3. The Knights’ Island
I t had been decades since a shadowmancer had been heard of. Viola thought she remembered reading a report about the slaughter of a group of ‘Umbra’s children’ around twenty years ago—a travelling group descended from the House of Shadows, who, by all accounts, had been leaving somewhat peacefully. Necromancers, she knew, were less rare. A couple had reared their heads in recent years and were swiftly dealt with. But a shadowmancer…
There had been rumours one was around, but she hadn’t given much thought to them. Reports of robberies where doors remained locked without a trace of magic upon them. Wealthy travellers set upon by unseen forces… murders where the throat had been slashed with an impossibly thin cut. There were even survivors of a shipwreck who claimed shadows were responsible.
But no one had seen a person commanding them, and if there was one rule that governed all mancers, it was that every substance must have a master. The shadows must have a source.
And now Viola had seen it.
Around a century ago, the noble Houses of Shadow and Bones conspired together to overthrow the monarch. Their attempt almost succeeded, as collectively shadowmancers and necromancers could raise an army of darkness and undead. They needed no human soldiers, and those who died in the battle provided further ammunition for the victors. Only the collective effort of the other Houses and an army of regular humans prevented them, at great cost. Auro’s population was halved, the noble houses almost wiped out. When order was restored, it was decreed that no one with the power over shadows or bones was allowed to live, that theirs was a power too great to exist.
Many fled. Many were killed. A few, of course, remained, living in secret, travelling from place to place, never letting themselves be known.
Sitting in her hiding spot now, Viola felt almost a fraction of pity for them… or perhaps she would have, if she wasn’t hiding herself from one of them right now. She didn’t dare leave just yet, in case he was lurking nearby, waiting for a chance to finish her. She’d once chased a foe into a cave in similar circumstances. He, not knowing she’d seen him enter the hiding spot, remained inside for hours, hoping she’d carried on. Viola hadn’t. She’d waited in a nearby tree for three hours until he’d made his move. She was not about to let someone else get the better of her.
Sitting still did not come easily for Viola. After she bound the worst of her wounds, she ate the dried berries and nuts she had stowed about her person, and tried to keep her mind from wandering by counting. She invented sums in her head to while away the hours, recalled facts, recited her knight’s vows.
“ Though the shadows of doubt may cloud my mind and uncertainty may tighten its grip around my heart, I shall not falter. For though I may feel fear, I will never be conquered by it. I shall embrace it as a companion on my journey, a reminder of my humanity, but it shall not dictate my actions nor hinder my resolve. I fight not for pain, but for the people… ”
Heindrich and the rest of her team had no doubt dealt with the troll by now. Were they searching for her, or had they headed back to the barracks to inform the Captain she was missing? She didn’t want to cause a fuss, and if Freya heard …
Viola didn’t want anyone to worry. She was equally sure she didn’t want to be skewered by a shadow.
She waited until she was sure it was almost dark before creeping out of her cave, muscles aching from being crammed into a tight space for so long, her fingers cold and numb. Her communication brooch blinked cooly against the wet stones.
“Heindrich,” she whispered. “Are you there?”
A few seconds passed before he responded. “Auriel’s light, Viola! Are you all right? You’ve been missing for hours! We just sent someone back to the barracks to see if there was a mage free to track your brooch—”
“I’m fine,” she replied. “I had to take cover.”
“Without telling us?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Where are you?”
Viola looked around her. The mist had finally cleared, but it was growing too dark to see much. She made a mental note to see a palace mage about giving her another vision rune. Hers were clearly wearing off.
“The caves on the banks of the River Arrow.”
“We’re nearby. Stay where you are.”
Viola didn’t want to stay still after hours of doing just that, but travelling through the Feywood after dark on her lonesome wasn’t the best idea. Thankfully, Heindrich appeared after a few minutes, dropping down from the sky on his griffin, Boulderbeak. Viola wished she brought her own ride with her, but with the mist, half of the lance had been instructed to proceed by foot.
Heindrich Windwood was Viola’s oldest friend. His family had kept the neighbouring farm next to hers until they sold it after the Crown established the Farm outside the Skyreach mountains. A lot of farms had closed after the famine and the opening of the Farm to Feed a Thousand—Viola’s was one of the few that had survived, helped by a substantial government loan. Heindrich and the rest of his family had moved to the town of Merrowport. He and Viola had met again when they were both apprenticed to the House of Wind a few years later. He was twenty-four, just a few months older than Viola. He was tall with tanned skin, sandy-brown curls and hazel eyes. He had the shoulders of a giant and a surprisingly narrow waist under all his padded clothes. A few of their mutual friends had taken to calling him Iron Henry, partly as he had the physique of a nail, and partly for a character in a storybook known to be incredibly loyal.
Heindrich’s eyes brightened when he saw Viola, and a moment later, she found herself being crushed in his embrace before swiftly released and held at arms’ length. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“I’m fine.”
“Your hand is bleeding,” he remarked. He checked the rest of her over. “And your cheek. Your doublet is shredded—”
“It’s nothing serious.”
He whistled, and Boulderbeak trotted over, nudging Heindrich’s cheek with his large, orange beak. “Get on,” Heindrich instructed. “And please don’t argue. Freya will be on the warpath if she’s heard you’re missing.”
For Freya’s sake—and Heindrich’s—Viola consented, swinging onto Boulderbeak’s back and kicking off from the floor. They leapt into the air, soaring over the forest. The comforting surge of exhilaration washed over her, banishing pain and discomfort, at least temporarily. Viola had grown up on horseback, but nothing compared to flying. She’d been a knight for two years, had been training to fly for five, but she still wasn’t bored of the sensation, still found herself amazed by how quiet and beautiful everything was up here, the dark verdant canopy stretching out below them like a vast quilt of midnight.
Auro’s capital of Lysandra lay ahead, a series of glistening islands and ports set in a large ria at the very edge of the country, flanked by cliffs and woodland on either side. Some stories claimed that the country was created by a divine dragon, that it bit the island off away from the other continents and set it adrift in the sea.
People said the entire world was built by divine giants—creatures of colossal size that fell from another realm, creating craters across the western continent. Before they came, the world was little more than earth and water. But the giants pinched out mountains with their massive fingers, stomped out plains and rolled out hills. They carved out rivers and lakes, dug down into the centre of the earth and pulled out volcanoes. They broke out countries and islands. They shaped animals out of aether, filling the world with an abundance of creatures.
When their work was over, they lay down and became one with the world. Their bodies seeped the land in magic, and from their bones came the first humans. Brittle in body, but strong in magic. The giants graced them with their gifts, allowing them to shape the world on a smaller scale. That was how the first of the mancers was born.
The only part of the story Viola knew to be right was the part that giants once existed. She’d seen the evidence for herself. The grand palace had columns made of giant bones. She’d once visited a cave where the ribs of an ancient being had merged with the rock, creating a ceiling vaulted in bone. And, if you flew high enough, you could see that the bays to the west of the country stretched out into the sea, like the wings of a colossal dragon.
Viola did not give much credence to other myths, as everyone had their own. Her paternal grandparents hailed from the southern continent of Sudaria, where most people worshipped the sun goddess, Suta. According to them, it was the sun that gave life, not the giants.
Viola enjoyed stories, but that was all they had ever been to her. If there was a truth to any of them, she doubted mortals would know it. Stories had a tendency to reshape themselves the older they grew.
She shook all thoughts away as the islands vanished into the dark sea, the sunlight finally sinking below the horizon. Crystals and lanterns illuminated the islands now. Although her own eyesight was fading, Boulderbeak’s keen eyes had no such problem. He scanned the landscape, guiding them effortlessly over the labyrinth of branches and foliage. The wind rushed past Viola, whipping her cloak and tousling her dark hair as they gained altitude. The distant spires and towers of the Grand Palace of Lysandra shone out like a beacon .
Boulderbeak dropped down after they cleared the forest, heading to one of the islands closer to the shore. It was home to the training grounds, stables and barracks, a small village whose sole purpose was to train and house the kingdom’s finest knights. It had been Viola’s sole residence for over two years.
She dropped down in the field next to the stables, several hands rushing forward to assist her dismount and help care for Boulderbeak.
“We just heard from Ser Flameborn that you were missing,” said Josef, one of the younger stablehands. “He’s gone to see Mage Arcaneborn—”
Viola groaned. So much for not causing a fuss. “I better hurry over.”
Josef nodded, taking Boulderbeak’s reins. Viola jogged across the field, vaulting onto the polished stone path that led up to the resident mage’s quarters. Most mages lived in the Mages’ Tower on another one of the islands surrounding the palace, but the Knights’ Island kept one in residence for occasions such as this. Mage Arcaneborn did not seem to particularly enjoy this position, which was partly why she wasn’t up-to-date with her runes.
Luckily, she managed to intercept Cedric—Ser Flameborn—before he reached the door. He’d become distracted flirting with one of the young squires, who hurried off the second Viola approached.
“I’m glad to see you’re concerned over my possible death,” Viola said. “Really, I’m touched.”
Cedric grinned, turning round to face her. He was a handsome man a few years older than she was, with red hair and green, twinkling eyes. “ You die, Windbright? Umbra will never come for you. I knew Windwood was worried about nothing.”
“You just didn’t want to risk Arcaneborn’s wrath.”
“I really, really didn’t. He’s in a foul mood today.”
“Viola!” screamed a voice.
Viola turned. Marching out of the barracks was Ser Freya Whiterain. In terms of looks, she was Viola’s opposite. She hailed from the icey northern country of Wyrmheim and had blue eyes, sharp features and hair the colour of moonlight. Viola, by contrast, had bronze skin, darker hair, and eyes at first glance that looked brown, but were actually closer to a deep, dark grey, the colour of stone after a storm—one of the few things she’d inherited from her mother.
Freya took one look at Viola and almost flew across the square, yanking her into her arms. She held her fiercely for a long while, breathing in the scent of her, convincing herself she was fine.
“I heard you were missing,” Freya whispered.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re— ”
“Bleeding, yes, I know. But it isn’t serious.”
Freya took Viola’s head in her hands. She brushed back a lock of hair and kissed her, shaking her head fondly. “You just love worrying me, don’t you?”
“You worry me, too.”
“Nothing worries you,” Freya said, not slighted.
Viola wasn’t sure. She’d been worried today, fighting that shadowmancer. She’d been worried she wouldn’t make it back, if only for a moment.
It had been a long, long time since she’d felt fear like that.
“Come on,” said Freya, sliding an arm around her waist, “let’s go to the healer’s and get you cleaned up.”
Viola did not like being fussed over. She never had. Even as a little girl, running around, climbing trees and scraping knees, she’d never been one to draw attention to her injuries. Once, she’d fallen out of a tree and sprained her ankle so badly she couldn’t walk. She was still annoyed that Seb had carried her home, rather than letting her crawl.
“For Auriel’s sake, Vi!” he’d snapped. “You think it’s fun for the rest of us to watch you suffer?”
Viola had no qualms with helping other people. Indeed, she liked being useful and it was certainly one of the reasons she’d been drawn to the idea of being a knight, but it was difficult for her to remember that other people wanted to help her, and that she wasn’t inconveniencing anyone by needing help.
So, she let Freya look after her now, the same way she’d let Seb look after her then. She let the healer tend to her wounds until most of them were little more than healed-over scabs. She let Freya escort her to the mess hall and ate whatever she put in front of her. She let her draw her a bath afterwards and even let her comb her hair.
That part was nice. She always liked people playing with her hair, even though for practical reasons she usually kept it short. It brushed her shoulders now. She’d have to start tying it up soon, perhaps, or just cut it again.
Freya’s fingers wound through her damp tresses .
Hmm. Perhaps not.
After the bath, Freya took her to her room. She’d placed a warming stone in the bed for her.
That part was nice, too. “I don’t deserve you,” Viola moaned, sinking into the warm covers.
Freya rubbed her back. “Everyone deserves someone,” she assured her.
“Are you going to stay tonight?”
Freya shook her head, bending down until her face was level with Viola’s. “I’m on duty,” she said. “Much as I’d love to…” She placed another lingering kiss on Viola’s lips, then bit her own, clearly thinking.
Viola shifted off the pillow, onto her elbows. “What is it?”
“An apartment within the barracks has opened up,” Freya told her. “It’s a small one, but it’s nice. Enough space for two people who like each other…” She picked at her bracelet, wound with stands of silvery blonde and warm, dark brown—their hair, braided together.
Viola froze. All knights were assigned their own room once they received their knighthood. After a year, they were allowed to apply for apartments if they wanted to cohabit with someone, or two years if they wanted to live alone. But Viola’s room suited her fine, and she and Freya had only been a couple for three months…
“You want to move in together?”
Freya tugged on her braid. “I want us to think about it,” she said. “I know it’s soon, but… well, apartments don’t open all that often, and I don’t want to wait another year…”
“Ah, so this is about space, I see…”
Freya flicked her nose. “It’s about us, and spending more time together and… Yes, the apartment has a lovely view of the sea and I really like it, all right? ”
Viola laughed, even though she could tell that it was about far more than the view. “Can I have some time to think about it?”
Freya nodded. “Of course! Take all the time you need. Only, not all the time. I need to put in our application by the end of the month.”
“All right,” Freya assured her.
Freya kissed her again, and then she was gone, leaving Viola to stare at her empty room, wondering what it would be like to have a home again. The room was sparse—a bedside table and lantern, a dresser for clothes, a chest for weapons, a stand for her armour. Anything homely—a vase of flowers, some scented oils, a scarf draped over the end of the bed—belonged to Freya. There was nothing Viola owned that wasn’t practical.
And that was the way she liked things.
She wasn’t ready for a home, or to move in with Freya, but she was acutely aware that relationships didn’t often survive one person wanting to move forward and the other person holding back. And Viola wasn’t sure when, if ever, she’d be ready for the next step.
It sounded like moving on.
But Freya made her feel things, and after years of feeling nothing at all, Viola couldn’t risk letting that go.