5. Sybilla
Chapter 5
Sybilla
A small wooden cab, pulled by Darvanda’s Warhorses, stopped just outside the gates. The horses were clad in charmed armor that glowed and emitted flames that matched the darkening sunset. It might have been a beautiful sight if it hadn’t meant it was time to leave.
Maids wheeled a large wooden trunk of my belongings out and a groom loaded it in the back of an open-air cart sitting behind the cab. I looked up at the war-blackened walls of the Palace of Luz.
This courtyard was once where I’d liked to sit and think, where I’d stolen kisses behind wisteria from a young Constable who’d thought the world of me, where I’d studied arithmetic and history in the grasses beneath the trees. Now, the ramshackle space only served as evidence of my failure.
Asterie approached from the eastern lawns, holding a small latched wooden box. I lingered just outside the palace doors, the steps down to the courtyard a thin barrier between everything I knew and whatever future awaited me.
Vangard, the horned wolf-beast that sometimes rested in an inked form on Asterie’s arm, was left free to roam. The dark-coated canine got distracted by a scent along the palace wall and whined.
So much death. I wondered if Van could smell it or if the souls of the soldiers we’d lost still lingered.
“Sybilla.” Asterie reached out to take my hand with her free one. When my fingers wrapped around hers, she squeezed. “Are you sure?”
Are you sure you must go in my place?
Are you sure leaving your court to two inexperienced rulers was wise?
Are you sure you’ll be back?
Asterie didn’t give voice to any of those things—instead, her emotions were steady, calm and soothing. Her belief in me and complete lack of doubt helped to push away some of my own hesitation.
I nodded. “I’m sure—the Sahlms will make a good ally if we can maintain peaceful negotiations.”
“And a dangerous one if we cannot,” Asterie warned.
I offered her a weak smile and reassured her, “This is the right move. Are those the tonics I requested?”
“Yes.” Asterie lifted the small wooden case. “This is a remedy for most common ailments. It’s likely what Healer Mortag was offering you.”
I opened the snap closure of the wooden box, unveiling a couple dozen vials of green liquid. “It’s usually blue,” I commented.
Healer Mortag had evacuated to the countryside with other civilians, and he had not yet returned. I’d been desperate enough to confide in Asterie—well, partly. I’d made the excuse that I might need relief from illness if it struck me. She’d seen through my fibs with her hawk-like stare.
“Yes, well…Wyeth and I are unsure how to replicate his remedy. Maybe if you told me what you take these for—”
I held up my hand. “They will do. Thank you, Asterie. You and Fenris are going to do well here in Luz. I can feel it, and I’ll be back in no time at all.”
Asterie’s face brightened when we heard Fenris’ voice float over the palace walls as he said his temporary goodbyes to his sister, Elsedora. He soon joined us on the steps.
“Did you smell a compliment and come running? I was just telling Asterie that you both will do well here.”
Fen grinned and drew me in for a hug. “Oh, we know we will.”
“Don’t burn anything down while I’m gone,” I warned as Fen released me. “And don’t let Van piss on any of the remaining rose bushes.”
“I can’t speak for Van any longer, but I wouldn’t dream of letting him—I’ve seen you with a bow. I try not to piss off women that can kill me from a distance,” Fen joked.
“Not entirely true.” Asterie smirked and nudged him with her elbow. But I will watch both of them.”
“Good then,” I said, not wanting to linger in case my feet grew too cold to leave the only place I’d ever known as home. “I will write as soon as we arrive. And an Egress will be built between the realms.”
Long ago, Egresses—magical portals between cities—had been closed in Henosis, but since the Order had fallen, I was determined to pass amendments to re-open them. Fen’s arm wrapped around Asterie’s waist as I turned toward the gates where the carriage awaited.
Elsedora leaned against the cab. Her posture straightened upon seeing me, and her lips quirked up. “You wore...wool? For a trip into the Sahlms?”
“It’s a sturdy fabric,” I defended, and Elsedora laughed and nodded.
I’d tied my curls atop my head with a long Luz-blue silk ribbon—something blue, a royal tradition when traveling. Our crest’s color remained with us, holding a piece of home wherever we ventured.
I didn’t know what Elsedora was so tickled by. My garb was travel ready—a plain wool skirt, thick socks and leather boots. My black long-sleeved velvet bodice was tucked into a leather belt bag. It was all perfectly appropriate.
She chuckled and said, “Very sturdy.”
Amusement roiled from her—it tasted like sugared fruit and felt like bubbles across my skin. She held no resentment toward me despite our first meeting having been less than ideal.
Prior to the attack on Luz, my court had been infiltrated by northern guards in a pathetically ill-planned attempt to assassinate me. Elsedora had found herself in the wrong place. She’d been falsely accused of opening the Egress into Luz’s underground tunnels, which I’d known she had not done—a perk of my abilities. If only I knew who had.
I tried to glimpse what Elsedora wore beneath the thin rust-colored robe that adorned her, but it was buttoned up to her neck. “Well, what was I supposed to wear?”
“Nothing, if you prefer it.” Elsedora’s smirk deepened. Her playful nature, chestnut waves, and hazel eyes matched her brother’s perfectly. She and Fenris were undoubtedly cut from the same cloth.
“It’s warm in the Sahlms, is all. You may want to borrow something—”
“I’ll be fine.”
Elsedora shrugged, but my sharpness didn’t deter her smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a female friend.”
“We aren’t friends. Your King is detaining me,” I reminded her.
“Detaining, yes, but he has agreed not to kill you. Deep down, that must mean he likes you. At least enough to allow you to keep breathing.”
I huffed out a laugh. There was no way that this agreement would end well for me. “Yes, that’s surely it,” I mused sarcastically. The idea of Krait Darvanda liking anyone, or anything, was unfathomable.
“What? You mean to tell me that two royals can’t bury old resentments and get along for the greater good?”
She put the massacre of thousands in Phynx so lightly. Krait Darvanda was a monstrous pig. He had condemned Phynx to death. Four centuries had not been enough to heal that festering wound.
It was meant to be a coup, not a massacre, he’d said.
He’d claimed that when white flags flew, his army had been instructed to retreat—that his Commander had betrayed him. But how much of his story could I trust? It seemed convenient that he should pass the blame onto a Commander who hadn’t survived the attack and could neither confirm nor deny the allegation.
Speak of the insufferable, enigmatic ass.
King Darvanda approached atop a gray horse with a dished nose that flared. Beneath furrowed brows, his steely gaze assessed me.
“You’re wearing that?”
I huffed. “What is wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Elsedora motioned for me to step up into the carriage and offered me a hand. “You’ll see,” she mused with a light laugh.
Once I was seated, Darvanda scowled at me through the cab door. “You’ll stay in there. The doors will be locked for your safety—in case we run into any trouble. Elsedora will carry the key.”
Well, that brought me great comfort.
I didn’t want to think about the implications of his words. I wasn’t safe while traveling with them.
Or he enjoyed seeing me caged—that made my nostrils flare like his horse’s. Before I could retort, he lifted a foot out of his stirrup and kicked the door closed. I wiggled the handle.
Fucking locked.
Darvan-dick had not been kidding. Aside from getting out to relieve myself behind trees in the northern woodlands, I stayed in the carriage for over a week. Rain delayed us for a couple of days when the woods grew too muddy for the carts. I ate the rations of bread, dried fruits and meats that were offered at each stop. Elsedora was never far, and her humming was becoming a constant irritant.
The carriage rattled on as light seeped through the too-small window at the top of the door. We had begun descending beyond the Plateau today. I peeked out the window and saw glimpses of beige mountains in the distance. We passed a heavy presence of Sahlmsaran guards, who wore chest plates with the rattling-serpent symbol. He guarded the border.
Sweat crept between my breasts, down my back and forehead and well...everywhere. If it could sweat, it was sweating. But out of principle, I would not tell Elsedora she had been right. Every garment I’d packed was unsuitable for this heat, and it wasn’t even summer yet.
The carriage jostled down the switchbacks of the Plateau for hours before we found flat ground. At the bottom, the path was laden with rocks, and every movement was jarring to my stomach.
I was going to be sick.
Thinking it might help settle my stomach, I dared to look out the window again. It didn’t work. An unforgiving wave of nausea overtook me. I banged on the door.
Oh Sources, no. I didn’t want to be sick—not in front of them.
The carriage creaked to a halt, but I kept banging on the door until Elsedora came around the side and unlocked it. After throwing myself from the cab, I ran behind a boulder across the trail and emptied the contents of my stomach.
“Woah,” Elsedora said over my shoulder.
“What is this place?” I heaved out, trying to distract her from having time to tell me that she’d told me so about the wool.
Glancing around at the passing guards, I sighed. There was no sign of an ill-tempered warlock on a gray horse. Good. He hadn’t witnessed me weak and hurling.
“Sit, sit. This is Skull Valley,” Elsedora answered as she guided me toward another boulder, away from where I’d vomited. Elsedora wore a silk pair of pants, with suede chaps that protected her while riding, and a silk tunic that was entirely indecent—a portion of her stomach showed.
However, the ensemble did look far more forgiving in the heat than my heavy skirts and tunic.
Warhorses and soldiers passed us on the trail, unfazed. Trained soldiers set on their destination. None of them regarded me, as though their orders were to pay me no mind at all. They were all dressed in light linen, which prepared them for the sweltering sun of this valley of death.
“Pleasant name,” I mused and then heaved up a bit of bile.
I heard approaching hoofbeats crushing the rocky ground. “It isn’t a pleasant place,” Darvanda answered from atop his horse. This man loved to look down at me. “What are you doing out of the cab?”
“Oh, enjoying the sunshine,” I snapped. “Why is it called that?” I chugged the flask that Elsedora offered me.
“You can often find skulls of fallen Brennac exiles here.”
“Why would there be skulls here?” I stood, bracing at the thought of having to climb back into that suffocating cab.
“The switchbacks didn’t always exist. They’re man-made. When the Phynnic began their crusade against all magic, this land bordered their territory. They would push exiled Source-wielders, and the mortals who helped hide them, off that cliff.” He pointed up. The cliff towered hundreds of feet above us. “Also, when Source-wielders began to flee after the Great Wars, many died of dehydration. We weren’t prepared during the early days.”
After the Great Wars—after he’d destroyed the city of Phynx. I tried to remind myself that he was not merely a victim of the suffering. He’d contributed.
Yet that had been more words than I’d ever heard him speak—each one more horrible than the last.
“How could anyone survive it? The fall, the travel without water?”
“Many didn’t, hence the skulls. Immortals who fell shattered so many bones it took them weeks to heal enough to be able to walk. Mortals who caught onto rocks and branches sometimes got lucky and could scale down. Broken, thirsty, hopeless, cast out of the only home they’d ever known. The journey killed many. Not even immortals can live without water.”
Heart racing, I started pacing to settle my stomach. During the Great Wars, thousands of mortals and immortals were exiled here. I stepped back onto the worn dirt path, avoiding looking up at Darvanda or the cliff beyond him again.
“Why should I believe—” My voice cut off as I passed something ivory on the ground. My knees hit the sand, and my hands trembled as they dusted away rock and soil.
It was a human skull…a small one.
Darvanda dismounted and stepped behind me.
“Like I said…you still find skulls here.” His tone was gruff.
“This was a child.”
“Yes.”
What do you do when faced with the horrific actions of your ancestors? I’d spent so long thinking the Brennac King was a monster for the fall of Phynx…but two treacherous wrongs never truly made a right.
I stared into the empty sockets.
No. This couldn’t have been the way of the realm for so long. My ancestors couldn’t…wouldn’t have done this.
“Why were they not buried?” I asked, throat tightening.