1. Raithe #2
While any floating land was referred to as a skyland, isles were smaller and usually found in clusters.
The Martial Isles were a string of skylands dedicated to training in the ways of combat.
Every territory had their own, where all soldiers and guards hailed from.
Before I was Chosen as a guardian, and before our last queen titled him as the commander, Alekko and I were comrades—though Alekko preferred to call us friends.
All because I was the only prick who didn’t tease him for the size of his ears—which were the size of Pegasus wings—until he grew into them.
I had no problem putting those leeches in their place with a few simple maneuvers we’d all learned in training.
No one stood up for me when I needed it most as a child.
Little did I know that after doing so, Alekko would never leave my side, mistaking my protection as an invitation for companionship.
“Shall we wake him up and get on with it?” I prompted flatly.
“Let’s reframe our purpose here,” Alekko said.
“Our people are afraid. It’s only a matter of time before other territories stop sending goods to our queendom, for we hardly have anything left to trade in return.
We barely have enough resources to supply our guards, let alone chase after every suspected apostate.
We may not like what we have to do in this room, but I’ll do whatever it takes to save our people.
If that means blindly hoping we’ll have a breakthrough for the first time in… ”
“Nearly nine ages,” I confirmed. Ages were astrological eras measured by the slow shift of our planet’s axis, commonly known as the precession of equinoxes.
A single age lasted roughly 2,000 years, give or take a few centuries, and was determined by which Zodiac sign the first day of spring fell under in the northern territories.
“So almost 16,000 years, assuming the apostai have existed as long as the Astrals. Though historical records don’t show the presence of organized apostates until roughly 8,000 years ago, during the Age of Cancer. ”
Alekko barked a laugh. “Shitting stars, you’re a walking anthology.” He lifted his hands. “Fine. In 16,000 years, then so be it.”
My black-gloved hands roamed the prisoner’s body, settling on the lump in his throat. “What happened to leaving emotions out of the interrogation?”
Scorpions, by nature, were ruled by the element of water, and therefore emotion. The same was true for Pisceans and Cancerians. Naturally, one of the first lessons taught on the Isles was how to keep emotions in check so as not to be overruled by them in times of combat, strategy, or interrogation.
I’d watched with caution as Alekko and Vesperah’s romance bloomed on the Isles. It was possible, highly likely even, that Alekko could still become a Chosen guardian one day. In fact, most guardians were once commanders, captains, or generals. Somehow, I’d been the exception.
If Alekko were to ever be Chosen, he would be forced to not only sacrifice any blood relatives, but also cut Vesperah—or any romantic involvement—from his life completely.
For all Chosens were bound to the decrees of the Treaty of the Twelve, the sacred document crafted by the First Chosens. The fourth decree was perhaps considered the most arduous for some to adhere to: the oath of celibacy, where absolute chastity was immutable.
Any Chosen found in violation of the Treaty was subjected to a unanimous vote from all twelve courts, wherein the punishment was always death. The oath of celibacy was one part of the Treaty I didn’t need to worry about breaking. Since no one had ever tempted me before, I doubted anyone could.
“You cannot let your feelings affect you, Alekko. Especially during an interrogation.”
“Easy for you to say. You’ve never—” He abruptly stopped his words, but the implication was already said. You’ve never cared about anyone else but yourself. “Shit, I didn’t mean…”
“You did, and it’s fine.” I was used to being alone long before becoming Chosen.
Solitude suited me. “Now thanks to your handiwork, this man is barely conscious enough to feel anything. Cyrene’s ceremonial trial is in two days.
This attack was right down the road from the royal temple where it will take place. ”
The trial for our Chosen princess was precisely why I had intended to spend another day in the city’s Academy library, seeking some impossible remedy. If Cyrene surpassed her trial and lived to become queen, we would finally have a royal capable of wielding water for the first time in twelve years.
Alekko said, “The apostai haven’t tried anything on the day of a Chosen’s ceremony for years.”
“Maryn may be paranoid,” I said, regarding her orders to keep Felaf and I close. “But Scorpio is weak. It’s the perfect opportunity to strike.”
“Maybe this year is different.” Alekko murmured the words that so many others in the palace—and queendom—longed to be true. “Maybe Cyrene is different.”
Carefully, I stepped over the prisoner’s blood and grime-soaked limbs, cataloguing each detail using all my senses.
Stringy light hair plastered against his shoulders. He was tall but lithe and as pale as I was. His hands were smooth. No notable scars marred his body. “We can rule out soldier at least. Any noteworthy items confiscated? What clothes was he wearing?”
“Same plain white fabrics as on the others, material that could be bought anywhere in the city.”
“Scorpio,” I muttered, “or anyone else listening, we could use your stars-damned help right about now.” I hadn’t gone to a temple in over a year, but a strange feeling had me begging our queendom’s Astral in case she hadn’t forsaken us after all.
In case the curse wasn’t her doing like some believed—
Look closer, a humming voice urged in the back of my mind.
I stiffened.
My intuition.
The voice spoke to me in random moments, manifesting as a feeling or tugging in my gut. Rarely did my intuition speak so loudly—when it did, I never ignored it.
For all my personal research, no such power had been known to be gifted to another guardian or Chosen. Not even a seer, for their messages came in dreams from the Astrals or through Blood Sight.
Astrals only imparted their powers onto Chosens.
The fact that the voice had appeared long before I was Chosen prevented me from divulging such a truth with anyone.
Those gifted with Sight or anything else considered divine were required to report themselves.
Gifts not bestowed by the Astrals were considered deviant. Dangerous, even.
I slipped a dagger from its sheath at my belt and gently prodded the prisoner’s bloodied feet. With the tip, I scraped a coating of dried blood off the arches and stilled.
“What is it? What do you see?”
With such dim lighting, Alekko’s ordinary eyes wouldn’t be able to detect the faint white outline on the underside of the man’s left foot.
“A tattoo maybe. Or brand of sorts.” It almost resembled a Zodiac symbol, but not any of the twelve that existed. Foreign and yet somehow familiar, I branded its shape into my mind.
Alekko squinted. “I still don’t see it. Think it’s a birthmark?”
“It’s an odd shape.” I rose to my full height. The queen regent would likely have him executed within twenty-four hours of his capture. “Show Maryn this mark. She’ll have to keep him alive long enough for us to get something out of him or figure out what this means. If it comes from me, though…”
“I can hardly see it myself.” Alekko studied me. “But I’ll do what I can. You think it could be something?”
I pressed a cloth drenched with potent salts to the apostate’s face and counted all of three seconds before he jolted awake. His blue eyes immediately met mine, widening as I hauled him upright.
“Afternoon,” I greeted him. “Shall we get this revelry started?”
He could discern I was a Chosen through my eyes and glyphs, which only glowed when I tapped into my gifted strength or heightened senses. On their own, my eyes were still an unnaturally vibrant gold. Their shade resembled that of Scorpio’s talisman, the topaz.
It was the way I effortlessly dangled him in the air that made him realize which kind of Chosen I was.
Not a seer, blind and gentle. Not a royal, distinguished and elementally powerful.
“Guardian,” he sputtered, clawing at my hands around his neck.
We were lethally strong and impossibly fast. Our hearing was remarkable, our eyesight impeccable. There was no humility when it came to describing our abilities.
After I was first Chosen, the surge of power took months of acclimating.
Doors would rip from their hinges with even the slightest imbalance of pressure from my hand.
The sun became blinding, birds from a mile away triggered splitting headaches, and the faintest whiff of body odor had me puking. Enduring such trauma had been worth it.
Once I’d fully assimilated as a guardian, I was finally in control of my life. No one could touch or hurt me ever again unless I let them.
I released the prisoner. He dropped to the floor and scrambled backwards until he collided with the stone wall. I stalked closer as he quivered. His heart battered like a herd of charging Pegasus hooves.
“Oh, now you’re afraid? I’m insulted,” Alekko drawled.
“Here’s how this is going to go.” I slammed my fist into the wall at his back.
Debris crumbled as I pulled out a chunk of rock the size of his head.
“He was your appetizer. I am the main course. You can make this easier on yourself if you tell us what we want to know. If you do, there’s a chance you could leave here with your brain still intact.
Each time you refuse to cooperate, I’ll break one bone in your body. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Faster than he could flinch, I crushed the rock into dust. The remnants sifted to the floor like sand.
His only answer was a whimper.