8. Harvestend
I f King Jax was disappointed that the Shadowmancer had escaped, he didn’t show it. On the contrary, he seemed to count the fact that the cargo was intact and everyone was alive made the endeavour a win.
“Why so glum, Windbright?” he asked, rubbing the seawater out of his hair. It glistened in the early morning sun, like spun gold. His sparkling appearance did nothing to dispel Viola’s gloom.
“He got away.”
Jax shrugged, wringing seawater out of his borrowed sailor’s jacket. “We’ll catch him another day. The point is, no one was hurt, and we learned that we can make him run.”
Viola took a moment—just a small one—to be pleased with herself. She had been the one to make him run, after all.
Although it seemed strange to her that he’d spared any of them. He hadn’t shown any respect for life during his attack in the Feywood, and the murder of the retired knights seemed to hint at some vendetta against them. What was different?
“This wasn’t his win, Windbright. It was ours . Yours, ” he corrected. He regarded her closely for a long moment. “You’ve never led a team before, have you?”
“Not outside of training, Sire. A few low-risk missions, perhaps—with the new recruits.”
“Any reason for that?”
“I’m not a good team player, Sire.”
Jax smiled. “You don’t like your fellow knights? ”
“On the contrary, I have the highest respect for my comrades.”
Lightworth cursed in the distance, kicking over an upturned bucket.
“ Most of them,” she added.
“Then why would you think you’re not a good team player?”
Viola paused, hesitant to reveal it. It felt too much like a weakness, a wound to expose. But he was her king, and her loyalty demanded it. “I prefer to work alone,” she admitted. “I don’t like relying on others. Not because I don’t find them capable, but because I don’t want them hurt. Not on my behalf. Not because of my orders.”
At this, King Jax’s smile widened. “Wanting to protect your comrades is a noble endeavour, Windbright.”
Viola’s jaw tightened. It didn’t feel noble. She was only trying to spare herself pain, after all.
“I’d like to see you heading up the hunt for the Shadowmancer.”
“Sire?”
“You can clearly read him.”
“I’ve been lucky—”
“You’ve been resourceful. Smart . And your actions today might have saved lives—or certainly my coin and reputation.”
“I don’t—”
“Nonsense, Windbright. Accept it.”
Another order. “Of course, Your Majesty. I’m honoured.”
“You’re not, not yet. But you might be. Take the rest of the day off. Let Captain Drakesbane know what you need in the morning. Anything you require, you shall have it.”
A palace servant clambered onto the deck, dressed in the blue livery that marked him as a high-ranking assistant to the monarchy. He dropped into a hasty bow. “Your Majesty, the Queen is looking for you.”
Jax shot a look at Viola, half a laugh, half a wince. “Oh dear. I’m in trouble.” He flung his wet jacket over his shoulder. “Oh well, best go face the music.”
He was halfway across the gangway by the time Viola found her voice. “Your Majesty?”
“Yes?” he answered, spinning round.
“The Shadowmancer—do you want us to capture or kill him?”
Jax held her gaze steadily for a long moment. “I doubt he’ll give you the option to do the former,” he said stonily. “Do what you need to do to survive and keep the kingdom safe, Windbright. I trust your judgement.”
Over the course of the next three weeks, Nicodemus found himself in a relentless dance with the Knight, their paths crossing no less than seven times. It seemed that anywhere he went, she was there, a shadow determined to thwart his every move. Half the time, she succeeded. Her persistence would have been maddening, if he didn’t admire her tenacity.
Their first encounter after the incident on the boat had been during a moonlit night at the ancient library of Riddlegate. Nicodemus had just laid his hands on a rare manuscript when she appeared, her sword gleaming under the faint light of the stars. He barely escaped, the manuscript slipping from his grasp in his haste.
At the grand ball hosted by the Duke of Eldoria, he had managed to secure the Duke’s prized sapphire amulet. Disguised as a nobleman, Nico slid through the crowd unnoticed, stumbling to a halt when he spotted her, eyes scanning the room with sharp precision. A swift manoeuvre through the dance floor saved him from her grasp, the amulet exchanged for a cleverly crafted fake just in time .
Their most thrilling encounter was at the cliffs of Whitehaven. Nico was making his getaway with the crown of the former Empress of Nordheim. He’d replaced it with a cheap imitation, but having used similar tactics the last time, he knew it wouldn’t be long until they noticed. He watched the convoy from a distance, grinning with glee, waiting for the inevitable discovery of the switch. She was there, of course, her frustration palpable as she realised she had been outwitted once more.
The look on her face was priceless.
It seemed that anywhere he went, she was there to try to thwart him. And, half of the time, she managed it. She wasn’t quite in the lead, as he’d just managed to get ahead of her during the last heist, but he didn’t doubt her potential to best him.
He wished he knew her name. He was tempted to break into the barracks and locate their records in an attempt to discover it, but even for him, infiltrating an island full of knights, some of which were clearly well-trained, seemed like a foolish risk for the sake of a mere name.
He’d done it before, of course. But not for a single name.
For twelve.
He wondered who she was, his nameless adversary. No mancer, by the looks of things, although knights seldom were. Mancers had other callings, and those descended from them who had a knack for magic but no real power invariably became Crown-paid mages or self-employed witches, channelling the powers of magical substances instead—a hobby of Cordelia’s, in addition to her natural power. The Knight had wielded a sword blessed with a light enchantment, but more magic than that, he hadn’t seen from her.
She was different from her peers. Most knights moved in a similar fashion, somewhat hard and blockish, in Nico’s opinion. She moved like a ribbon, like she’d been trained by the wind or the waves. She was more resourceful than most. Careful.
Before King Jax took the throne, the knights had been little more than well-trained guards or an inactive military. It had been over a century since Auro had seen any real warfare, and even then, it was a civil war. Its size and status as an island nation made it a poor target for other countries seeking to expand their borders, and as it was located on a main trade route between continents, most other nations had always viewed it as neutral ground. It stayed out of the way. The army was mainly for show.
Then Jax had taken the throne, as suddenly knights were noble again. He dispatched them to take care of troublesome beasts, a task often left to self-taught monster hunters in the past. Knights joined the ranks of city guards. They travelled the kingdom, paragons of justice and virtue.
Of course, most of them were just as brawny and brainless as the King himself.
Not her.
In his head, Nico conjured names for her. Lady Knight. Odessa. Ser Scowl-a-lot. All suited her in her own way. He imagined her real name would be something more plain and ordinary. It was probably best he didn’t know it. He ought not to be enjoying the chase so much. She was still a knight, after all, sworn in service to the Crown. Her loyalty was a shackle.
He had seen people do awful, terrible things with that loyalty before.
“You’re enjoying this too much,” Cordelia remarked one evening.
Nico turned the page of the freshly-printed newspaper he’d stolen on his way home, searching for details of yesterday’s heist. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”
Cordelia ripped away the newspaper and pointed to the front page, where a likeness of Nico had been printed—inaccurate, apart from his mask. “This. This right here. This… notoriety .”
“This was always the plan, Bones. I wasn’t going to stay in the shadows forever.”
It was a little earlier than he would have liked. He wasn’t even halfway through his list of names. Still, he’d made a good start. He wondered if anyone had figured out who he was yet, if they’d worked out the connection, and warned their former comrades. He wondered if some of them were living in fear.
He hoped they were.
Cordelia glared at him.
“Oh, that pun was hilarious, admit it.”
“You’ve had better.” She threw the paper back in his face. “You’re getting distracted.”
“It’s fun, though.”
“It won’t be if they catch you.”
Nico grinned, climbing to his feet and snatching up his cane. “You can’t catch a shadow.”
“I’ve never seen you this passionate about anything before,” Freya remarked one morning during training. “Or anyone,” she added, so quietly that Viola barely heard her.
“What about that play we saw last Summerbound? I was plenty moved by the ending.”
“Plays don’t count,” said Freya, pursing her lips together in such a delightful way that Viola abandoned the dummy she was decimating and came over to give her a quick kiss on the lips.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so distracted of late,” she said, lingering beside her.
“It’s all right,” Freya said, although Viola wasn’t sure that she meant it. “You’ve been given a great honour, and you’re taking it seriously. Besides, there are some benefits to your appointment. At least you’re not spending all of your leave tracking monsters or running off to some monastery in Tsubasa.”
Viola grinned. “I learned a lot in that monastery. Their techniques to improve balance and flexibility were exceptional.”
Freya returned her grin. “I know. I’m quite thankful to them. I would have preferred to have had you, though.”
Viola wanted to suggest that the next time she went off on one of her ‘skill-capturing adventures’ as Heindrich had nicknamed them, Freya should come with her, but something held her back. She’d never taken anyone with her before. Being alone, purely able to focus on honing her skills, felt like the entire point.
Frey blinked up at her, an awkward pause passing between the two. “Have you given any more thought to moving in together?”
Viola had, in the few moments where her mind wasn’t occupied with all thoughts shadowmancer. She had, and her answer wasn’t one that Freya wanted to hear. “I’m sorry,” she began, a kind lie rising to her tongue. “I’ve just been so busy of late—”
“It’s fine,” said Freya.
“It isn’t,” Viola insisted. “I just… Could we maybe wait until the next one comes up? I don’t want to rush into anything, or keep anyone else waiting.”
Freya swallowed. “Sure. We can wait a bit longer.”
She was upset, and Viola knew it, but she also didn’t know how to make her feel better without making herself feel worse. “Shall we go out tonight?” she offered. “We could go to that tavern you like with the pretty songstress—the one next to Dragon’s Point? Weather is still fine enough to fly there. Maybe spend another night out on the cliffs…”
Freya laughed. “Yes to the first part, no to the second. You are not built for the cold like I am.”
It was true, and Viola liked that she knew that.
“Speaking of engagements…” Freya began, slinking her arms around her, “isn’t it your birthday, soon?”
Viola stiffened. “Come again?”
“I’m sure you said, when we first started courting, that your birthday was the last week of Harvestsend—” She glanced over at Heindrich, who was practising his axe throwing nearby. “Henry, help me out here? Isn’t it Viola’s birthday soon?”
Heindrick prickled almost as much as Viola. His axe fell short of its target. “Um, yes, but—”
“We should celebrate it!”
“I don’t want to,” said Viola shortly.
“Oh, come now! I know you’re not one for fuss, but we don’t need to do something big!”
“I don’t want to celebrate it!”
Freya stared at her, startled by her objection, by the forcefulness in Viola’s voice. Viola could still hear it, like a slap in the air.
“Vi—” Freya started.
Viola turned on her heels and rushed off, not answering no matter how many times Freya called out her name. She didn’t turn back, didn’t stop until she was safely back in her room.
Tell her, tell her, said the voice inside. She’d understand if you do .
But, Viola knew, everything would change. No one except Heindrich knew her full history. Her last year at the House of Wind had been awful, being that girl, like a wounded soldier returning from war with scars too unsightly to ignore, too painful to discuss. She wasn’t that girl here. She didn’t want to be that girl to Freya, even though she knew it was foolish, that if she told her why, but didn’t want to speak about it, Freya wouldn’t press.
But she’d want to. She’d see the hurt and want to help. And she couldn’t. No one could.
She didn’t go out with Freya that night. She made some excuse about chasing some shadow-related lead, and spent the night flying Blackberry over the city, hoping for some kind of distraction. The wind stung her face, but she didn’t care. She’d take the cold. She’d take pain. She’d take anything that stopped her mind from thinking.
In the end, it hurt too much to speak the words, and the pain made the decision for Viola. Due some leave, she went to the noticeboard the next morning and selected a monster-hunting task that would take her out of town for a few days.
The journey took her through dense forests and rugged terrain, the promise of danger both a welcome escape and a bitter reminder of what she was fleeing. Each step further from the capital felt like a step away from the conversation she dreaded, from the inevitable heartache she could not yet face. Nights were spent under the stars, her only company the distant howls of creatures and the crackling of her campfire. She tried to focus on the task at hand, yet her thoughts constantly drifted back to Freya’s disappointed gaze and the unspoken words between them.
When the day of her twenty-fourth birthday came, she was far too busy tracking down a wild manticore to think much about it. It was only when night descended, and there was no fighting to be had, that her mind began to wander restlessly. It drew her back to memories of her childhood, of fighting over who got the first slice of cake. She recalled tears and laughter and currant buns and apple slices, dancing and games and another’s hand in hers.
While the rest of the town she was staying in celebrated the end of the harvest festival—a week of food-filled activities that ended with a party in the streets—Viola wandered down to a nearby river, took out a piece of paper, and folded it into the shape of a small boat. She set it adrift, watching as it vanished downriver, until it was no more than a pale speck under the shadow of the trees.
She was twenty-four years old. Her brother was forever twenty. She could see him whenever she closed her eyes, as clearly as if he were right next to her. Though his skin was shade darker than hers and his brown hair almost black and tightly curled, they had been mirrors of each other once, so similar that they’d don the same clothes as children and fool all those that didn’t know them well into thinking that they were the same person. The differences grew as they did, when he grew taller and she grew rounder, when their faces morphed and changed into something similar, but not the same.
He was kind and patient and she was short-tempered and wild. He excelled at school as she did not. He was strong and she was fast. She played the harp and he had no ear for music. Always different underneath. Still her brother.
Still her twin.
Viola hugged her arms as a breeze travelled downstream, tugging the boat further away from her.
“Happy birthday, Seb,” she whispered into the dark.