Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
W e arrived at Mortal City early the next day.
Well, we arrived at the ghost of Mortal City.
From a distance, it looked as if it might still be a sleepy little hamlet, a place where humble, hardy people created lives of beautiful simplicity in their own quiet corner of the world.
The town was built around an oasis, a tiny fleck of blue and green on a canvas of boundless beige. Rows of buildings made of dark red clay sat in neat lines dotted with clusters of palm trees and overgrown citrus plants.
When we crested the final dune and spotted the glittering aqua spring still active at the center, we embraced with a round of grins. It looked like such a lush haven that I wondered for a moment if the sun hadn’t cracked our brains and sent us into joint delusion.
But as we neared, it became clear this place was anything but idyllic.
It started with the skeletons. Hundreds of them half-buried in sand, picked clean by animals and bleached white by the sun. Most lay on the outskirts of the village, trailing up the sides of the surrounding dunes as if struck dead in the midst of escape. Icy fingers crawled up the back of my neck as I wondered what could drive someone out of this sanctuary and into the certain death of open desert.
Inside the town, the homes had been abandoned in a hurry. Pots hung over long-dead hearths, books sat open on desks, and children’s toys lay scattered and forgotten. The wardrobes were still stocked full of clothes, and though we were all happy for the chance to exchange our ripped, soiled rags for breezy linens and soft wool, it felt a bit like vultures pecking meat off an old carcass.
Weapons were strangely plentiful. Many had been left sitting out on countertops, with a few even dropped in the streets. Whatever had chased these mortals away, apparently they had not believed their blades or bows would save them.
Though most were of mortal make, we scavenged some Fortosian steel blades to restock our arsenal, as nearly all our weapons had been taken in the skirmish with the Guardians—including the Sword of Corbois. Luther swore he was glad to be rid of its burden, but I ached at the void over his shoulder where the jeweled handle had once risen. With its loss, a piece of him seemed missing, too.
Our one disappointment, and now our greatest dilemma, was a lack of food. Everything in the buildings had long since rotted to dust, and though there were a handful of ripe kumquat trees that soothed the bite of our hunger, the other plants were months from harvest. Hardier desert-dwellers might know the tricks for finding hidden nutrition, but those secrets had died out on the dunes. We were foreign intruders on a hostile land, and unlike the forest, the desert did not provide.
“We could keep going to the coast,” Alixe suggested, cupping her hands into the cool water of the spring and splashing it across her face. “We could catch some fish there, perhaps even wave down a passing boat and ask for help.”
“No,” Luther said immediately. “We’re too exposed on the coast.”
He was lounging in the shade of a nearby palm tree and watching the three of us wash away the crust of sand that coated our skin.
He looked at me. “You’re an uninvited Crown. If you’re caught here, the King of Ignios has the right to kill you on sight.”
I dipped my rag in the spring and dabbed it to the wound on Taran’s ribs. I was relieved to see that the dark veins had spread only slightly, and a thin scab was beginning to form over the cut.
“He knows I was kidnapped by the Guardians,” I said. “Perhaps he’ll hear me out and understand.”
Luther’s hand tightened around the bone hilt of the long, curved scimitar he’d found in one of the homes. “You met him. Did he seem like an understanding man to you?”
I thought back on my Rite of Coronation. My only exchange with the prickly Ignios King had been his sneer of disgust when he had discovered I was a “ half-breed .”
I frowned. “Not quite.”
Taran smirked at me and folded his arms behind his head. After I’d refused to let him dive head-first and naked into the spring, he was getting far too much enjoyment out of the sponge bath I was giving him as a compromise.
“I agree with Luther,” he said. “I wouldn’t put it past them to kill us all if they spot us. They’re mean, ruthless bastards, and they hate outsiders.”
Alixe dipped a jug into the water and poured it through her cropped hair. “It wasn’t always that way,” she mused. “Ignios used to be famous for its hospitality. The Ring Road was packed with shops and inns welcoming travelers. They even had patrols to help anyone lost out in the dunes. They had the least resources of all nine realms, but they were the first to offer them up to anyone passing through.”
“What happened?” I asked.
“The Blood War,” Luther answered. “They tried to stay neutral and keep out of the fighting, but neither side would let them.”
Alixe nodded. “Oases started getting poisoned. The springs are crucial to life here, so everyone suspected it was outsiders, but the Descended and mortals each blamed it on the other. The army refused to send soldiers to help unless Ignios joined the war effort. Eventually their Crown had to give in before the entire realm became uninhabitable, and the rebels hit them hard for it. By the end of the war, there was hardly anyone from Ignios left.”
“Those who did survive never let go of their anger,” Luther added. “They stopped welcoming outsiders, and when the current Crown took his throne, he banished all the mortals.”
“He didn’t banish them,” I muttered, remembering what Henri had told me. “He killed them. He drove them into the dunes and let them roast to death under the sun.”
“Where did you hear that?” Luther asked.
“From a friend, I think,” I said, shrugging. The last thing I needed was Luther setting his sights on Henri again.
“Let me guess, one of your Guardian friends?” Taran said bitterly. His eyes narrowed, sparking with betrayal. “You know they spread lies about the Descended to trick people into joining, don’t you?”
I clenched my jaw as I dried off his wound, then reached for a new batch of linen to wrap it. “The Guardians don’t need to lie to do that, Taran. The Descended give them plenty of recruiting material on their own.”
“Taran has a point,” Luther said gently. My eyes shot to his, and he gave me a meaningful stare. “We both know they can be... less than honest.”
“And what do you suppose happened to them?” I snapped, pointing to the lines of white bones stretching up into the dunes. “What made all those mortals drop their weapons and run for their lives? What lie do the Guardians need to explain that? ” I glared between the two of them. “I watched a man burn alive for the crime of stepping over their border. I don’t care if what I heard was ‘ less than honest .’ It’s no worse than what I’ve seen with my own eyes.”
The others fell silent. I sniffed irritably and reached for the dressing at Taran’s shoulder, ripping it away.
My heart stopped.
Unlike the cut on his ribs, this wound oozed with blood and a foul-smelling black liquid. The web of dark veins around it had thickened and grown, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.
The first signs of infection.
I quickly slammed the linen back down to conceal it. Taran winced and pull away. “I take it back, I believe you. You don’t have to take it out on my body.”
“Sorry,” I mumbled. I dipped my chin and pretended to rummage in my pile of fabric to conceal my face and the terror racing across it.
My breathing came faster and shallower. I needed to disinfect the cut, but water would only do so much—he needed medicine. All the supplies I’d found here were spoiled. I’d seen herbs in Arboros that might help, but...
“You were really one of them?” Taran asked me. “You were a Guardian?”
I looked up at him in surprise. “What? I... I—”
His dark blonde brows pulled in tight, his features lined with hurt. “Was it only before you met us?”
I looked away and grabbed my wet cloth. Though my hands were shaking, I carefully wiped the wound as clean as I could, using my other hand to shield it from his view.
“Some of it was after,” I admitted, too ashamed to look at him.
“The Guardians murder Descended.” Taran’s voice was angrier now, more accusing. “I’ve lost friends to their attacks.”
“I never supported any of that. I only helped them gather information.”
“But you still helped them. You got to know us, you became our friend, and you worked with them?”
“So did I,” Luther said.
All our eyes cut to him. His expression was dark. “I’ve been helping the Guardians for years. I knew what they were capable of, and I did far more for them than Diem ever did. I even helped them after the attack on Coeur?le.”
Alixe’s jaw went slack. “Luther, I knew you were surveilling them, but... helping them?”
“Yes. And while Diem might regret her decision, I do not. I’d do it again, so if you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at me, not her.” He slowly pushed to his feet with a low grunt, then stalked off toward the city.
We sat in silence for a long minute. I couldn’t take the awkward tension, so I reached for Taran’s wound again. He shoved my hands away, then started to stand.
“Wait,” I insisted. “At least let me put a fresh bandage on.”
He blew out a harsh breath and sat, fuming silently while I rushed to wrap the injury in fresh linen before he or Alixe noticed its condition.
“I was going to let it go,” he gritted out after a moment. “I didn’t want to die angry at you. But if you’re so convinced I’ll live, then I’m gonna go ahead and be mad. At both of you, I guess.”
A burning lump lodged in my throat. I raised my hands to show him I was finished, and he shot to his feet, but at the last minute, he stumbled to the side, nearly collapsing into the sand. Alixe and I both jumped forward to help him.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, though his eyes turned glassy as he hovered in place, swaying slightly on his feet. Alixe looked at me in alarm.
I avoided her stare. When Taran finally steadied, he yanked his arms back from us, then lurched off in Luther’s direction.
On the ground, I spotted the discarded bandage, the white fabric stained with black. I dropped to my knees and hurriedly stuffed it into my pile of linen strips.
Alixe ran a hand down her face. She walked back to the water and stripped off her clothes, then grabbed a cloth and began scrubbing at her skin. We stayed like that for a while, the uncomfortable silence growing thicker by the minute, until finally I tossed the fabric aside and rose to face her.
“If you no longer wish to serve me, I understand.” I forced my shoulders to straighten. “Of course, I don’t want to lose you, but if you don’t—”
“I gave you my vow, Your Majesty,” she cut in. “I have every intention of fulfilling it. Nothing has changed for me.”
I eyed her carefully. “Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
I slowly removed my own clothes and joined her at her side. My gaze lingered on her face as I took the pitcher and poured water over my dry, reddened skin. “You’re not angry with me?”
She looked out over the blue-green pool. “A few weeks ago, I might have been. But since I’ve learned about the violence the guards in Mortal City have caused and how bad the conditions are there...” She frowned. “You had every right to hate me for being in the Royal Guard. More, perhaps, given my position. But you never held it against me.”
“I did at first,” I admitted. “I held it against all of you. But you showed me there are good people within the guard, just as there are in the Guardians. I’d hoped we could find those people on both sides and bring them together somehow. Maybe I’m too naive, but I still do.”
She walked over and took the cloth from my hand to rinse off the spots on my back I’d missed. “It’s not naive. I’m not sure we stand a chance at winning this war if we don’t.”
I sighed heavily. “You said you came to respect me because of my actions the night of the armory fire. That wasn’t courage, Alixe—that was guilt.”
“Many people have reasons to feel guilty. Few are willing to sacrifice themselves to make it right.” She laid a hand on my shoulder. “It does not change how I feel.”
I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by her forgiveness. “Thank you,” I murmured.
“Taran will understand, too. Give him some time, if—”
She stopped herself, but we both knew the words that came next.
If he has time left to give.
We helped each other finish washing and changed into the fresh clothing we’d found. The wide, billowing pants and cropped tunics were a much-needed change from the heavy fabrics we’d arrived in, and the colorful wool shawls would give a welcome respite when the temperature made its dramatic plummet into the frosty evening.
Alixe sat to lace her boots. “Is that how you and Luther first met—in the Guardians?”
“Not exactly,” I said, laughing. “I was as shocked as you when I found out.” I walked over and sat beside her, resting my elbows on my knees. “Luther has his reasons for helping them. It’s not my place to share them, but I hope you’ll extend him the same grace you’ve shown me.”
“I will. I’ve learned to trust him, even when I don’t understand him.” She glanced in the direction he had stormed off, her features turning contemplative. “I’m glad he told you. It’s so rare that he opens up to anyone. I’ve never seen—” She paused, frowning up at the sky. “Do you hear that?”
I followed her gaze to the wide blue expanse, where the afternoon sun was blazing in all its glory. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, let alone anything else. “Hear what?”
“It sounds like... pounding. Like a drum.”
And then I heard it.
Thump, thump, thump.
Wings.
I leapt to my feet, a smile springing to my face for a fleeting moment—until I remembered the command I’d given.
A command that couldn’t be broken.
“Alixe... shit, that’s—”
She grabbed my arm. “Did you call Sorae?”
I shook my head. “No. And it can’t be her.”
Her face paled. “Hide. Hurry. ”
We scrambled to gather our things and ran for the nearest structure, a small outdoor storage pen that must have been used to store firewood, judging from the decaying logs that cracked under our feet as we jumped inside and pulled the cover closed.
“What about Luther and Taran?” I whispered. “We have to warn them.”
“We can’t risk it. If that’s who I think it is, and he finds you...”
She trailed off as we both peered through the cracks in the lashed bamboo that made up the walls of the enclosure. My pulse raced in time with the steady beat of the approaching wings. The sand whipped into a dusty cloud, forcing us to close our eyes and cover our noses with our scarves.
Paws crunched on dry sand, followed by the piercing scream of a gryvern’s cry. When I looked again through the slim openings, I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle my gasp.
The Ignios gryvern was an enormous beast. It was nearly twice Sorae’s size, with golden feathers on its wings and scales of shimmering tan that seemed forged from the desert itself. A line of horns, each filed to a spear-sharp tip, ran up its snout and down its long neck.
Anger seeped from the beast like a foul smell, infecting the air with its hateful rancor. As its slitted eyes narrowed and scanned the oasis, the thick cords of muscle lining its powerful body bunched, looking ready to strike at any moment. Flames curled around its nostrils with every rumbling breath.
A man and two women dismounted from a saddle strapped to its back. The man was dressed in flowing white robes, his head swathed in a ginger-colored silk scarf that covered all but his dark orange eyes.
Though he appeared to have no weapons, the women were laden with them. A strappy leather harness wrapped around each of their midsections, bearing a small armory of thin, sharp throwing knives. Much like the gryvern, their tanned bodies were toned and curved with muscles that seemed permanently tensed for battle.
“Search the buildings,” the man said. “If she’s here, bring her to me. Kill the others.”
The gryvern arched its neck toward the sky and released an ear-splitting snarl. Its body rippled as its clawed talons curled into the sand.
The women nodded and ran for the city. My pulse rattled watching them disappear into the streets. I prayed Luther and Taran were well hidden among the maze of clay walls.
The man pulled his headscarf down to his neck, revealing a familiar face, its leathery, sun-worn skin the same dark red hue as the buildings around us.
“The King?” Alixe mouthed at me, arching an eyebrow. I nodded, and her mouth set into a thin, grim frown.
“Where are you, Lumnos?” he bellowed. His booming voice startled me backward, causing the rotted wood to snap beneath my knees.
The Ignios King’s head swiveled in our direction. Alixe grabbed my arm to still me, both of us holding our breath as we waited, frozen, staring in terror through the slatted bamboo.
He clasped his hands behind his back and strolled toward us, his long, dark beard swaying in the wind as his gaze swept across the oasis.
Everything fell deathly silent, save for the rustle of sand shifting under his sandaled heels. As quietly as we could manage, Alixe and I pulled small blades from our sheaths. If we were discovered, we had only a split second to react before he incinerated us into a pile of ash.
And if his fire magic worked anything like my destructive silvery light, even a split second might not be enough.
“I know you’re here somewhere,” he taunted.
A dark silhouette passed in front of the slivers of light leaking into the enclosure, then stopped. I dared to lean in for a closer look—and nearly came face to face with him as he dropped to one knee.
Had he been staring through the bamboo planks, he would have spotted me instantly, but his focus was elsewhere—on the terrain beneath his feet.
He ran his fingers leisurely through the sand as if it were water, then cupped it into his palm, letting the tiny granules sift through the air.
“The sand tells me its secrets,” he hissed. He clenched his hand into a fist and raised it to his ear. “It whispers to me that there are three in my dunes who do not belong. But you’re not one of them, are you?” His chin rose. “You’re something else.”
I nearly crumpled when he stood and began pacing the other direction. I should have known he would be able to sense our presence through the Forging magic that ran through Emarion’s realms. I’d felt it myself the night of my Ascension Ball.
But when I had reached into the Lumnos soil that night and felt the anomalies of the Umbros Descended among my people, I hadn’t been able to see their location. I only knew they were somewhere in my realm and they were not of Lumnos descent.
Which meant the Ignios King knew we were here—but not where .
“I’ve had a Crown on my lands before,” he said loudly. “I know how the Forging magic bends around them and shimmers at their feet. Tell me, Lumnos, why do you not feel like one of them?” He spun around, eyes narrowing. “Why do you feel like one of mine? ”
He sauntered forward, again passing in front of the storage pen. “One of mine, and yet not. You’re something different. Something new. Even the sand doesn’t know what to think of you. Where you walk, the Forging magic doesn’t bend. It shatters .” He glanced up at the sky. “Perhaps Sophos was right, and you are an imposter.”
I saw Alixe’s face turn to me in question, but I didn’t return her stare. I hadn’t told any of them, not even Luther, about the calamitous Rite of Coronation and the Sophos Crown’s accusations. Not because I was ashamed—I knew I was no imposter. I’d done nothing to seize the throne, and my ability to command Sorae was proof enough that the Crown’s authority had passed to me in earnest.
In part, I’d withheld the story because my catalogue of problems was growing longer by the day, and unpacking the petty insults of the Sophos Crown was low on my list.
But telling that story would also require explaining the heartstone and its vital importance to the Descended world. Some quiet intuition urged me that that secret was best left unspoken for now.
The Ignios King’s dark gaze roamed across the turquoise water. “Where are you hiding, Lumnos?”
He strode closer to the shoreline, pausing near the palm tree where we’d all been gathered earlier. His attention caught on something near its base, and he kneeled closer, scooping up a clump of sand and rubbing his fingers together. He cocked his head, staring at his palm and frowning.
He walked back to his gryvern, staring into its golden eyes. “Can you sense them?”
The beast didn’t react, though I knew firsthand the communication between a Crown and their gryvern went beyond words or gestures.
Whatever response he received, the King nodded curtly. “Good. Where are they?”
After a moment, his lip curled into a sneer. “ Nearby is not helpful, Tybold. Take me to them.”
The gryvern gave an indignant-sounding snort and flicked its tail into the sand.
“If you can’t find where they’re hiding, what good are you to me?” the King growled. “Tell me why they’re in my realm.”
Tybold’s feathered wings puffed outward, then snapped in against its body. Its reptilian head shrunk back as if in anticipation.
“I don’t care that they don’t wish to hurt me, I wish to hurt them ,” the King roared. “Why are they here?” He slammed his fist into the soft, fleshy patch beneath the gryvern’s mouth. “I command you to answer me! ”
Trickles of blood dribbled from the beast’s jaw, the same sensitive place my Sorae so dearly loved to be scratched. The gryvern hissed its fury, baring rows of vicious fangs. A ball of dragonfyre erupted from its throat with an enraged snarl, shooting across the sand before evaporating into smoke.
“Worthless creature,” the King muttered. On each finger of his hand, the sharp spikes protruding from his metal rings were coated in red.
I ground my teeth together to keep from launching myself out into the open. “Gryverns read intentions, asshole, not minds,” I mumbled.
The gryvern went preternaturally still. Its ochre pupils slid in a slow arc toward our pen and stopped.
Shit.