3. Mare
Mare
An hour ago, the crown prince of Aenir had asked me to dance. I'd since stripped from my ballgown into a traveling dress and ripped the flowers from my hair.
I'd waited so long for this night, this chance, only for it to end like this.
My elk shook the snow from his antlers and breathed hot air onto my face. Tightening his bridle, I turned to my father, who shivered inside his bundle of fur cloaks.
I must have inherited the aversion to cold from him.
"Be careful," Father chattered. "You'll be safe with Killian. Do as he says. And Liam—" He looked past me. "Protect your sister."
Liam mimicked an Aenir salute, pressing two fingers to his breast and flicking them outward.
Grabbing my shoulders, Father planted a kiss on my forehead and hurried away.
Flicking up my hood, I climbed onto my elk's back and took the reins. Liam swung up onto his and nodded at me to lead. Taking a deep breath, I pressed my boots into the elk's flank and began the ride out of Kentoro toward Galasvar.
The trip would be short. Kentoro was near the border of Aenir, and Galasvar sat just within Muirashin territory.
Spending a night in the snow might kill me, though.
Liam's elk trotted alongside mine as we left the city gates and rode along the snow-covered road.
"Humor me," he said. "What are the odds an army is actually loitering out in Ceortha?"
Nobody lived in the Ceorthan Shadowlands. Nobody. Our eyes could not penetrate the fathomless black, save to spot silhouettes of horrors lurking in its depths. There was a reason walls guarded our southern borders, and none were allowed to cross them.
"About zero," I answered.
"You think the Paragon's gone mad?"
"Paragons do not go mad, Liam," I said. "It's his job to protect us. He's probably just being cautious."
The king trusted Paragon Killian implicitly. We all did. The legendary weapons the Paragons wielded had never chosen incorrectly—all who had inherited the title lived up to the expectations.
Peerless warriors, brilliant negotiators, and utterly fearless in the face of death. There were only four—yet the kingdoms valued them more than armies.
"Right," Liam muttered, looking away.
I inhaled a frigid breath and peered through the falling snow at the fields of white, mulling over what I would say to the Paragon. I'd never met one before.
Would he even listen to me?
No other country allowed women to be diplomats. Had I been sent to Tsuyan, the men would have laughed me out of town.
Eventually, I decided the simplest course would be best. I'd approach the Paragon with respect and tell him the truth: the king was in disbelief and demanded a thorough explanation.
Resigning myself to a long ride, I rehearsed my words as the hours ticked by. The road to Galasvar would take two days, riding swiftly.
Naught but snow-covered fields passed us by on the first day. We rode well into the evening and made camp when the starlight began to die. Plunged into near-perfect shadow, we sat around the fire, buried under piles of fur.
Liam didn't seem bothered by winter. Sighing, he shifted closer to me while I chattered myself to sleep.
"Do you remember," he said. "When I said I'd want to court a Fireborn?"
"I see the merits now," I breathed. "Shame I'm not allowed."
"Take a lover. Everyone does it."
"I have a reputation to uphold."
"I don't." Liam chuckled.
He'd never tried, either. Nothing Liam did or said would ever matter. To the world, he would always be foul-blooded. Undesirable.
Everyone was born with magic in their blood.
The Stormborn of Aenir commanded the skies, while the Iceborn of Muirashi called upon water in all its forms. To the north, Earthborn populated the plains of Terishal, masters of soil and the seeds it nurtured.
Far to the northwest was Lavaire, home of the Fireborn and their heat-drenched jungles.
Solhearts, though, called upon sunlight. Radiance. They were our betters—the descendants of our departed god.
While a union between two lesser races would produce a half-blood, Solhearts could breed with anyone, and the child would be another Solheart. Proof enough to them that foul-bloods were a sin, and we were their lessers.
Liam would be okay, though. He had Father and me to protect him.
Maybe it was the cold or the unpleasant thoughts that kept me awake through the darkness.
Every hour passed beneath eternal night. The sun had not risen in the sky for thousands of years. Growing starlight and the appearance of the twin moons heralded morning's arrival, and they vanished into the firmament's black embrace come night.
Supposedly, an imitation of the ancient sun hung above the Solhearts’ city, where their Emperor ruled over people he’d never see. Not even Solhearts of lesser birth left their shiny city to mingle amongst us.
I fell into a troubled sleep and woke, half frozen to death. Dragging myself from my bedroll, I shook the ice from my cloak and mounted my elk to continue our slog through the snow.
The second day, the scenery shifted. Sparse trees thickened into woods, and I could see the silhouette of Tirnanog's great oak—so immense its shadow painted the moons black, though it was still leagues away.
I toyed with my mother's necklace, a silver jewel bearing the crest of that tree: Tirnanog's banner.
Galasvar appeared on the horizon in the evening. Enormous walls extended as far as the eye could see, ancient and imposing. A palpable shadow darkened the skies beyond, blotting out the stars and moons.
The Ceorthan Shadowlands: realm of dusk and sin.
The town around the fort was cold and unwelcoming: dark, cracked stone with little in the way of embellishments. A small garrison lived here to watch the walls, and everyone else tended the nearby farms.
In this unassuming place, I'd meet my first Paragon. Gnawing on my lip, I rode through the gates, watched by guards who clutched their weapons to their chests.
They looked terrified.
Inside the gates, the town seemed normal. People bustled from building to building, heavy winter cloaks trailing behind them.
Scanning the crowds for a man who'd appear larger than life, I rode toward the far wall—toward the barrier that divided what remained of the gods’ world, and the curse of darkness they’d laid upon us.
Liam rode alongside me. "Where do we find our man?"
"At the walls, I'd imagine."
"Should you go alone?"
I glanced over my brother, his dark skin and pale eyes. Would a Paragon be offended by the presence of a half-blood? "Pull your hood up, to be safe. Act like my guard."
"Of course, my lady," Liam said, voice dripping with sarcasm.
It was only when we reached the southern walls that I realized no men had walked the city streets. Soldiers swarmed the walls guarding us from the Shadowlands, patrolling, preparing, shoring up defenses.
Both Muirashi and Aenir deployed men to this fort. Tabards of deep blue and forest green hung over chainmail, blurring into a turquoise tapestry of war. Dismounting, I focused on a young man in green, with a longbow slung over his back—an Aenir man.
I caught his elbow as he passed. "Where's the Paragon?"
He turned to me, arms loaded with wooden stakes. "Up there." He nodded up. "But a lady shouldn't—"
"King Ailithir sent me to deliver a message."
" . . . a message?" The guard echoed. Setting aside his palisade, he motioned for me to follow. "Come with me."
He turned stiffly on his heel and marched toward one of the towers. Glancing back at Liam, I hitched up my skirts as we ascended the rough stairs spiraling up to the walls.
I saw the Paragon the moment we stepped from the tower onto the ramparts. He was unmistakable. A powerful presence charged the ramparts, and an aura of majesty surrounded his figure.
Though no taller than the men around him, Paragon Killian seemed to stand leagues above their heads. Antlers rose from his silver helm, and a rich purple cape billowed behind him in the breeze.
I'd never seen such beautiful armor. Detailed etchings painted Aenir's crest across his chestplate: great antlers wrapped around a soaring hawk. He watched the distance, stalwart, his sword planted at his feet.
Cierthine, the legendary Paragon weapon that belonged to Aenir. A black blade pulsing with violet lightning.
Paragon Killian's gaze snapped in my direction. Lifting his blade, he strode toward me.
"Paragon Killian," I said, barely concealing my awe. "King Ailithir sent me with a message."
His eyes flicked over my face. "Lady Rohan, I presume?"
"You recognize me?"
"Your eyes," he said. "I've heard about them. Come." Turning on his heel, he strode away.
I touched my face. People spoke of my eye color?
Dark, murky purple, unlike any shade I'd seen on another Stormborn. I'd always hated them. Our people loved gossip—they must have mocked my eyes behind my back.
Hurrying to catch up with the Paragon, I trailed behind him. "King Ailithir has heard your message and sent word to the other forts, as requested."
"But he did not send an army." Killian glanced back at me.
"No. He did not think—"
The Paragon stopped abruptly. "I've been watching the south for a while. Something's changed. A few days ago . . . " He trailed off, staring into the depths of darkness beyond the walls. "That appeared."
Taking my shoulder, he turned me to face the Shadowlands.
I'd never seen Ceortha in person before, only heard stories. Bards spoke of an oppressive pall no man could see through. Shivers of wrongness would trace through your spine, they claimed, and the shadows would seep through your skin, leaving palpable scars.
Still. Dead. Silent. Save for the howling of distant beasts.
The tales proved true. Ice danced down my spine, like cold fingers caressing my skin. The cloud I'd glimpsed from the road did not merely obscure the sky; it reached toward the ground, layering the very world in its haze.
But something more was there: the ghosts of a whisper, barely heard. I closed my eyes, trying to hear the voice, but it eluded me.
Snapping my eyes open, I saw what Killian wanted me to see. Movement. Shapes drifted through the fog, at the edge of my vision, like fish churning the ocean or deer parting the underbrush.
Startled, I stepped back. "Monsters?" I asked.
"I don't know," Killian said, staring into the distance. "I've ridden as far as sanity and holy doctrine allow. A shardwolf or two, the stray wyvern? All normal. But this . . . " He nodded for me to watch.
The movement didn't stop. If I gazed long enough, it almost seemed like the fog took the shape of a marching army. Or maybe it was the tail of a dragon of unfathomable size, dragging along behind its master for leagues.
"They have gotten closer each day." Killian turned to me. "Something is coming. One brave scout volunteered to take a closer look. He did not return."
"The people here," I said, staring at the rolling darkness. "They don't seem concerned."
"Because their families have lived here for centuries. Because a Paragon is here to protect them." He gripped my arm. "Go back. Tell Ailithir we need reinforcements now."
"He is not willing to deploy his entire army to the border because—and these are his words, mind—you're jumping at shadows," I recited.
"I thought he might say that." Killian gripped the handle of his blade. "Then tell him I invoke the right of Cierthine."
The black blade shimmered with violet storms, answering the Paragon's words.
Every Paragon had the authority to invoke their holy weapons and override their king's orders.
None had for decades.
"In that case, I'll leave immediately," I said, shoving down my mounting fear.
"Thank you." Killian placed a hand on my shoulder. He squeezed, reassuringly. Then, he departed.
I hadn't realized the presence the man exerted until he was gone. Breath flooded my lungs, as though he'd stolen the very air from the world. The ball of fear I'd ignored began to writhe, growing and growing.
Turning on my heel, I hurried back the way we'd come. Liam grabbed my arm when we reached the bottom of the tower's steps.
"Did you see that?" He hissed.
"What? The enormous thing walking around back there?" I asked. "Yes, I saw it."
“Ceortha doesn’t normally . . . move like that.”
“How would you know?”
Liam looked away. “Come on. Let’s hurry.”
We retrieved our elk and walked the road back into the city. It felt strange, shifting from the worried soldiers to the carefree people.
I supposed I understood. The garrison rotated every few years—the men on the walls had not been born in Galasvar.
Soldiers heeded a Paragon’s warning. They knew to fear. People instead took comfort in his presence. They believed he would protect them.
“Liam,” I asked, catching up to him. “Did you live on the border, before we found you?”
The words escaped my lips, and my stomach twisted. Gritting my teeth, I stumbled against Liam, stunned by the sudden discomfort in my gut.
A crow flew overhead and landed on a nearby roof. It gazed at me with beady eyes.
"What's wrong?" Liam asked.
I gaped at the bird, consumed by its gaze. One of its talons was missing.
This was the same bird from the ball. Had it followed us all the way here?
"Mare?" Liam pressed.
Standing straight, I felt icy fingers dance up my spine and heard the whispers from before.
This time, they were loud and clear.
It was a song.
Faint, inhuman hums scratched at my ears, growing louder with each passing beat. They soared into a piercing wail, like my every nightmare brought to life.
Priests had described the sound of darkness. Of the monsters in the deep.
It was worse than I could have ever imagined.
I turned back toward the wall, expecting the shadows to descend upon Galasvar and consume us.
Instead, a great pair of wings emerged from the darkness.
And then all hell broke loose.