Veina, she’s had a rough few days.” “Veina’s like my second mother,” Hera said, hopping onto a barstool surrounding a nearby table. “She gave me crap when I first came here too.” “She was even skinner than you,” Veina barked. “All awkward arms and legs. Had been scrounging scraps from dumpsters for two years before Petra felt sorry for her.” “I didn’t know that,” Alexsia said, sitting down next to Hera. Hera shrugged, unembarrassed as Veina shoved two plates filled with rolls and cheese and meat toward them. “Eat,” she ordered before turning back to her potatoes. “How have you been?” Alexsia asked Hera, quieter. “Since the last time we spoke.” They had spoken at length the night before she had been captured by the Sylphs and she had been sure she had helped Hera work through some of those painful memories, but today she had noticed that Hera had become more withdrawn. She wasn’t sure if it was just being around Flynn and Tren today that had made her nervous or if she wasn’t coping well with the memory. Even if it was the memory, Alexsia would not offer to heal her unless she asked her to. She did not want her new friend thinking that she pitied her. Hera pushed her cheese around the plate and chewed on a piece of bread slowly. Swallowing, she said, “It’s been difficult. I’ve been struggling. I keep seeing their faces, I keep picturing them burning while I got out.” “Why didn’t you say anything to anyone?” Alexsia touched her arm lightly. Hera’s eyes remained on her food. “Everyone’s been going through so much. Greta’s just lost her sister. I don’t want to burden anyone with this. It all happened so long ago. I don’t even know why I’m still haunted by it.”

Alexsia spun the girl around and stared directly into her eyes. “Hera, you lost your entire family. It doesn’t matter how long ago it has been. You are allowed to feel the grief in whatever way you want to. There are people here who love and care for you. It is not a burden. You are not a burden. If you would only look up, you would see the all around you and you would know that you are not alone.” Hera nodded, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. She took a ragged breath and then, reluctantly, said, “I think I need to go back to Pneros. I need to know what happened to my family.” Alexsia pulled the girl toward her, into a hug. “If that’s what you need. I will go with you.” Hera sniffled. “Will you really?” “Yes. Of course.” Veina, having listened to their entire conversation, ed her a box of tissues. Alexsia pulled one out of the box and handed it to Hera, who dabbed at her eyes. Hera nodded again, more to herself. “I ran away when I was younger, but I’m done running now.” Alexsia gripped her hand. “You are so much stronger than you think.” “It’s just hard to find it sometimes. The courage to face your fears,” Hera said. “You don’t need to find it, Hera. It’s already in you. Just listen to your heart.” Hera smiled weakly and popped a piece of cheese into her mouth. “My heart’s telling me I need some strawberry jam on this bread.” Veina chuckled softly and slid the jar across the table.

Pure, undiluted rage pounded through Flynn’s head. He stormed into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him so hard its hinges rattled. He shoved a vase and it crashed to the floor, cracking into a million tiny pieces, spilling water and bits of flower everywhere. He strode over to his table and kicked it, sending it skidding on its side across the room. His door slammed open and Tren stood in the doorway, his hands on his hips. Good. Flynn was glad he had followed; he was aching for a fight. And if Fenix wasn’t man enough to be here himself, if he needed to run away rather than own up, Tren would do just fine. “Flynn, man,” Tren started. “You need to…” “Don’t…” Flynn seethed. “…tell me to calm down.” He shoved a lamp off its stand, not even flinching at the shards of glass which rebounded against his boots. “He lied to me, Trenin. He let me believe they had died in Indest. He let me believe his father was a saint. King Alexander, the Brave. His father killed them. He was nothing but a murdering psychopath.” Flynn stared daggers at his friend, daring Tren to challenge him. Tren did not. Instead, he strode over to the kitchenette, shards of broken glass crunching beneath his boots. He reached into the cabinet below the sink and pulled out an amber bottle. Grabbing a single glass from the cabinet, he poured himself a shot and tossed the rest of the bottle toward Flynn. Flynn caught the bottle in one hand and glanced down at it. He shrugged, pulled off the cap and swigged. The liquid traced a fiery path down his throat. He welcomed the burn. He welcomed anything that would take away the anger. And hurt. Flynn sank to the floor, against the wall. He tipped his head up as he drained the rest of the bottle.

When he was done, he tossed the bottle across the floor. It skidded over the polished wood and smacked against a wall with a satisfying crack. Turning to Tren, he pointed to the cabinet above the kettle. “The good stuff is in there.”

Fenix rode through the night. He was anxious to get to the Prophet and did not particularly fancy camping alone in the Plains. Especially after the encounter with the wren. He did not relish taking a life, even that of a water demon. He shuddered at the memory of the wren who had still worn Alexsia’s face when it had died. He pushed the thought from his mind. He did not want to think of the wren. He definitely did not want to think of the feelings the wren had exposed. Feelings he didn’t even know he had. He knew that a wren could stimulate powerful feelings of attraction. But he also knew that those feelings had to have been there in the first place for the wren to have sniffed them out. He did not want to entertain these thoughts. He could not entertain them. The forest they had been travelling through for the past hour began to thin out and a clearing emerged. Stryker slowed to a trot and paused on the outskirts of the forest. Fenix nudged the horse forward, but he neighed loudly, digging his hooves firmly into the ground. “Alright, boy,” Fenix said, sliding off the horse and stretching the cramp in his leg. “You don’t want to go there. I wish I didn’t have to go either.” The Prophet lived on the fringe of the forest, at the edge of a cliff, jutting out above a steep ravine. It was the only living being for miles around, but Fenix could not shake the feeling that something watching him. Fenix tied Stryker’s reins to a low hanging branch before edging out of the forest, his knife a wrist-flick away. The mossy ground gave way to crumbling stone as Fenix hedged toward the house on the cliff. It was a disheveled thing, with a slanted brick roof that looked in danger of collapsing and frosted windows glazed with spiderwebs. Sunken steps led up to a rickety porch, which had undergone years of bad weather and neglect. The Prophet was over a thousand years old and the last of her kind. She had witnessed the First Wars herself. Fenix had never met her before, but he had heard stories that had made his head spin. The Prophet was one of the most powerful magical beings on Arianon for she possessed a most unique skill. One

which had made her very popular in her younger days. She had the power of knowledge. And knowledge was the most powerful weapon of all. Her price was not cheap, however. She had been known to take the beauty from a young maiden or the youth from a babe. Fenix had heard a particularly horrific story around a campfire many years ago in Kolta, from a travelling stranger. It was about a greedy man who had returned to the Prophet several months after she had turned him away, insisting on the answers to immortality. The Prophet had taken his eyesight as payment and given him a potion that would bestow the drinker divine immortality. So consumed with his obsession that he did not heed the Prophet’s warnings, the man drank from the cup. He awoke the next morning, to find he had been removed from his body and that the potion had transformed him into a djinn, a spirit, only capable of living through another. To live out his immortality, the man would have to possess the bodies of others for the rest of his days, condemned for all eternity to a half-life. He’s still out there. In fact, the stranger had warned, he could be in any one of us. The glow of the firelight casting flickering shadows over the stranger’s face and the whisper of the wind trailing along his words had made him seem eerily omnipotent at the time. Fenix pushed the memory aside as he stepped onto the moth-eaten porch and rapped lightly on the door. The door swung open, and the smell of stale air hit him. The room was dimly lit. Rugs covered the walls and a clutter of colored serums and tonics spilled across long benches set within. A pot bubbled merrily in a grate. With the windows all closed, the room was a furnace. The Prophet sat before the fire, in a ratty armchair, which could have once been yellow, stirring the contents of the pot with a long wooden stick. She leaned the stick against a wall as Fenix crossed the threshold, the door swinging closed behind him. He felt a sheen of sweat pepper his brow that he was sure wasn’t entirely due to the heat. The Prophet wore tattered clothes which hung limply against her hobbled frame. Grey hair matted her scalp in patches and her entire face sagged with lines of a thousand years. She ignored Fenix as she hobbled past him to the bench. She looked around for a second and then grabbed a beaker filled with violet fluid. She brushed past Fenix as she shuffled back to the pot and poured the liquid into the pot. The pot steamed and hissed, and bubbles threatened to spill out. She

stuck the stick back into the pot, gave it a stir and sat back against the armchair before casting bulging, watery eyes at Fenix. She stared at him, and he stared right back. “King,” she finally said. Her voice was surprisingly clear and strong. Fenix had to remind himself that looks were deceiving. This was a powerful creature, capable of cursing him beyond his wildest dreams. But not if he played this right. “What is it you seek, King? Power, fortune or love?” His gut clenched uncomfortably. “You know what I seek.” “Ah,” she smiled a crooked smile. “You Arbora men, always quick to the point. But let us discuss the matter of payment first.” “What is it you want?” He stepped forward casually, his hands in his pockets as he walked up to the grate and peered inside the pot. She folded her withered hands in her lap and examined him warily. “Perhaps the color of your eyes... or the name of your first born.” “What use do you have with names?” “There is power in a name, Your Majesty.” “Well, I don’t suppose there will be a first born with the way things are looking for me.” He gave her a bashful smile. “Your boyish charm will not work on me, King. I see through your tricks.” “Of course.” Fenix smiled. He reached within his sleeve and pulled out the vial. A single drop of ruby red blood glistened within. He tilted the vial, watching the drop streak across the glass. The Prophet sat up, her back ramrod straight, eyes fixed on the vial. “So, you see,” Fenix said, slipping the vial back into his sleeve. “There will be no need for payment.”

“It doesn’t belong to you, King,” the Prophet rasped, pointing a hooked finger toward his sleeve. “That belonged to Iocho.” “And does her blood not flow through me? This life debt, your life debt is owed to my bloodline,” Fenix said. “I do not fulfil the blood debt by perpetuating Iocho’s enslavement,” the Prophet said and spat into the hearth. Fenix knew he was treading on thin ice. Angering the Prophet would do little to help him. “You answer my questions,” he said. “And I will return it to you.” She surveyed him. Sniffed the air for lies. She smelled none. “Do you know the power my blood holds, little King? You would trade it for a few questions?” Fenix stiffened. “They’re good questions.” The Prophet leaned back in her armchair, the springs sagging beneath her and flicked a finger. “Then, by all means, King. Ask away.” “The Wards,” he began. “They will break,” she said, waving a hand. “You don’t need to be a Prophet to know that. It’s evident all over the planet. Even the weather senses it,” Fenix replied. The Prophet narrowed her eyes but did not speak. “I am dying,” Fenix said. “Indeed, you are.” “How much longer?” he asked “Heavens, boy. You said your questions will be good. If this is what my blood is worth trading for, I must say I am offended,” she said. “Answer the question,” Fenix ground out.

“You will forgive me. I do not get as much company these days as I used to,” the Prophet said. “Three months. You of course know of the cursed blood?” Fenix felt a wave of nausea through his body and placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. “I needed to confirm it.” The Prophet tutted, “Iocho ensured her survival by binding herself to the crystal.” “Is there a way to stop it?” Fenix asked, pulling away from the wall as the nausea left his body as quickly as it had come. “Of course, young King.” The Prophet reached for her stick again, leaning forward to stir the concoction simmering in the grate. “Her son Amorphous bound her in Wards of her own. As long as your line survives, she will remain bound by the power that flows through your veins. But, when she bound herself to the crystal, she cursed it so that none but her could possess it. When Amorphous stole the crystal, he set into motion a chain of events that has since spanned down to your generation. Each male descendant of direct lineage to Amorphous - the firstborn son - has since died a year earlier than the last. When your entire line has been killed off she will be free to search for the crystal herself.” The Prophet blew at the hearth and the flames extinguished immediately. “What are you saying?” Fenix asked. “If I remain alive, my blood will bind her in her tower? But she cursed the crystal so that I will eventually die, and she will be free?” “That is precisely what I am saying, little King.” “So how am I supposed to defeat this curse and remain alive? You said there is a way to stop it.” He clenched his fists at his side. “Indeed, I did.” The Prophet hunched over her pot. “It’s quite clear. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out. You seem bright but then again, Henny Archo was also bright and look what happened to him,” she muttered. “You must return the crystal back to Iocho. That is where it belongs. Once it is

back in her possession, the curse will be lifted. But, heed my warning, the longer you take the worse it will get. You know what happened to your father.” He knew exactly what had happened to his father. “You know where it is. The crystal.” It wasn’t a question. “The path of the crystal has been a bloody one. It ed from Una Ream to your father. When he died, he gave it to your mother. I suggest you search through her belongings.” He knew where it was. It had been in the Palace the entire time. He could have kicked himself for not searching through the velvet lined jewel box his mother had treasured her most prized possessions within. Fenix backed a step toward the door. It was not missed by the Prophet. “You are forgetting something, King,” she stretched out a hand. He knew he would not leave with the vial. He reached within his sleeve and tossed the small bottle to the Prophet. She caught it with surprising dexterity for one of her age. She clutched the vial to her chest, her eyes closing. “It has been hundreds of years since I have been parted from this drop. My debt to Iocho is fulfilled. Be on your way, boy.” The door gust open and a great wind shoved him across the threshold. The door slammed in his face, the porch vibrating beneath him. Fenix let out a deep and made his way back to Stryker.

Chapter 21 1891

“It’s getting worse,” Alexander said. “I don’t have the strength to take it back to her.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out the necklace. The crystal dangled from his hand, bloody prints on its surface. Camilla’s head snapped up, her eyes, blurred through the tears, were only able to make out the vague shape of her husband at the door. Oktavya and Edmund’s bodies had been cremated at sunset. She had not seen her husband at the ceremony. “I don’t want it,” she shook her head vehemently. “Camilla. This is the only way I can stop it. I wanted to end this, for Fenix, but it’s too late for me now. I have written it all down in this journal. You will see to it that he receives it?” He pulled a small leatherbound notebook from his pocket. She had seen his scribbling in it countless times yet had never had the heart to ask her husband what he had been writing. She gave a shaky nod as he approached her, drawing a dagger from his belt loop. She wondered if it was the same dagger he had used to kill Oktavya. “Adrian is on his way.” He ignored the flash of light that flitted through her eyes. He had always known she had loved Adrian more than him. “Tell him I didn’t mean it. Any of it.” She watched as Alexander crossed to the crib, bent down and kissed his son on the forehead, his eyes shutting tightly in pain. He pulled away from Fenix and made his way back to his wife. Pressing the dagger into her hand, he smiled wanly at her. “I’ve always loved

you, Camilla. I wished a grand life for us, but fate had another plan. You know what must be done?” She closed her eyes, feeling a tear slide warmly down her cheek. Alexander dragged a thumb softly against her cheek, wiping the tear away. “May you never shed a tear again.” He tightened her grip on the blade and guided her hand. Her eyes snapped open in panic, but he shushed her gently. Alexander held her gaze all the while, providing silent encouragement. He stayed with her, until the very end. Until the blade pierced his skin and found its way to his heart.

Alexsia puffed out her chest, her hands splayed in front of her as she worked on lifting the coffee table. She had never lifted anything this big and the entire front of her shirt was soaked through with sweat. Her magic pushed and pulled and hefted at the table, but it did not budge. It had, at one point, rattled, but that had been in the beginning of her session. Now, she felt like the ragged end of a sponge. She had seen Flynn the previous afternoon, sparring with Tren in the training center. With the way he had been pummeling Tren, she doubted his anger had abated much. Madelyn had had to snap at her several times, having caught her staring at Flynn and his sweat-coated biceps. Fenix had been gone for three days now, but no one seemed concerned in the slightest. Apparently, this was typical Fenix. Alexsia hoped, for Flynn’s sake, that Fenix stayed away for a while longer. She was afraid that the next time Flynn saw his cousin, he might kill him. And she was certain he would regret it afterwards. Pushing her hair back with a sigh, Alexsia stripped off her sweaty shirt and grabbed a clean one. She shoved it over her head and headed out of her room, shutting the door behind her with a soft snick. She was thinking of stopping by the library and grabbing Hera for a bite in the kitchens when she saw Fenix. He was trudging down the hallway, rubbing at his shoulder, leaving a trail of mud in his wake. He had a slight limp in his left leg and looked bone weary. At the sight of Alexsia he paused for a beat and then continued to his bedroom, ignoring her. She huffed. Striding toward him and with more force than necessary, she jabbed him right in the middle of his chest. The suit he was wearing was much harder than it looked, and she winced at the shot of pain lancing up her finger. He was so tall she had to tip her head back to glare at him. “How dare you?” she fumed. “You leave for three days without saying a word to anyone? Oh, you better hope Flynn doesn’t see you. He just might kill you over that journal.”

“Wait, what?” Fenix gripped her elbow. She tugged at his grasp, but he held on. “What did you just say?” She scrunched her brows. “Your father’s journal. It was on your floor. We went through it. Flynn knows everything.” “Oh, for…” He pulled her into his bedroom and shut the door behind them. Someone had come in and cleaned the mess while he had been away. Which was a real pity. They should have left it for him to clean himself. Stupid, spoiled, miserable King. She hated him. Alexsia jerked her elbow away from him and dusted her sleeve. “I’d thank you not to accost me and haul me into your bedchamber.” “You accosted me first, but that’s not important.” He turned narrowed eyes on her. “What gave you the right to rifle through my personal belongings?” “I’d hardly call it personal belongings when it’s lying discarded on the floor and your door is left open,” she scoffed. “Oh, you…” He gritted his teeth and paced away from her. “So, Flynn knows everything? You all know everything? This is not how I wanted him to find out,” Fenix muttered. “Well then, you should have told him yourself before waiting for something like this to happen. Really, Fenix, how long did you think you could keep lying to him about something like this.” Alexsia threw her hands up in dismay. “I was getting around to it, Alexsia. If you hadn’t noticed, I’m dealing with a lot of things at the moment,” he spat. “Oh, my apologies, Your Majesty.” Her voice dripped honey and sarcasm. “Poor King Fenix, shall I arrange for a hot bath to be drawn so you may soak all your troubles away?” He stormed up to her, his jaw ticking. “I don’t need your derision. In fact, I don’t need you at all. Isn’t there some form I can sign that can send you back to

wherever you came from?” “Oh, I wish,” she shot back, scowling at him. He glared at her, his chest heaving up and down. Something she could not quite name crossed his eyes and then Fenix pulled her toward him, crushing his lips against hers. His hands cupped her chin as he tilted her face upwards. Her hands lifted of their own accord, her fingers running through his hair, at the tangled locks there. She breathed in the wild scent of the wind and ocean that clung to his skin, as he edged her back against the wall. He scooped her up with one hand, and though she had never done anything like this before, her body knew precisely what to do. She hooked her legs around his waist, her fingers digging into his back as she pulled him closer. She could not help the soft moan that escaped from her lips or the involuntary arching of her neck. He growled against the noise and traced a scorching blaze of kisses down her exposed neck. She wanted more, needed more. She felt as though she were drowning and electrified at the same time. Her magic roared in her ears, flaming down every fiber of her being, alighting every nerve in its wake. She fumbled with the zip on his jacket, not caring if she broke it in her haste. Never breaking their kiss, she ran her hands down his muscled chest. He shivered lightly at her touch. And then, as abruptly as it had started, he pulled away. She stumbled forward a few steps, her chest heaving. Her hair came down in knotted rivulets and her lips were bruised and tingly. She blinked a few times and stared at Fenix. He had stridden far across the room and was balancing one hand against the wall, his head dipped and his back to her as he tried to control his breathing. “That shouldn’t have happened,” he said. “It’s been a long day. Please leave.” She took a step toward him. Was she missing something here? “Please,” he said. He couldn’t even look at her. “Leave.” She opened her mouth and then closed it with a snap. Turning on her heel she ran from his room, all the way to library, and did not once look back.

Fenix punched the wall. He did not feel it when his knuckles split. He did not have time to fix this. He had little more than three months left to restore the crystal to Iocho. Right now, he was a dead man walking. And dead men did not have feelings for their Helpers. He pulled his door and stormed out, casting his eyes up and down the hallway. He would have to deal with Flynn later. For now, he needed to find the crystal. He strode down the hallway, ignoring the muddy imprints his booted feet left on the expensive carpets. When he reached the door to his mother’s chambers, he hesitated a moment before yanking on the doorknob. He had not visited his mother’s chambers since she had died two years ago. Opening the door, he jolted. He had ordered the room not to be reset after his mother’s death. But this room was clean. His mother’s belongings and personal effects that had laid scattered throughout the room, on tables and dressers were nowhere to be seen. He rushed into the room, pulling at cupboards and cabinets, tossing their contents onto the floor. He almost sagged in relief upon finding the small, jeweled box in the third drawer of a dresser. Calming his breathing, he popped the lid open and scanned the items. It wasn’t there. He upturned the box onto the floor, rooting through the various knick-knacks. A necklace with a diamond as big as his pinky finger, a bracelet with golden charms, silver rings and letters upon letters from Adrian, but no crystal. Fenix shoved the drawer onto its side and gripped at his hair. He looked helplessly at the items scattered on the floor, a feeling of weightless despair crashing into him. He stared blankly at the floor for a full minute and then his brows scrunched as, out of the corner of his eye he spotted something shining in the light. There, amidst the letters was a single hair. Fenix picked it up and held it to the light.

The realization dawned on him so hard he doubled over. He dropped the strand as though it had burnt him. Of course. He knew who had taken it. She had insisted on the Queen’s suite upon her arrival weeks ago. The crystal was with Taria Sur. Fenix knelt on his haunches, an internal battle raging within him. And then, mind made up, he walked straight to Flynn’s bedchamber and pushed the door open. His cousin gaped at him in surprise for a second and then his eyes sparked with anger. He pushed off from the chair he had been lounging on, his fists clenched at his sides. Fenix held up a hand. “Pack your bags. We’re going to Pneros.”

The END

Acknowledgment

To my parents, Clive and Samantha Shunmugam, for encouraging me to finally finish writing this book and for teaching me that I can do anything I set my mind to - you are everything.

To Rayden Shunmugam, for your constant humour and witty comebacks - you are the best brother a girl could ask for.

To Stephanie Garbers, for being my best friend, for falling in love with this book from the very first draft and being my biggest fan. I am eternally thankful that we found each other.

To Susan Claridge, for believing in my book and taking a chance on an unpublished twenty-four-year-old author. It has been such a pleasure working with you.

And finally, to you, the reader, for embarking on this journey with Fenix and Alexsia. I am so grateful for your .

About the Author

Megan Shunmugam is a candidate attorney, currently working and residing in Johannesburg, South Africa. When she is not writing, she can be found reading or spending time outdoors.

Her favorite novels include The Catcher in the Rye by JD Salinger and Vicious by VE Schwab. Phoenix is her debut novel.

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