Aleaneo resoled her boots, and the fresh leather pressed thick against her calloused feet. She knew she’d be grateful in the months to come when hills blurred into sand then mountains. Until then, Aleaneo begrudgingly invited her fellow Asyeri to join her in the training yard, and she sighed as she tugged the laces of her boots and wrapped them around her ankles. Dalia leapt at the offer, as did Carmeille.

“I half expected her to show up in an evening gown,” Dalia muttered as the Bermian arrived. Kade elbowed her and greeted Ingrid, who sported a considerably smaller mass of robes. Aleaneo could see her feet.

“Joining the fray?” Aleaneo led them toward the yard.

“Not me, no,” Ingrid laughed nervously. “I’m more for optimistic encouragement.” Behind them, Silas scoffed. Aleaneo glared at him.

“Always useful,” she assured Ingrid, though she suspected encouragement wouldn’t be needed. The air between Carmeille and Dalia visibly boiled, and Silas derived joy from provoking them. Aleaneo could barely contain her relief when they finally arrived at the training yard, but she stopped short at the sight of Lereth and his unit. They were supposed to be at the range, but formations were set, a mix of targets and mannequins, several of which were splintered and begging for death.

Lereth turned, chest heaving, as they arrived, his soldiers equally surprised. “Sister,” he huffed.

“Lereth.” She stopped her party near the perimeter and snuck a glace to the upper patio where a noticeable number of spectators, Arigelian and otherwise, casually observed. “You’re supposed to be at the range.”

Lereth squinted as he noticed her company. “Neleth was there.”

“Neleth?”

“I offered to use the range tomorrow.”

“Ah.”

“We can clear,” Lereth suggested as he handed his blades to a soldier. “I’d wager the ambassadors would much rather see you than us.”

Far above, more spectators gathered at the balcony, eager to catch a glimpse of all six Asyeri, and Aleaneo spotted several clusters of foreign ambassadors sprinkled throughout. This was not what she had planned. This was too exposed, too public, and no one had agreed.

“It would be wise for us to see our fellow Asyeris’ abilities firsthand,” Kade suggested, “to be better aware of our capabilities before we depart. I can only speak for myself, but the annual reports weren’t entirely informative.”

Aleaneo had thought near the same thing more than once, but this wasn’t what she had in mind. The Fifth Prince may enjoy showing off, but she wasn’t keen to be the entertainment. She observed the training yard: tall stone walls on two sides, empty dirt and thick trees on the others, a small pond just beyond the tree line. Reasonably contained.

“I suppose,” Aleaneo mumbled uneasily.

Carmeille wandered into the yard and inspected one of Lereth’s butchered mannequins. “Not bad, for an Arigelian.”

Aleaneo glowered. “You first then?” she pointed Kade to the rack of training weapons. “Take what you like.”

Dalia swaggered forward. “Come, Khaden,” she smiled, twirling a curved spear in her hands, and nodded toward the patio. “Let’s show them the fruits of their investment.”

Kade selected a lone scimitar from the rack and faced Dalia.

“Don’t mind her,” Aleaneo told her brother as the yard cleared. Across from them, Carmeille appeared bored. “She’s Bermian. If they’re not looking down on someone, they die.” Lereth choked on his water, and Aleaneo thwapped his back.

Spectators jostled at the balcony with hushed excitement as Kade and Dalia took position. Dalia winked at the Highalian prince and drew her spear. From beyond the trees came the sound of rushing water, and Dalia swung her spear as it burst from the woods. It arched across the courtyard to collide with Kade’s sword and flames, sending a cloud of steam to the sky.

Aleaneo froze. The flames vanished, and Kade stood still as a statue, not a hair out of place, not even his tunic mussed, with his flameless sword tucked behind his leg as if nothing had happened.

Dalia, however, stood speckled with water drops that sparkled in the sun. She smiled as she drew back her spear, and another cascade of water poured from the creek beyond the tree line to crash into Kade, again to be split by his burning sword. They came faster with each swing of Dalia’s spear. One, two, three. Aleaneo lost count. Enough water to fill Cassel Lake’s parched hollow. Dalia’s movements blended so smoothly that Aleaneo couldn’t tell where one attack ended and another began, and still the water kept coming. Kade, too, did not slow. He was ready for each crash of water before it ever reached him, and he looked for each subsequent attack, watching Dalia’s movements to predict from which direction the next wave would arrive. He wasted no effort; every deflection was precise. By the time Dalia ceased her attack, Kade stood surrounded by clouds of steam.

Aleaneo loosened her grip on her swords as he met her gaze across the yard. It was the gap Dalia needed. She leapt at Kade, her spear crashing into his sword as the creek water sank into the cobblestones. Dalia was fast, and her attacks defied everything Aleaneo had ever seen. A swing from the left suddenly changed course and turned to an attack from the right; her raised spear deflected into the ground and launched her leg into her Kade’s chest; she turned her back to Kade—exposing herself—only to spin clear of his strike.

Springing off the wall behind Kade, Dalia thrust down her spear and tumbled to the cobblestones as he bashed her aside, but she reclaimed her weapon as Kade loomed over, bringing it up to collide with his sword. He was fast, too, and Dalia stumbled back, summoning a string of water that had not yet soaked into the yard to coat her spear in a thick layer of ice. When Kade’s scimitar struck, steam hissed through the courtyard and shards of ice scattered across the ground, but the ice soon sizzled away and Kade landed a crushing blow, pushing Dalia’s spear aside as she fell to her knee.

The islander laughed as Kade quickly extinguished his sword and grabbed her arm to hoist her up. Thick steam clogged the yard and, as Kade and Dalia returned their weapons to the rack, Aleaneo watched it rise from Kade’s shoulders. Above, the ambassadors and royal dignitaries whispered and nodded, a few pointing or offering faint applause.

Aleaneo scowled. Across the yard, Carmeille inspected the weapon rack disapprovingly.

“What of you, priestess?” Dalia asked, between chugs from a water skin. “No weapon worth your favor?”

Carmeille clasped her hands rigidly behind her back. “There is a long spear.”

“A spear?” Dalia smirked at Kade, who returned her cheek with a disapproving glare. “How curious.”

“There are no warriors more skilled with the spear than the Bermians.” Carmeille lifted one from the rack that stretched far past her head.

Dalia sneered. “Remind me whose kingdom is named for it again?”

The mannequins had been removed from the yard, but one remained near the far corner. With one arm, Carmeille raised the spear and met Dalia’s gaze. She drew it across her body, nearly sweeping the entire yard, and swung. The mannequin’s head toppled to the ground. Chin high, Carmeille turned to Dalia, who rocked her head side to side.

“A bit slow.”

“Speed is nothing without power,” Carmeille rested the spear against the ground, the tip glimmering in the sun.

“It’s all that armor,” Dalia gestured to Carmeille’s imposing outfitting, thick golden steel engraved with elaborate, geometric designs. “Not exactly flexible.”

“And you wear nothing,” Carmeille tipped the spearhead toward Dalia’s leather gear. “One hit and you’re down.”

“If you can hit me,” Dalia corrected her.

Carmeille took a step toward Dalia, and Aleaneo quickly cut in front of her.

“Me!” Aleaneo half shouted, drawing the attention of the crowds, “—priestess. Let’s see how the riverlords fare.”

Carmeille seemed caught off guard and regarded Aleaneo with curiosity, her icy blue eyes giving Aleaneo a cool once-over. Rarely did Aleaneo need to look up—only for her brother and father—but Carmeille was taller than them and, clad in her gilded armor, loomed over Aleaneo in every way. Every piece of her was sharp, from her hands to her neck to her eyes, and Aleaneo motioned to the yard with a forced smile. Carmeille retained her spear, confirmed that Dalia could see, and waited on the yard as Aleaneo retrieved a set of dual blades from the rack that, like hers, could join in a single sheath. Above, the Bermian ambassadors gathered on the balcony, platinum hair gleaming in the sun. Aleaneo wondered how they didn’t singe like parchment. Even from a distance, their white robes blinded her.

The yard hushed as Aleaneo faced Carmeille. She didn’t know what to expect; the notion of a light Asyeri had always confused her. Earth, fire, even shadow: Aleaneo saw their potential plainly. And while she understood the significance of a light Asyeri from a symbolic standpoint, she could never figure out its usefulness as a weapon, except against ae’maa. After all, that was their ordained purpose—weapons of Dalran. Aleaneo readied; Carmeille charged.

With her height and strength, the priestess was a wall of power. As the head of her spear tore through the air, it ripped a burning white line and, when it crashed into the patio, sent sparks of light like daggers ricocheting across the cobblestones. But Aleaneo was quick. She was on the opposite side of the patio before Carmeille had even swung, a faint breeze settling as Aleaneo moved. A shard of light faded at Aleaneo’s feet as Carmeille took aim again. Aleaneo saw it now, how the air around Carmeille distorted, bleached by a sheen all around her. It pulsed, and when she charged again, Aleaneo deflected and flew up along the wall as Carmeille quickly pivoted. Her next swing nipped Aleaneo’s heels and Aleaneo arched through the air, carried by a gust, and landed far from Carmeille’s fury.

“You’re stiff, lioness,” Dalia mocked from the sidelines. Aleaneo shot her a bloodthirsty glare as Dalia rotated her shoulders in circles, grinning. “Loosen up or you’ll never catch her.”

“Focus, Al,” Aleaneo’s brother warned.

The air froze, shifted, then gusted. Rushes of wind blew through the yard and swooped up the stone walls to fluster the spectators. It flustered Carmeille, too, and Aleaneo took her chance. As the winds surged, Aleaneo drew up her blades and sent the swell crashing toward Carmeille, throwing her back against the wall with a loud clang. She aimed for Carmeille’s heavy footfalls. Each gust unsteadied Carmeille’s stride as Aleaneo’s curved blades sliced a deep scrape through Carmeille’s pristine breastplate. Carmeille drove her spear at Aleaneo’s neck and forced her to roll across the patio, her attacks quickening with each swing of her spear. Knees dusted with dirt, Aleaneo was soon gasping for breath, but Carmeille was relentless, and Aleaneo was soon covered with a sprinkling of tiny cuts from the cobblestones as she rolled across the patio, tumbling into the corner as Carmeille’s spear sank into the stone beside Aleaneo’s head.

“Yield,” Carmeille snarled.

Aleaneo’s focus snapped like a thread. The winds died in an instant and left the patio hot and sticky. Cold heat cracked at Aleaneo’s fingertips and the muscles in her arms tensed, and she eyed Carmeille’s steel armor as it flashed in the sunlight.

Carmeille frowned as her body suddenly wobbled in place and her grip on her spear slipped. The heat at Aleaneo’s fingers vanished and she took her chance. Aleaneo dipped her head and rammed her shoulder into Carmeille’s gut, tackling her to the ground. They crashed over each other and tumbled across the patio. Aleaneo collided with a tree and rolled over to see Carmeille squirming on the ground, pinned by her armor, as Dalia laughed. A soldier rushed forward and lifted Aleaneo from the brush while two others hoisted Carmeille from the patio, but Carmeille shoved them back, enraged.

“Did you do that?” Carmeille howled, blond hair strewn over her twisted face.

Dalia held up both hands defensively. “Do what?”

“Trip me!”

Dalia squinted. “From across the yard?”

“You iced the stone!” Carmeille accused her. “I felt my foot slip. Admit it!” They were all on their feet now, prepared for the inevitable, when a voice called down from the balcony.

“Saelra,” Melithe shoved past the ambassadors. “You are wanted by the scribes.”

Aleaneo passed her blades to one of her brother’s soldiers, “I’ll be there shortly.” Far above, Melithe gave Aleaneo a look, the kind she’d given her over the years when Aleaneo had lost her temper.

“Just when it was getting fun,” Silas smirked as Carmeille tore out of the yard. Aleaneo let out a shaky breath.

“I apologize for the interruption,” she said to the other Asyeri. “Feel free to return whenever you like.”

Carmeille was long gone by the time they left the yard, as were many ambassadors, and Lereth and his unit resumed their training. As Aleaneo led the Asyeri back inside the palace, she quelled the lightning snapping in her blood.

“I didn’t see any ice,” Kade followed slowly behind. “Not even frost.”

“Neither did I,” Silas replied, nonchalantly. “That’s not to say she didn’t melt it, steam it into the air or something.” Aleaneo hadn’t seen ice, either, but she wouldn’t put it past Dalia to tilt the scales against Carmeille.

“That’s not what happened,” Ingrid whispered, hidden beneath her curls and robes, and Aleaneo slowed to let Silas and Kade pull away as Dalia trailed lazily behind. Ingrid lowered her head and looked up at Aleaneo through furrowed brows.

“Dalia didn’t uproot Carmeille,” Ingrid said. “I did.”

Aleaneo stumbled and looked back to Ingrid. Her arms peaked out into the patchy sunlight and the skin of her fingertips appeared rough, almost green.

“You tripped her?” Aleaneo asked, bewildered. Ingrid nodded. “W-wh…How?”

“I moved the stones,” Ingrid explained, visibly ashamed. “The ones around her spearhead, but only a little.”

Aleaneo gasped. “You moved the stones?”

“Only a little,” Ingrid scrambled. “I barely split them, just enough for her spear to sink.” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Then why did you?” Aleaneo asked. Ingrid stopped on the walkway.

“I know what happens when people get angry.” There was something in her eyes that made the gold shine brighter, harsher, and Aleaneo didn’t ask if Ingrid was referring to herself or Carmeille.

“Ingrid,” Aleaneo cleared her throat, “do you like butternut squash?”

“You know,” Ingrid replied, the smile of her eyes returning, “it’s one of my favorites.”

“Good,” Aleaneo directed her inside. “I know they’re having it tonight. I could smell it from the yard. They should also have fig tarts.”

“I do love figs,” Ingrid agreed happily as they made their way inside.

“The trees in our groves are offspring of the first plants your great-great-grandfather sent to my great-great-uncle,” Aleaneo added.

“I remember,” Ingrid’s cheeks pushed up against her face. She was a kind girl, Aleaneo thought, too kind for what had to come.

#

Aleaneo was to dine alone with the Asyeri, her parents’ method to encourage comradery, or at least tolerance, among them. Aleaneo didn’t argue, and instead let her feet lead her to the smell of musty parchment. She wove her way through the library, trailing her fingers along artfully carved tables and chairs, until she came to the first towering shelf. Tall, leatherbound tomes lined the shelves and she stood back to scan them all, balancing on her toes as she hoisted herself up.

Her arm spasmed and she thumped down, hand gripped tightly around her throbbing shoulder. Aleaneo slipped her fingers beneath her tunic and felt the ridge that slashed down the length of her shoulder. It stung like a dozen wasps.

“You shouldn’t stretch it.”

Aleaneo sucked in a breath as she turned to confront the intruder and was met by the fire prince’s confusion.

“If an old injury stops you that aggressively,” Kade pointed to her shoulder, “you shouldn’t stretch it. You’ll only worsen the damage, no matter how old the scar.”

The burn in Aleaneo’s throat overtook the burn in her shoulder.

“I didn’t realize Highalian princes were trained in medicine.” She turned back to the shelf and tried to slow her breath.

“I don’t need training to spot an injury,” Kade stood awkwardly in the center of the room.

Aleaneo righted herself and faced him. “And I don’t need your advice.”

Her shoulder groaned its disapproval as she lifted a hand. Her tunic fluttered as she rolled her fingers and the book slowly tilted forward and landed in her hands with a satisfying plop. Aleaneo took a seat at the desk and pulled a fresh inkwell within reach. “Feel free to explore the library,” Aleaneo dipped a quill. “There’s a chair by the—”

Kade’s face appeared beside hers and Aleaneo recoiled as he eyed the record she’d thrown open.

“They have you recording harvest distributions?” He squinted at her scribbled handwriting. “And rationing? Isn’t there someone else to do this?” Aleaneo’s quill froze before slashing out a barley count.

“My mother is otherwise occupied,” she informed him, “and I often help her with the monthly calculations. I’m familiar with the regulations.”

“The queen approves supply orders?” Kade’s brow arched.

“When needed,” Aleaneo replied. “Does Highan not have a queen?” she asked, knowing the answer full well.

“My mother is regent until my eldest brother marries, but my brothers and I are well equipped at managing matters of state.”

“You must forgive us, Fifth Prince,” she gave a tight grin, “but Yylari is not fortunate to have been blessed with as many heirs as you. We cannot spread our work as thinly as you are able to.”

Kade didn’t reply and instead explored the area around her desk, plucking books from the shelves, examining small trinkets, and thunking his boots across the rug.

“You certainly like your ceilings.” He stood at the center of the rug, neck craned up to stare.

“What makes you say that?” Aleaneo asked as warm light fell through the glass panels to land on the papers.

“The banquet hall, council chamber,” Kade rattled off. “Even my rooms. Every single one.” He circled his finger at the ceiling.

“Don’t you know what they called the Olerim, Fifth Prince?” Aleaneo replied and directed his attention above, far beyond the ceiling to the clear, blue expanse. “Skykeepers.”

Kade raised a brow. Aleaneo begrudgingly put down her quill and disappeared behind a shelf, returning a moment later to drop a large book onto the corner of her desk.

“Here,” she spun it to face him. Kade took two steps forward and half regarded the book as she flipped open a page. “I assume your Majis taught you something about the Olerim, since they were the ones who foretold the Asyeri.”

He pursed his lips. “Of course.”

She sighed. “The Olerim explored all of Dalran, but settled in the plains because they loved the skies, and it was there they heard the whispers of the prophecy.”

“Everyone knows the story,” Kade flipped a page. “Arigel has always been proud to claim to be the prophecy’s source.” She made to close the book, but caught his fingers inside. “I’m listening,” he insisted.

“There,” Aleaneo pointed to the large picture on the center of the page, a smooth circle quartered by two slender lines. “The four natural asyeri,” she placed a finger on each quarter, “earth, water, air, and fire, of which the visible world around us is constructed, were first put to page by the Olerim. The others—”

“Light and shadow,” he interrupted. “Yes, I’m familiar with the Seal.”

Aleaneo stifled the heat in her chest. “The Olerim believed these two asyeri to be stronger than all others because they connected to the nonphysical world.” Aleaneo pointed to the ceiling. “Do you see it?” Kade’s head spun slightly as he looked.

“Four panels,” he nodded.

She took a seat in her chair and reallocated two-hundred bushels of barley to the outer defenses. Less than she expected, but as much as they could spare given the recent orders from Highan and Bermia.

“The sun,” Aleaneo gestured to the great, four-pointed star at the center of the ceiling, “is born from fire, fuels growth, warms the waters, and controls the winds, but shadow represents a universal truth, that everything is temporary.”

“The border,” Kade noted, tracing with his eyes the thick wooden beam that circled the room. “Clever.”

“Don’t you have ceilings in Highan?” Aleaneo asked. She didn’t expect his response.

“Highalians live in tents,” Kade smirked. “Obviously.”

Aleaneo swallowed a laugh, “So you do hold to the old ways.”

“We’re all still nomads at heart,” he shrugged and left the book at last, “but most of the palace in Jarov-sal is open. You’d like it.”

Her quill froze, as did he.

“Would I?” Aleaneo asked.

Kade hesitated. “I think so.”

Aleaneo flipped through a stack of harvest reports as he lurked beyond the desk.

“I haven’t been to Jarov-sal since I was young,” she noted, and realized she’d missed two letters flipping back a page. “Only once.”

Kade replaced the book he’d extracted from a high shelf. “I always thought it strange you didn’t visit again, Highan being so close.”

“It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Aleaneo replied, gripping the quill so tightly in her hand she felt the grains fracture. “Travel is hard.”

“I traveled to Pandrylia twice before the Burn spread into the valley,” Kade proclaimed, “and just as many times to Spear. The valley roads were cut, but the Burn hasn’t spread to the Kaelkyr Hills.”

“We tried several times to arrange another visit,” Aleaneo explained, and focused her rage on the corner of the page, singeing the edge with tiny white sparks. “Vargr packs, my brother’s health, changes on the Highalian fronts. Each time was harder, but we never stopped sending resources.”

“And we’re grateful,” he lowered his eyes, and Aleaneo was finally convinced he would leave her in peace. “I can see why the supply trails were never cut. The Kaelkyr Hills are untouched.”

Her hand froze. A surge crawled down her arms, through her spine and ribs, and snapped at her fingertips as she clenched her fist beneath the desk. Aleaneo put down the quill. “Did you miss the burned villages littering the plains?”

The Highalian stumbled, “I only meant that eight or nine villages is far less destruction than the chaos of the western front.”

Aleaneo looked up through narrowed eyes. “Only eight or nine.”

He raised a hand in defense, “That’s not what I—if you had seen the western front, you would understand. It doesn’t compare.”

“We’re comparing lives now?” Aleaneo laughed as snaps of lightning rushed her veins. “I wonder what else we could compare.” She pulled forward the ledger and began to read. “Three thousand head of cattle, four thousand sheep, two thousand goats. Two thousand stone of produce. A quarter million bushels of wheat, plus ten thousand bags of flour. That’s just the last five months. Should we look at the winter provisions?”

The Highalian pursed his lips. “I am not going to debate the hardships of war with someone who has seen so little of them.”

Aleaneo’s nails dug into the desk, leaving tiny crescent moons as she rose from her chair. “Do not,” Aleaneo growled through gritted teeth, “accuse my people of being strangers to war. You may know the burn of the western front, but you know nothing of the terror of being exposed on all sides, vulnerable to attack from anywhere at any time, to have the openness you so cherish turned into a relentless grating threat, so do not talk of hardship, when it is our fields that keep you from starving.”

Aleaneo returned to her seat and pulled forward the ledger, but the Highalian prince didn’t leave. Instead, the pages of her ledger crumpled and curled as a flare of heat rolled toward her.

“You’ve never seen the front,” the prince growled, fixing his amber eyes on her. Aleaneo gripped her chair as the Highalian’s polite reserve melted away. He stepped closer to her desk, and the growing heat moved with him. “Do you know what it looks like when a thousand roga gather in the same place? The smoke darkens the sky, and you can’t breathe without choking on your own vomit. If you lose your turso mask, you’re done. One breath and your body turns against you. I’ve seen soldiers so desperate for breath they’ve ripped out their own throats.”

A vase of kaelkyr grass sat at the edge of the desk. Aleaneo watched as the feathered heads shriveled and curled to nothingness in the fire prince’s wake. The char filled her lungs and sent snaps of lightning crackling along her veins. Under the desk, a flash of lightning snapped against the wood.

Kade’s shoulders hitched. His chest heaved and he hastily slapped a hand over his mouth as he coughed, turning his face from a confused Aleaneo. The last she saw of him was his crimson cloak as it vanished through the doors with a slam, leaving Aleaneo panting at the desk. In the sudden silence of the massive room, she was left with only her own rapid breath and, when it finally settled, Aleaneo slowly peeled her fingers from the chair. Underneath, they left shadows of her hands on the wood that spread from the palms like spiderwebs. On the other side of the desk, small twirls of smoke curled to the ceiling from the fire prince’s footprints.

#

Kade stomped down the hall and, each time he passed a gaping window, breathed in the burning heat of the sun as his blood pounded. Selfish, spoiled, ignorant child. She had no idea what hardships his people suffered and still had the arrogance to sit in her immaculate city at her immaculate desk and lecture him on sacrifice. Compared to the western front, her precious plains were untouched, free from the putrid stench of roga smoke and constant grind of vargr howls. Once they’d left the desert, Kade’s caravan had seen barely a plume a day in the plains.

As if farming in the protected Kaelkyr was equal to the slaughter his soldiers faced. Kade swallowed the surge of heat pounding in his chest and hurled himself around a corner, scattering a cluster of Arigelian servants. One dropped a basket filled with squash, and they rolled across the hall under Kade’s feet as he stumbled against the wall and cursed. Everywhere he looked in the Arigelian palace, Kade was bombarded with baskets of bread, bowls of fresh fruit, and platters of frivolous bites. His teeth ground as the heat in his chest licked his throat. He slammed open the nearest door and escaped into the sun. Unlike the calming halls of the previous night, each step sent Kade’s breath racing, and each breath fed the growing fire in his gut until tiny flames spat from his nostrils.

The stable hand mucking out his horse’s stall didn’t see him approach, but her flustered shouts quickly faded as Kade barreled through the courtyard and into the open hills. Clouds of dust billowed behind him as Kiris tore through the flowing grasses, and Kade buried his hands in his mane and urged him on. In the distance, the first of Arigelsi’s outer walls rose into the crisp blue sky and Kiris thundered to a halt just beyond its shadow. Far from watchful eyes, Kade finally opened his mouth and let the heat pour over his lips like a waterfall as Kiris shifted anxiously beneath him.

All around, the untouched Arigelian fields flowed peacefully in the gentle winds. Silent, calm, tranquil. No thick plumes choked the sun, no vargr shrieks rattled his bones, no soldiers’ screams pierced his skull. Kade howled through his teeth, some part of him still clinging onto a semblance of control, but Kiris had had enough. The horse danced under Kade, hopped and kicked, and threw him to the dirt before taking off across the fields. Kade swatted the tall grasses from his face as he crawled to his feet and watched Kiris’ black tail vanish toward the city.

Alone in the field, the silence surrounded Kade and amplified the desperate heaving of his breath. He clamped his mouth shut, but flames spat from his nose and he gripped his hands until his knuckles burned white. In the distance, a cluster of small black dots inched along a field—a herd of fluffy daelkas grazing lazily alongside a clear pond. Kade’s people couldn’t even trap hare anymore. The fire in his chest wouldn’t be swallowed any longer. Kade squeezed his eyes shut and howled.

When the fire in his stomach finally settled, Kade uncurled his fists and stood empty in the field. The pressure in his head was gone, but the ache in his chest remained. This helped nothing. He should be preparing to leave, consulting with the scribes, sitting with his mother, but for the first time since he’d arrived in Arigelsi, Kade was free from staring eyes. He knew he was alone, and only when he was alone did the isolation feel like a comfort. It was selfish, but Kade allowed himself a few moments more before he opened his eyes to begin the long walk back to Arigelsi. When his eyes opened, the dwindling flames in his stomach died with a gasp.

A black circle of charred grass surrounded Kade, from his dusty boots far past the ends of his fingertips. Every grass shoot shriveled and curled in on itself, and tiny threads of smoke drifted past his soot-flaked fingers. Not far from his reach, a cluster of wildflowers crumbled to ash in the wind, and he followed their trail across the blackened stretch of field that extended from Kade’s body toward Arigelsi. Kade stumbled and froze at the characteristic crunch of scorched earth under his boot. He sprinted toward the city.

Kade hated running. Halfway to the city, he shuffled to a wheezing halt and tried to regain a sliver of his composure before he dragged himself up the palace steps. By the time he finally passed through the great atrium doors, the sun had dipped low in the afternoon sky and the palace halls were mercifully unoccupied. His rooms, however, were not.

“Ka-nahiral!” shouted Musin. The Majis snapped his tiny hand fan shut and waved it irately at Kade. “You burned a field? Think of the drought! What if the fire had spread?”

“Come now, brother,” Hanif hushed the impassioned man. Kade sheepishly approached the Majis. “We cannot insist on restraint to the ka-nahiral and not practice it ourselves. Besides,” Hanif turned his disparaging eyes on Kade, “I’m sure he considers the weight of his every action.”

“He was seen by Arigelian farmers burning an Arigelian field,” Musin fanned his glistening forehead aggressively. “Think of the repercussions. They could withhold supplies.”

“We don’t need them,” Kade growled, thinking of the massive tome from which Aleaneo had read.

The Majis turned on him. “Foolish boy,” Musin wagged a bony finger. “Your pride speaks for you. A nahiral speaks for himself.”

I’m not a nahiral, Kade glowered.

“You must control your emotions,” Hanif expounded, and loomed over Kade just as he had since Kade was a child. “If you allow them to take control, then you place a destructive force unlike anything this world has ever known at the whim of childish greed and frustration.”

“Were our many lessons for nothing?” Musin’s whiskers danced as he huffed. “Your brothers would know better.” Kade flinched.

“Enough.”

Kade’s mother stood at the door, her silk scarf catching the faint light of the dying sun to wrap her face in gold. Behind its folds, her dark eyes glared.

“Forgive me, leh nahiras,” Musin struggled to his feet and bowed. “I allowed my passion to take hold.”

“Something you just finished chastising my son for,” Kade’s mother noted coolly. The old Majis raised a hand, but closed his mouth without objecting.

“I did not realize you had returned from your prayers, leh nahiras,” Hanif approached her. “If I had known, I would have sent an escort for you.”

“No need,” Kade’s mother replied. “Abas was kind enough to join me.” The eldest Majis stood near the door, his cane clasped gently in his knobby hands, and gave a small smile. “He said he had something to share with my son,” Kade’s mother added. “Shall we give them the room?” She motioned to the door to the Majis’ quarters and waited for Hanif to bow and leave, followed closely by Musin, who bowed repeatedly, before she placed a gentle hand on Kade’s cheek and quietly closed the door. Kade tipped his head to his mother’s touch and breathed the calming scent of orchids.

Old Abas hobbled his way to the sofa and eased himself into the cushions with a long sigh. He leaned his cane against the arm, folded his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes.

“That Niris of yours is a fine colt,” he muttered, sinking comfortably into the pillows.

Kade grumbled, “A little lacking in loyalty…”

“It’s not every mount that will run amongst the wildfire.” Abas peeked open his gray eye to smirk at Kade, who sat beside him with a huff. In the fading light of the setting sun, Kade spotted the flakes of ash and soot on his fingers and began to furiously rub them away. “This is not an evaluation,” Abas assured him.

“Everything is an evaluation,” Kade glowered.

“Not today,” Abas insisted. “Today, I only wish to know how you are feeling.”

Kade scoffed and toed the pile of ash on the rug with his boot, “The same as always. Like I shouldn’t be here.”

“Here?” the old Majis prodded.

“Here!” Kade threw up his hands. “At this council. In this war. In this house.”

Abas frowned, “Ka-nahiral.”

“Exactly,” Kade jabbed. Already the embers in his gut grumbled to life. “Fifth prince. It would have been far better if Khalan were in my place, or Aahran, or even Talyn.”

“Not the dal-nahiral?” Abas’s thin lips pulled into a tight smile.

Kade shook his head. “Rekyn is insufferable enough.”

Abas chuckled, then turned his old eyes to Kade. “You still doubt your own worthiness, though all the world tells you that you are. But it is not for them to decide. Forget the council and the nobles. Forget the old men. They do not assign worth. That comes from you.”

Kade ran his tattered thumbnail under his fingernail and scrapped the last bit of ash to the floor. Abas’s old cane rested against the small table, the wood so worn by use and age that his hands had formed a valley in the grain.

“What are you afraid of?” Abas asked.

Kade looked out the window toward the setting sun. “That I’ll burn it all down.”

“What else?” Abas pressed.

Kade’s breath shook as he closed his eyes. “That I won’t.”

For all his anger and frustration, Kade had mastered submission. It had been drilled into him since he could walk. It was the only way to control a power that could be their salvation or their destruction. But as the years dwindled, and the day of their departure approached, Kade woke with terror in the middle of the night to a new fear: that when the time came, when Kade stood before the Traitor to seek justice for a quarter century of slaughter, he would fail. That years of forced restraint would render him useless.

“Then you will not have failed,” Abas said. “We will have failed you.” He wrapped his bony hand around his cane and hoisted himself from the cushions, standing for a moment to stretch his hunched back before he slowly and sturdily made for the door. As he passed, he laid his leathery hand on Kade’s head and gave a steady nod. The sun had finally made its way to the horizon, and Kade lifted his head to the warmth as the beams seeped into the dark room. At the door, Abas looked over his shoulder.

“It was empty,” the old man said. Kade turned from the sunlight, his brows pinched in confusion as Abas met his gaze across the room. “The field. It wasn’t sown this season. All you burned were grass and weeds. Even in your frustration, your instinct is to protect.”

The door closed behind Abas with a soft click. In the silence of the empty room, Kade’s breath finally slowed, and he let his hands fall limp in his lap. Under the glow of the setting sun, the fields stretched toward the outer walls like waves, and tiny specks strolled row by row to pick the last of the day’s harvest before they lost the light. Abas had been the first Majis Kade had ever met, and after the death of his father Kade had leaned on the elder more and more. He was the only Majis Kade trusted to tell him the truth. No doubt countless Highalian nobles held their breath waiting for the elderly man to breathe his last and open a seat on the exclusive council, but Abas seemed determined to see the end of the war. Kade hoped he did.

Dinner was only hours away and Kade dreaded the coming confrontation, but there was still time. He gently dumped a trio of plums from a bowl on the table, grabbed a small hairbrush from the nearby vanity, and set to cleaning the tiny pile of ash from the rug.

#

A knock rattled the door and Kade startled awake. He’d half drawn the curtains of his room before collapsing on the bed and a single beam of light from the setting sun stretched over his legs, but for a moment Kade had imagined thick, black shadows looming across the room like bars. He scrambled to his feet.

“Yes,” he rubbed his dry eyes. “Yes, what is it?”

A Highalian soldier stepped into the room. “The Asyeri are gathered, ka-nahiral.”

“Shit,” Kade pressed his hand to his face. The dinner.

“They are only just gathered, ka-nahiral,” the soldier added kindly.

“Right,” Kade nodded. “Thank you.”

Kade retrieved his scimitar from the foot of the bed, gave a quick glance in the mirror, noted his wrinkled tunic and blotched face, and left the bedroom and its nightmare behind. The walk to the private dining room was too short, and Kade arrived still half asleep.

“About time you showed,” Dalia grinned from the table, wine in hand. “We were about to send a search party.”

“I’m sure he was sleeping,” Silas gave Kade a sidelong glance. He extended three fingers upward at the back of his head. “Your hair’s a bit…”

“Enough,” Kade slumped into the seat between Dalia, and Ingrid and cradled his throbbing head.

Silas leaned forward and tapped his finger to his lips. “Is that your favorite word?”

Kade slammed the table and glared at Silas.

Silas smiled beneath his dark curls. “Should’ve let you sleep.”

“Have you had any trouble preparing the Olerim maps, Aleaneo?” Ingrid asked loudly. Kade gave her a grateful smile, which she returned.

“Working with relics is time consuming,” Aleaneo replied, “but the scribes will have several copies ready for our departure. Even the original maps are still useable. Traea Horizon-Seeker was practical.”

“I always loved looking through old records,” Ingrid offered cheerfully, “especially my mother’s harvest journals. She kept track of every growth season. It’s satisfying to see the progress over so many years.”

Three servers came forward and placed platters of fresh fruit and bread on the table before returning to their places along the wall. One placed a hand on Aleaneo’s chairback to fill her glass and Carmeille turned to stare incredulously at him.

“Is something the matter, Princess?” Aleaneo asked as Carmeille followed the server with a disapproving glare.

“I find Arigelian customs unique,” the Bermian replied.

“Unique?” Kade placed his hand over his cup as a servant reached to fill it with wine.

“The palace in Bermia City is a world in itself,” Carmeille declared proudly. “Our staff are exceptionally well trained, and are members of families that have served for centuries. They hold a truly steadfast devotion.”

“Charming.” Silas rolled his head against the back of his chair.

Carmeille glowered. “Our staff are elated to attend the house of Atarah. They campaign for the honor and train their children from infancy in the royal ways. It’s all they dream of.”

“You think raising them with no other option is the reason for such devotion?” Dalia interjected, twirling a fingertip around the top of her cup.

“They have many options for employment,” Carmeille corrected her, “but serving the royal house is a privilege, and they live well. It’s a far better life than can be found in the slums.”

“I was under the impression the Bermia City slums had been rebuilt,” Aleaneo made a point of meeting Carmeille’s piercing blue eyes. “The proposal was finalized in your last council sessions, wasn’t it? Your yearly report said so.”

Carmeille stared blankly. “It’s an ongoing process.”

“Sorry,” Silas pointed his spoon at Carmeille. “I’m a bit confused. Are they servants or slaves?”

The air in the hall froze, and Carmeille stared at Silas with a volatile combination of horror, shock, and disgust.

“Slaves?” she spat the word. “They are not slaves.”

“An honest mistake,” Silas reclined in his chair and twirled his spoon between his fingers. “The families are sworn to loyalty, raise their children from birth for a single purpose, and hold no dreams of a different life. Sounds like enslavement.”

“They are not slaves,” Carmeille repeated, more forcefully.

“Now, the Arigelians,” Silas directed his spoon toward Aleaneo, fork half in her mouth. “Most of their staff is made of refugees and orphans, am I right?” Aleaneo nodded stiffly. “A hodge-podge collection if I’m not mistaken. Like your handmaiden.”

Aleaneo’s fork clattered against her plate, and Kade secretly hoped Silas would choke on a grape.

“Her family was killed in the first wave of the Unraveling,” Silas went on, unaware that Aleaneo’s eyes now swept to the back wall where Melithe stood, traumatized. “Your family took her in and you were raised as kin. She stays out of affection, not just survival.”

Kade’s breath rattled in his ears. No one had mentioned a word about her handmaiden and, based on Aleaneo’s reaction, it was likely no one ever did.

“Now that,” Silas took a bite from his roast and chewed through his words, “doesn’t sound like slavery to me. That sounds like loyalty. Not whatever you were just preaching about.”

“They are not slaves,” Carmeille asserted, her eyes burning into Silas as he moved a limp asparagus spear around his plate.

“Don’t be so defensive,” Dalia dismissed her. “Everyone knows Bermia employed slavery well into the current age. Most believe you still do. The only thing that confuses me is how you legitimize it within your religious standards.”

Carmeille slammed both hands into the table, making every glass, platter, and bowl shake. “They are not slaves!” she proclaimed, eyes blazing. Even from his seat, the sheen around her eyes forced Kade to look away.

“I’d be interested to hear that reasoning,” Kade mumbled. Carmeille’s head snapped toward him and he momentarily questioned his sanity. “From a theological standpoint. Ayeeran worship in Highan is quite different from Bermia.”

“How regrettable that another royal house has strayed,” Carmeille straightened her chair and retook her seat. A flourish of heat licked Kade’s fingers.

“It’s always confused me,” Dalia interjected as her cup swayed between her fingers. “All these different worships of Ayeerah. Why complicate things unnecessarily?”

“Says the one with a hundred gods,” Carmeille sneered.

“Of which one is your Ayeerah,” Dalia replied smugly. “We share one thing, at least.”

“We share nothing with you,” Carmeille snarled.

“Still haven’t gotten an explanation,” Silas muttered into his drink, causing Carmeille’s chest to swell, her ears red with rage.

“Enough, Silas,” Kade growled under his breath. Silas shot him an amused look.

“I wouldn’t expect a Nah’ian to comprehend true faith,” Carmeille glowered at Silas. “That heathenism you people practice is an afront to Ayeerah. That you should defile his name is reprehensible.”

“Really?” Silas placed his hand delicately on his chest. “Do tell.”

“Light came to the world, but the people loved the darkness for it hid their evils,” Carmeille recited. “They fled from the light, but those who were pure sought it out. Those who can be seen are not afraid to be seen for they have nothing to hide. The light sets them free.”

Silas sat patiently while Carmeille preached and, when she had finished, slowly raised his hands, rolled back the laced sleeves of his brocade jacket, and held them out above the table. He drew them out and brought them together with a loud clap, again and again. “Bravo,” he declared. “Your superiors would be pleased. I don’t think you missed a single verse.” He suddenly leaned forward in his chair, abruptly closing the distance between him and Carmeille to only a few breaths, and she quickly angled herself away. “But you know, in my book it’s a bit different. Do you want to know what it says?”

Carmeille’s face pinched with disgust and something almost resembling fear, and Kade had no doubt that what appeared before her now was more terrifying than any of the Vysarian’s creatures.

Kade’s chair suddenly jumped beneath him, fractionally, but noticeably. The others felt it, too, and their expressions shifted from annoyance to suspicion as they looked around the room. Kade glared at Silas.

“It wasn’t me,” Silas insisted. Ingrid vigorously shook her head when they turned on her and instead rose from her chair to look out the far window.

“It came from the west,” she said.

Kade pushed back his chair and went to the window, leaning out where the cool wind whispered through the shadows. In the evening dusk, the sun’s warm rays vanished far beyond the earth and left the horizon gray and cold. All was quiet and calm, and with a few blinks Kade saw the leaves on the wispy trees and the faint outline of clouds overhead, but a soft glow burned in the corner of his eye, red and angry.

“There,” he pointed to the far edge of the city. Aleaneo appeared beside him as the others rose, her face inches from his as her eyes grew wide.

“No.”

Aleaneo disappeared through the doors. For a moment, the remaining Asyeri stood dumb in the dining room, but Carmeille was the first to sprint after Aleaneo. As they raced through the palace halls, the sounds of an attack leaked through the windows—screams, shatters, rumbling and shouts. Each window they passed grew brighter with an angry red light, and the chaos intensified with each step. Aleaneo wasn’t far ahead, her hair swinging behind her as she slid around corners and wove through fleeing servants. She stopped a few times, shared frantic words, and directed them to the eastern halls of the palace. Her handmaiden Melithe was among them. Kade hadn’t even seen the servant leave the dining room. The splattered dining knife clutched in the girl’s hand dripped thick black liquid that singed the stone floor. Aleaneo forced her to drop it and sent her away with the crowd.

By the time Kade and the others caught up with Aleaneo, Kade was heaving desperate breaths and had begun to lag as the others rushed out the palace doors and into the city streets. As he stepped out the doors, Kade’s heart pounded with the first whiff of ash. Flames flashed atop the western wall and lit the cityscape with blazes of orange and red as clouds of inky smoke billowed from windows. People poured into the streets. Kade spotted Aleaneo at the center of the square, her twin blades gripped in each hand. Kade rushed forward and dragged his blackened hand through the air. With each step the fires subsided and the flames hissed to smoke, half sizzling away into darkness, but he wouldn’t waste the rest. Each flickering tail Kade absorbed set his blood surging, his heart burning, until fire pulsed red through the veins in his arms. As the last of the flames sank into his skin, the creatures finally emerged.

Kade heard them before he saw them. Yipping, howling, growling. They crept over the wall, leg after leg after leg, as sizzling venom dripped from their rows of fangs. One after another crawled into view. Their spiked tails swished along the rubble as they searched for fresh prey. With its patchy hides of matted fur and singed flesh, the vargr pack was as quick to lash out at each other as a fleeing citizen. Kade remembered the first time he’d seen one, rotted and prowling along the outer walls of Jarov-sal, like a decomposed wolf with half a man in its needle teeth. The one that drew near Kade now had nothing in its jaws and was eager to fill them.

It lunged at Kade and shredded his cloak. Kade ripped the fabric free and threw it over the creature, blinding it long enough to drive his scimitar through its back. It howled and flopped beneath the red cloak until its rancid black blood burned clean through. Kade ripped his blade free and slashed through the neck of another, but its matted paw swept across his chest and tossed him to the dirt. His blade clattered away and landed just beyond his reach. Kade grabbed a chunk of loose stone and engulfed it in flames before whipping it at a vargr’s head with a loud crack.

Dalia flew into view as the curved blade of her spear split a vargr from nose to tail, and she landed at the center of the square with a satisfied smile as two more turned on her. She drew back her fist and threw it into the creature’s face with a loud crunch. The ice block around her hand barely cracked and, when she swung her arm again, she tossed another against a wall. The ice fell from her fist as she coated her blade with another thick layer and bashed in a vargr’s skull with one swing. Kade scooped up his sword and swung. The vargr snarled at him, baring all five rows of needlelike teeth, and Kade realized how enormous it was. Its six clawed legs dug into the dirt with each step as it circled him and waited for the rest of its pack to arrive. Kade faced the creature and tossed his scimitar to the dirt with a clang. The vargr snarled, lips pulled tight, and it began its approach.

The silence unnerved him, how such massive claws could pad through rubble and flesh without a sound, the only signal of its approach the metered hiss of venom dripping to the ground. Kade flexed his toes as the vargr flexed its muscular legs. When it leapt across the rubble, claws curved toward Kade’s throat, it landed squarely on Kade’s hand and a blade made of searing flames.

Its weight crushed him, and Kade drove the flaming blade deeper as the vargr’s snout loomed inches from his face. A stream of venom dripped down his ear as Kade buried his fist in its gut and, with the snap of its spine, dug his fingers into its matted fur and threw it aside. A half dozen vargr corpses lay hissing and spitting in the dirt, the rotten hides decomposing to piles of twitching tendons. Kade found his cloak and tore a strip to wipe the venom from his face. While he only scarred, his soldiers suffered infection and flesh rot.

“Kade!” Dalia called. Her spear dripped black from tip to grip, and fresh blisters sprouted along her skin, but she slapped his back hard. “Little runt didn’t see that coming, did he?”

Kade dug his scimitar from the dirt and used the remnants of his cloak to wipe the blade clean. The others were nearby, some bloodied and others shaken, but Kade startled when he saw Silas. His eyes were white as ash from corner to corner.

“Eerie, isn’t it?” Silas smiled as his eyes slowly faded to dark irises. “Gave her quite a scare.” Carmeille stood several feet back, head firmly turned.

“It’s fine,” Kade muttered as he passed the Bermian. “He’s done now.”

Carmeille tore into Silas as Kade walked away, but her shouts were soon overpowered by the growing wave of cries. A small crowd gathered at the far end of the square, arms wrapped around each other as they wailed, and Aleaneo knelt near the center of the crowd as an elderly woman wept in her arms. A man lay in the dirt, his neck and silver hair painted with blood and venom, alongside a small boy whose eyes were empty and still.

“Her husband,” Aleaneo mumbled when Kade approached, “and grandson.” When the woman was led away, Aleaneo’s dress was soaked with blood, though Kade didn’t know whose. “There are a dozen more.”

“I’m sorry,” Kade answered. He meant it. If there was one place he and the Arigelian princess could find common ground, this was it.

Aleaneo began to unlace her sleeves. Not rumors after all. Even as Aleaneo rolled back her blood-soaked sleeves to reveal a spattering of tiny brown feathers, Kade still doubted the rumors. The feathers that ran along her forearm were smaller than her thumb. She plucked two tiny plumes from her wrist, specks of blood dotting her skin like beads, and placed them in the hands of the man and boy. Kade wasn’t sure why, but it seemed oddly intimate, and he looked away.

Behind him, Silas wiped the venom from his cheek with his sleeve. “What is she doing?”

Aleaneo approached the outer wall and tightened the knife strapped to her leg.

“Where are you going?” Dalia called after her. “It’s pitch black—you’ll die!”

“I can reinforce the wall,” Ingrid offered, eyes wide with worry as she watched Aleaneo approach it. “It will last until morning. A patrol can be sent in daylight.”

“Arigelian!” Carmeille shouted, and Aleaneo stopped. “Don’t let your emotions blind you. We should inspect the defenses and seal the leak in the wall. Your duty is here.”

Carmeille braced herself against the sudden gust and barely avoided Aleaneo’s blade. It flashed in the light of the dying flames as Aleaneo turned on her, sparks cracking at her fingertips.

“My duty,” Aleaneo growled as snaps of lightning jumped up her arm, “is to them. And I will do for them what I have always done. Hunt.”

The courtyard flooded with light as the skies overhead flashed, and Kade clenched his mouth shut as the heat in his throat suddenly spat past his teeth. As far away as Aleaneo was, her eyes glowed in the shadows, and the planes of her face seemed sharper, harder. Kade’s knuckles cracked as he gripped his fists, feeling the flames surge at his fingertips as she disappeared beyond the wall in a torrent of wind. But in the moments before she vanished from sight, Kade swore Aleaneo’s feet left the ground.

Carmeille and Dalia shouted after her, but their voices were swallowed by the thunder. Instead, they did what they could to clean up. Ingrid reinforced the wall and cleared several toppled buildings, but as they carried away the debris, they found six more bodies. Ingrid and Silas remained in the square to help with the final repairs, but the others left not long before Kade. Drenched in sweat and covered in blood, Kade made his way back to the palace. His footsteps echoed on the polished palace floors as moonlight streamed through the open windows, tinted by the glow of torches in the square.

Kade had seen his fair share of death on the front, heard the cries of thousands of soldiers, but that wasn’t why his hands shook. Aleaneo’s eyes burned in his mind, yellow and sharp, and every few moments the sky outside cracked and branches of lightning tore across the distant clouds as the thin curtains snapped. Heat still surged at the back of Kade’s throat; he needed to sleep. He turned the corner and quickly retreated, spying the long shadows of two figures in the hall.

“You need to conserve your energy,” Carmeille’s voice sounded tired. “You waste too much on avoidance before you have the chance to attack. Your speed can help you, but not if you don’t have the strength to land a finishing blow.”

“Fair point,” Dalia responded. Silence. “The armor, it holds you back. You have power behind your swing, but you can’t redirect fast enough, especially against something as quick as a roga. Lose the shoulders, at least.”

Carmeille cleared her throat. “Goodnight.”

They parted, Carmeille down the hall and Dalia around the corner where Kade hid, but he hugged the wall and went unnoticed as Dalia’s back disappeared down the corridor. The sheen of her spear glistened in the faint torchlight as she vanished from sight and, as Kade cautiously stepped into the hall, he nearly slipped. The sash from Dalia’s spear had fallen as she passed, the vibrant blue fabric stained black with vargr blood.

Next Chapter: To be continued...