Chapter 23 Astrid
Astrid yawns as she browses the shelves, the events of last night catching up with her. It’s only midafternoon and she’s looking forward to her bed already. The dim lighting in the library isn’t helping.
YOU ARE LIMPING. SIT DOWN. IT IS PAINFUL TO WATCH.
“Bastet, your compassion is overwhelming.”
LEAVE THE SARCASM TO ME.
She’s back in the library, this time to see what texts they might have on dragons, anything that might give her some edge if Skylar manages to bond with one.
She reaches for a book, When the Fire Dragon Ruled, about Queen Aeloria’s Fire Elemental, Cuatra, and her—now fossilized—egg.
She’s not sure how much use it will be in preparing for the duel, but, still, it’s worth a read.
She adds the book to her pile and heads for the seating area, the grand tapestry of Nyx and Artemia drawing her attention, then settles into one of the sofas, propping her sore leg up on a table.
Jessa’s banned her from taking her healing solution during training, saying she might not have time to do it during the duel, adding that it’s also an incentive for Astrid to practice her shield casting.
She adjusts herself and groans.
SHE REALLY IS A SADIST. Bastet jumps on the sofa.
“Sadist or not, her methods work. I’ve not been able to cast like this in years.
” She actually managed to hit Jessa with an offensive spell today—the first time she’s been able to cast one in more than six years.
Part of her wonders if she’s starting to let go of the guilt about her father.
If the Stars have finally forgiven her. Being able to imagine a life beyond the duel certainly helps her feel like her dad didn’t die for nothing.
SHE CANNOT TAKE ALL THE CREDIT. THOSE ASSASSINS CERTAINLY SPURRED YOU ON.
Astrid snorts. “Sure, credit where credit’s due. If they hadn’t tried to kill me, I wouldn’t have perfected the Dever shield. We really should have given the Levitator a stay of execution for that.”
AGAIN, LEAVE THE SARCASM TO ME.
She scratches him behind the ear, then rubs at her palm. The ghost of pain is still there after Skylar stabbed herself yesterday.
“What do you think Skylar’s looking for?
” Astrid has filled Bastet in on what happened, what Skylar took—the idiot.
Astrid, being a total idiot herself, has decided she’s going to put it back.
If it’s a register of all Blooded, then the king is going to miss it, so she’s going to steal it from Skylar and then break back into the king’s office when the Vatrans are at Isla Draka for Skylar’s test. And Skylar has inadvertently given her exactly what she needs to get past the king’s defenses.
I BELIEVE IT MAY BE A WHO RATHER THAN A WHAT.
“Yes, that’s what I thought.”
IT WILL ENCOURAGE HER TO SURVIVE THAT ISLAND AT LEAST.
“Indeed. And speaking of surviving”—she nods at the stack of books—“I need to get back to figuring out how to win this duel.”
Because she can’t lose, not with the Blight.
Not with how much worse it is in Arturea.
Jessa had a report back from Ceridwen this morning—more storms have hit since her mother’s arrival.
Mass evacuations are taking place, with volunteers coming in from all over the continent, but if the weather doesn’t let up, they won’t be able to continue with search and rescue.
Another reason why she and Jessa have trained so hard; to take their minds off the horror back home, to feel like they were working toward something that would ultimately help.
WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? YOUR FACE IS DOING THAT UGLY THING.
Astrid rolls her eyes. “What Skylar said about Vatra, it sounds a Hel of a lot like the Blight, which would mean it’s not only Arturea that’s lost the Heart’s magic. And it would also mean the Vatrans can’t possibly be stopping it, because why would they destroy their own country like that?”
YOU THINK THERE COULD BE SOMETHING WRONG WITH THE HEART ITSELF?
“Possibly.”
Which terrifies her more than if the Vatrans are tampering with it; at least then she knows there’s a solution to the problem.
PERHAPS YOU COULD ASK THE PRINCE.
Astrid’s not sure she likes Bastet’s tone. He sounds far too innocent. But he’s right: she could ask the prince. Her mum hasn’t had any luck with Zachary and Ottilie, so she could speak with Zryan, see what he has to say.
The hum of the air-conditioning and the lights from the electric lamps dotted around the library have her questioning herself, though.
The Vatrans have electricity only because of Vitalas, and they have Vitalas only because of the Heart.
If there’s something wrong with it, they wouldn’t have all this magic running through the castle.
No, what’s more likely is that they are keeping whatever power they do have for themselves and for those who can afford it, like Skylar said.
The crops dying, the problems in Brithan, are probably a result of the Vatrans punishing their own people as much as they like to punish Arturea.
Why that is, she’s not sure. She has more questions than answers at this stage.
Really, the only way to know what’s going on is to see the Heart for herself.
Discover what it actually is and how it works.
She stretches her neck and flips open to the first page of the book: it’s a drawing of Cuatra and Aeloria, set against Isla Draka.
Stars, she can’t escape the place. She turns to the next page, reading how Talrok, the Stone City, was built with Fire Elementals in mind—she already knew this from her father—and how Aeloria united the kingdom of Vatra under the rule of the de Veras line.
There’s nothing about Aeloria’s ancestry, or the history of Vatra before her, but then, there never is.
Her father believed any records before the Covenant were probably destroyed in the Heart Wars, given how destructive the war was for both continents.
She keeps skimming, though nothing of note jumps out.
In the middle of the book there are more pictures, including one of the Battle of Sarkan.
In it, Artemia is burning while Nyx is smote down by a storm—Aeloria’s Blooded power.
Such a Blooded power has never been seen since.
In reality, neither of them died. Arturean historical texts claim Nyx was the victor after Aeloria was injured and forfeited; the Vatran narrative is that Aeloria won after Nyx and his panther fell from the sky and conceded defeat.
They would have been well-matched, despite Aeloria being a Prime with a dragon, so either story could be true.
Nyx’s Gift of Bewitching meant that he could beguile anyone—human, familiar or dragon—with merely a thought, though weaker minds were more susceptible.
Artemia’s Gift was her affinity for death—and an ability to evade it.
In any case, the damage caused by the decades-long war and that final showdown in Sarkan inspired the creation of the duel—it was a way to determine who would take guardianship of the Heart while avoiding the colossal loss of life in the future.
Ironic, really, that they both survived, yet they decided their heirs should fight to the death.
She slams the book shut and chucks it on the table.
The thing is, she doesn’t want narratives, she wants the truth.
The truth about the Heart, the Blight, Stars, even the Hel-damned past. Anything to help her queendom and, if she’s being honest, to help herself.
She’s gotten used to the idea of living now and she really, really doesn’t want to die.
She twists her hand up into the air and shouts “Sumend” in pure frustration—as if she can summon the truth, as if a book might just pop off a shelf and fly to her, solving all her problems—then collapses back on the sofa, scrubbing at her face.
ASTRID. WHAT DID YOU DO?
She sits up, frowning, tracking his gaze.
The tapestry is rippling, riding a phantom wind—trying to reach Astrid.
They look at each other, his wide eyes a mirror to her shock.
The pain in her leg forgotten, she runs toward it when it abruptly stops.
She looks at the tapestry. It’s surprisingly neutral, given it belongs to the Vatran Queen.
In it, neither Nyx nor Aeloria has the upper hand.
In fact, they hardly look like they’re fighting at all.
She’s summoned the truth, and this is what the spell has drawn her to. There’s a feeling, a crawling sensation along her shoulder blades, like her body is trying to tell her something. What truth is in this tapestry?
She peers around, not that there’s anyone here—she made sure she wouldn’t be disturbed with a befuddlement charm on the door, misdirecting anyone who tried to enter—then steps over the rope cordon.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING? IT COULD BE WARDED.
“I’m not going to touch it, I just want a closer look.”
She hears him say something that sounds a lot like “wooden-headed witch,” but she ignores him.
She gets as near as she can without tripping any alarms. Nyx is at the bottom of the tapestry, and she squints at his brow, trying to make out the mate mark she couldn’t see properly last time; it’s simple yet indecipherable. “What is it?”
Bastet leaps from the sofa and trots over to her, jumping up to her arms and settling on her shoulder.
IT IS A GOLDEN SEMICIRCLE.
“Yes, I’d gathered that much, thank you, but what does it mean?”
IS IT SOMETHING RELATED TO KIRA? WHAT WAS HER FAMILIAR?
“She had a mare. Orange, like Phestus.”
PHESTUS?
Astrid smiles sadly. “I don’t talk about him enough if you don’t know. Phestus was my dad’s familiar—an elk. The fastest beast you ever saw, faster even than a stallion. I used to love riding him, when he let me.”
HE SOUNDS MOST MAGNIFICENT.
He’s not being sarcastic for once. “He was.” She strokes Bastet’s tail, draped around her neck. “I can’t see how the mark might relate to Kira, though.”
Astrid’s eyes travel over Nyx to his outstretched hand gripping the wand.
The other inconsistency with all the texts.
It’s silver, and a little shorter than his forearm.
For some reason she feels like she recognizes it, though she can’t.
She’s never seen a witch wand in real life, has barely seen them depicted in images.
A clock gongs from somewhere in the library, and the pair of them startle. She counts the pips—seven.
“Damn, I said I’d meet Jessa in the dining hall. She’s going to bloody kill me if she finds out I wasn’t in my room!”
I BET YOU WOULD NOT MIND THE PRINCE’S HELP RIGHT NOW. POOF, AND YOU WOULD BE BACK IN YOUR ROOM.
She glares at him. She’s really trying not to think about that man, not after what she promised herself at the execution.
She will only engage with Zryan when she has to or needs to, and she does need to speak with him about the Heart, purely in a professional capacity.
That’s if she can trust him. He’ll be in the banquet hall—he is most nights—but it’ll be too exposed to question him there.
If he can’t provide answers, well, she’s going to make the most of her trip back to the king’s office; she didn’t have time to search properly yesterday, and anyway, she has a new focus.
It’s not just about needing information on the Heart now.
She needs to actually find the Heart. And she needs to figure out what the Hel is wrong with it.