Ties of Frost

One

Zidra

My tankard was empty, which meant my cover for lingering alone in the crowded tavern was gone, and I was out of time. My informant hadn’t shown, and if I didn’t leave now, I’d be late. I’d have to be missing limbs and bleeding out in a ditch to be late.

Resigned, I stood and pulled my hood over my curly brown hair. I wove between jostling bodies, careful not to hit anyone with my sword’s scabbard. At least I could finally get out of this void hole—no disrespect to the owners of the Lazy Mule. Wyveri preferred open skies and quiet. Even in my di’ora—my true, human-like form—I had unusually keen shifter senses. I hated the smoky air that carried the scent of ale, savory food, and humans, elves, and shifters. Clattering dishes, conversations, laughter, and the squeak of chairs pushed on my ears. The people of the Laedreshian Empire were certainly enjoying their holiday.

An elf with white hair and a sunburned nose turned and bumped into me, barely saving the three mugs he carried from spilling.

“Sorry, miss,” he mumbled and scurried off.

At the door, I cast one last glance over the raucous crowd. An elf tossed her head, and her strawberry-blonde hair swung with the motion. A human with black skin used his watermage power to channel his ale into his mouth in a failed attempt to impress a girl with sleek dark hair framing her pale face. She rolled her eyes, and her pupils flashed, reflecting the candlelight with a yellow-green glow—probably a wolf shifter.

So many people, but not one wore a two-tone cloak.

Stifling a sigh, I stepped outside. Immediately, tension eased from my shoulders. Late afternoon sun shone through wisps of clouds, warming the late spring air with the promise of summer. Traffic along the wide dirt thoroughfare had thinned. Laedresh was always crowded, especially during holidays, and no holiday drew as many people to the capital as the three-day-long Dawning Festival. But this close to the Ceremony, many people were already at the imperial palace.

Where I was supposed to be.

I eyed the location of the sun and muttered a curse. The event was being held in my honor—well, not my honor specifically, although I did have hopes about that, but in honor of all rengiri.

The urge to shift into my di’yar rippled through me, but too many people and merchant carts crowded the street to accommodate a fifteen-foot-tall wyvern. Even if I didn’t cause injury or property damage, people would either panic or realize my identity. If I’d wanted to be recognized, my insignia of the Order of the Rengir—old Elvish for sacred sword —wouldn’t have been stowed in the bag strapped to my thigh.

I joined the river of people moving toward the palace and tried not to visibly brood. People tended to become uncomfortable when a muscular woman in leather armor with a sword at her hip looked angry.

Still, keeping my frustration off my face was proving difficult. Over an hour wasted in that stinking tavern for nothing.

There could be many reasons my informant hadn’t shown. He—or she—could have gotten lost in the sprawling streets. If this mysterious person did have information on Magistrate Nevros’s death in the human kingdom of Neaston, he had to be a visitor to Laedresh. Yet the dark suspicion lingered that he’d been prevented from coming. Anyone who stopped someone from meeting a rengir had to be either insane or in a position of power.

My attention caught on a few men huddled together in the shadows between two buildings, glancing furtively at passersby. All of them wore swords and daggers. I subtly changed my course toward the possible troublemakers but then noticed the crossed spears embroidered in blue thread on their sleeves. Just city guards exchanging information.

I continued on my way, but my mouth tugged down into a scowl. The city guard and criminal inspector in the city of Rupich had ruled that Magistrate Nevros’s death was strange, but not murder. Lord Malvoy, the new magistrate, claimed his predecessor’s death was tragic but not suspicious.

Rengiri weren’t investigators by trade. We aided investigations and hunted down criminals when asked, but our primary occupation was monster hunters. So it didn’t matter that Nevros falling on a forgotten pair of pruning shears neither made sense nor explained the bruises on his arms and his cracked knuckles. The inspector and Magistrate Malvoy were within their rights to dismiss my help, which they had.

But something—whether intuition or a prompting from Iskyr—told me Nevros’s death was murder. Possibly assassination. Nevros had been a faithful patron of the Order of the Rengir and, from the one time I’d met him, a kind and unusually humble man who wasn’t bothered that I was wyveri, unlike some people. He deserved to be honored in death, and that meant catching his killer. Not to mention catching a murderer would prove my worth. So, to Magistrate Malvoy’s obvious displeasure, I’d kept investigating, although I’d tried to be subtle about it. I’d left Rupich only to attend the Dawning Festival in Laedresh.

Then yesterday, a note had been delivered to West Quarter Haven, the rengir common house where I was staying .

To Zidra Eilmaris. The Lazy Mule. Two bells past noon. I know who killed Nevros. I’ll be wearing a cloak that is half blue, half red.

Yet the note-sender hadn’t been there.

I kicked a pebble, drawing a judgmental look from an elderly light elf.

Dwelling on my frustration wouldn’t provide answers, so I turned my attention to the sellers lining the streets. Where there were crowds, there was money to be made. Merchants called out their wares: food, drinks, toys, hand-painted fans, earthen dishware, embroidered tunics, and more.

Ahead, the flow of the crowd ebbed around a knot of revelers. Families with young children pressed close together around a small stage.

A woman with curly red hair and copious freckles sat on a stool. Behind her, a gigantic white sheet covered in colorful ink drawings stretched between two wood and plaster buildings. Her voice rose and fell as she moved her hands. Images of monsters and warriors peeled off the fabric and filled out, becoming three dimensional and moving under the sway of her magic. I smiled and hurried on. As much as I loved watching human inkmage storytellers, I had somewhere important to be.

“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment,” I muttered to myself.

But I couldn’t help the longing twisting in my chest. I was a member of the Order of the Rengir and today was the Dawning Ceremony.

Only the most skilled and intelligent applicants could pass the rigorous tests to be admitted into Harcos Academy, the empire’s oldest and foremost military college. After four years of study, only the best of Harcos’s graduates were allowed to enter the two-year-long Rengir Course. Only those who passed the rigorous martial, magical, ethical, and religious tests were accepted into the Order.

Then the rengiri spent the rest of our lives, until we died or surrendered our insignia, serving our god Iskyr and the people of the empire. We didn’t work for a salary. We owned nothing but what we could carry, and we asked for nothing but what those we served could spare. The peoples of the empire aided us because we protected them and kept watch for the return of Ascadrion the Earth-Shaker, the ancient dragon that had been driven to the void-between-worlds by the first emperor and his warriors nearly sixteen hundred years ago.

Every ten years, the Dawning Festival commemorated Emperor Syrzin’s defeat of Ascadrion and the birth of the empire. While the Festival was celebrated across the continent, over half of the roughly three hundred rengiri came to Laedresh. For today, the final day, one rengir would be awarded the Emperor’s Merit.

The Merit had been my dream since I was accepted into Harcos Academy seventeen years ago. Maybe if the medallion hung from my neck, I would finally feel like I had proven myself and redeemed my people. My mother would see that being a rengir wasn’t a waste of my power, but the best use of it, and she would finally concede that my being a rengir honored my people. I’d be seen as equal to my younger sister. Or at least equal to my much older brother, who bred and trained hyzli, the gangly, wolf-hunting sighthounds coveted across the empire.

When I held the Merit in my hands, no one would question my motives as a wyveri. My family’s praise would no longer be thinly disguised condemnation, full of hints that I could do better.

I tried to rein in my daydreams. I was probably too young, anyway. The youngest rengir to ever earn the Merit had been a human at age thirty-seven. Due to shifters’ longer lifespans and slower maturation, my own seventy years was younger still, around thirty human years. I still had well over a century of service ahead of me—

“Touched by Zidra herself!”

My name jerked me out of my reverie. A seller beckoned passersby closer to a cart bedecked in colorful ribbons.

“Relics from great rengiri, sure to bring the blessings of Iskyr upon you!” The man—likely a half-human forest elf based on his coppery skin, vibrant green eyes, and shorter, more subtly pointed ears—held up a bowl. “This washbasin was used by the magnificent duo Kyrmaris after they killed the Serpent of Tullong. The blessed blood of holy warriors was cleansed in this bowl!”

Dragon fire stirred in my veins. It wasn’t unusual for charlatans to make money selling rengir relics—body parts of long-dead heroes of the Order, as well as clothing worn or items used by rengiri living and deceased. While some relics held divine blessings, those were carefully guarded in sanctuaries. Street peddlers’ relics were of questionable provenance and power, and I could hardly believe this seller was so crass as to sell possibly fake relics during the Festival.

That, however, was not what angered me. Even fake relics could comfort those who purchased them, and the practice wasn’t illegal unless it could be proved the seller was lying—which was difficult. I didn’t recognize the bowl, but washbasins weren’t memorable.

No, what made my fangs grow was that awful name: Kyrmaris. A combination of Zidra Eilmaris and Kyrundar Ilifir—the name of my archrival. No, my nemesis. He had an irritating habit of getting himself involved in my missions. Storytellers and bards referring to us as a unit with a single, shared moniker, as if we intended to work together so often, was the sour milk in the bitter tea of our unfortunate continued acquaintance.

I forced my feet onward. I shouldn’t care. A rengir wasn’t supposed to crave glory.

But how was I supposed to earn the Emperor’s Merit when that ice elf kept taking partial credit for my successes? We’d trained together at Harcos Academy, and he’d been annoying then, but he was worse now. Women constantly flirted with him, and he leveraged my reputation to bolster his own. We didn’t even work together as often as the stories of “Kyrmaris” made it sound. Did we? Surely not.

Why was it part of his first name and part of my last name, anyway? Illogical, and it grated on me that his name came first. No one else cared. The accursed team name had stuck.

If I could get through the Ceremony without seeing Kyrundar, I’d be thrilled. Wait—the Ceremony!

I broke into a jog and soon reached the towering walls surrounding the city-within-a-city that was the imperial palace. I fished an oval pin the length of my forefinger from my thigh bag and pinned it on my shoulder. The pin featured an inlay of reddish sequoia wood. Set into the wood was a gold sword surrounded by flames of silver—the symbol of the Order.

I joined a short line of other rengiri at a side entrance. At least I wasn’t late. Inside, the rengiri gathered in a marble plaza. Hundreds of wide steps rose from the plaza to the sprawling palace with its gleaming limestone columns and red-tiled roofs.

Rengiri trickled in, some from the crowds packed into the lawns that ran half a league to the main gate. Citizens fawned over them, flirtatious men and women pouting as the objects of their affections extricated themselves and passed the imperial guards to stand in the plaza. I spotted several I knew and had done missions with.

A willowy forest elf woman with light-bronze skin and silky dark hair caught my eye and smiled. I smiled back at Archon Aekyrdra, the leader of the Order. Her smile seemed encouraging, but even she didn’t know who the emperor had chosen.

On a spacious landing halfway up the stairs, a podium stood between two ten-foot-tall crimson banners featuring the Order insignia in gold and silver thread. Trumpeters waited on the far edges of the landing.

Movement at the top of the staircase drew my attention. A tall light elf man with sparkling gold earrings emerged from the colonnade carrying a wide, shallow box. The trumpeters bugled. An expectant hush fell over the rengiri and the throng of citizens.

Vivid blue robes swirled around the ankles of the Grand Marshal of Imperial Events as he descended the long flight of stairs to the landing. The box he held was larger than made sense. Had the emperor changed the shape of the medallion? Tossing aside over one thousand years of tradition wasn’t very elven.

The light elf emperors had kept the Laedreshian Empire intact in part because elves, who lived the longest of the three races, had a healthy respect for convention and stability. Then again, Valesiart was a mere eighty-five years old, barely an adult. An elf that young might be tempted to break a minor tradition.

The Grand Marshal set the box on the podium and picked up a bronze bullhorn. He spoke into the narrow mouthpiece, and his voice, magnified by the magic poured into the bullhorn by a metalmage, roared over the palace lawns.

“Today we gather to recognize the virtue and feats of our noble rengiri!”

The crowds roared their approval. My heart swelled. Our vows said we weren’t to be arrogant . Pride in one’s work and life wasn’t arrogance .

“While we honor all rengiri,” the Marshal continued, “the Emperor’s Merit allows us to recognize the most active, fearsome, and noble member of our great protectors. For the last decade, imperial scribes have watched and listened. The rulers of the human kingdoms, elven kingdoms, and shifter nations have passed on their recommendations.”

The wyveri queen would have asked the clan matriarchs for their input. Had my mother suggested me? Had she declined to answer? I wiped my clammy hands on my trousers.

“Noble patrons have given their opinions on which warriors are the most selfless, powerful, wise, and victorious. For the last several months, scribes have traveled the empire, collecting tales from bards and testimonies from cities and villages.”

Internally, I scoffed. Bards were notorious for embellishing their tales. The more dramatic the story, the better they were paid. Nobles who opened their homes to rengiri paid lip service to honoring Iskyr and to the values of humble service and selfless giving, but many craved the acclaim and power that came with having rengiri as friends. While rengiri were to serve all people without favoritism, there was an implicit understanding that rengiri would give their hosts’ lands extra protection.

It was why I refused to stay in anyone’s home. I’d sleep outside if a Haven wasn’t available.

To an extent, the Emperor’s Merit was a popularity contest that honored the heroes who had the best public image. Even knowing that, I longed to receive the award.

“The reports have been considered by the emperor’s trusted advisers,” the Grand Marshal continued. “Our esteemed emperor has reviewed their findings and decided who among our honored rengiri has the greatest merit.”

I kept my expression blank. Best not look too eager, as I likely wouldn’t be chosen. Yet my racing pulse wasn’t listening.

A flash of silver in my peripheral vision drew my attention from the Grand Marshal, who was reciting the rengir oaths. A tall elf with white hair hanging loose past his shoulders looked around. Sunlight glinted on the silver earrings and pale-blue gemstones adorning his ears from lobe to long point. Three rengiri stood between us, but still, his gaze caught mine. A smirk curved his mouth. He sent an exaggerated wink my way, a bit of magic making his blue eyes glow.

It had been too much to hope I could make it through the entire Dawning Festival without seeing Kyrundar.

My rival probably hoped he would receive the medallion. When we attended Harcos Academy together, we’d been something of friends—friends who constantly tried to one-up each other. night we’d gotten personal in a game of truth or challenge, and we’d both admitted our desire to be the best rengir in the empire, perhaps in history. To Kyrundar’s credit, he’d also appeared serious when he said his ultimate goal was serving those who could not protect themselves. But my mother had shown me that pleasant words could conceal selfish designs. Besides, that late-night admission had happened nearly fifteen years ago.

People changed.

That young elf with soft smiles and noble aspirations had become a rengir with flirtatious grins and an obsession with applause who constantly showed up where he was not wanted and got in my way.

Heat rose in my chest, and my fangs grew as scales appeared on my skin. I steadied myself, and my appearance returned to that of a human. Well, a human with small fangs.

The Grand Marshal read a declaration from Emperor Valesiart about the importance of recognizing the rengiri’s efforts, then declared, “It is now time to announce the recipient of the Emperor’s Merit!”

Cheers echoed like thunder.

I felt hot and cold all over. Did I look flushed? I felt flushed.

“Or shall I say…” The Grand Marshal paused, and everyone held their breath. Even me.

“The recipients of the Emperor’s Merit.”

I blinked, stunned. Whispers swirled around me. Never before had there been more than one recipient. Our young emperor was feeling a little rebellious.

“That is correct.” By the sly tone of the Marshal’s voice, he was enjoying himself. “His Exulted Royal Highness, Emperor Valesiart, has decreed that there are two rengiri who stand out above the rest, whose deeds and renown are so equal—and so frequently tied together—that to recognize one and not the other would be an affront to Iskyr. ”

A horrified intuition spread through me. My head turned of its own accord, instinct sending my gaze searching for a head of white hair.

He was looking for me, too.

Our eyes locked. The same question shone in his expression, but he looked curious, anticipatory—eager, in fact.

I turned back to the Grand Marshal so fast my neck popped. It couldn’t be. It was someone else. Anyone else. Even if that meant I had to wait for the Merit.

“Today”—the Marshal’s voice boomed over the palace—“in recognition of their bravery, comradery, selflessness, impressive feats, unwavering dedication to their calling, and the lives they have saved, Emperor Valesiart bestows the Emperor’s Merit upon…”

Banners snapped in the breeze. The creak of armor sounded as rengiri fidgeted. My heart beat against my chest like it was trying to escape.

“Kyrmaris!”

The blood in my veins turned to sand. The Grand Marshal didn’t even have the decency to refer to us by our own names? In the most important moment of my life?

A deafening cacophony of cheers, applause, and whistles filled the air. I braced myself, refusing to show how the sound pounded my senses. I made my way forward, past rengiri who clapped me on the back or gave me friendly punches on my pauldrons. Head held high, I focused on breathing slow and steady and smiling so they wouldn’t realize how much I wanted to flee the overwhelming press of bodies .

A shadow fell over me, and I glanced up. Kyrundar flew over the heads of the other rengiri on a disk of ice that left a glittering trail of falling snow.

Show-off.

If I wanted to flaunt my power, I could, and honestly, I would win that contest. I could knock him out of the sky with a beat of my wings if I fancied doing so.

Which I did fairly often.

Fancied knocking him out of the sky, that is. I’d never actually done it.

I was a respectable rengir. I wasn’t that petty.

Finally, I broke free of the suffocating crowd of rengiri and started up the steps—on foot. Like a normal person who understands how stairs work.

Kyrundar landed on the Grand Marshal’s right with a flourish of icy swirls and a roguish grin, drawing applause. The way he posed and winked for the crowd, it was as if he had forgotten his name meant beloved of god and decided it meant god’s gift to all people . I eyed the hundreds of steps between me and the podium and sighed. It would be more awkward if I made everyone wait for me to walk.

Comforting dragon fire raced through me as I shifted. My fingers grew and spread as my arms and hands transformed into leathery wings. My entire body swelled, and gray scales overtook my skin while two curving horns replaced my hair and a powerful tail sprouted. In di’yar, wyveri were the largest of all the shifters, and I towered over the other rengiri. My senses sharpened, making the cheers and exclamations of awe deafening .

I flew to the platform in a couple beats of my wings and landed where I wouldn’t crush the Grand Marshal or my rival. For a moment I envisioned “accidentally” blocking Kyrundar with a massive wing.

Fine. Maybe I was a little petty.

He always got under my scales.

Instead, I shifted back to my di’ora and marched over. I bowed to the Marshal and ignored Kyrundar.

I barely heard the Marshal’s congratulations as he shook our hands. He hung a gold medallion on a thick ribbon around Kyrundar’s neck, because of course the pretty and charming elf was recognized first. Even at the moment of my greatest achievement, I still wasn’t good enough.

The Grand Marshal stepped in front of me. Unlike Kyrundar, I didn’t have to duck down as he easily reached over my head. The medallion thunked against my leather breastplate. Its weight pulled the ribbon down, crushing my curls. I managed to smile, desperately trying to feel proud.

The Marshal stepped into the gap between me and Kyrundar, grabbed one of each of our hands, and lifted them above our heads. “I present to you this Dawning Festival’s recipients of the Emperor’s Merit: Kyrmaris!”

My teeth hurt from clenching them behind my smile.