Chapter 1
Elettaria
The clang of metal upon metal rang throughout the courtyard, drowning out the sounds of laboured breathing that punctuated the air like a drum. Darting nimbly away, Elettaria twirled, tracing an arc through the air with her blade. Her sword met Argen’s, and she smiled. He might have brute force, but Elettaria’s strength was in practised, calculated strikes. The result of two and a half decades of training.
Whipping her sword over her shield, Elettaria slashed outwards, feet moving rhythmically as she pivoted. They danced, and she watched as Argen lost his stride.
“How long do you have,” he wheezed as Elettaria deflected another blow, “Now that he’s returned?”
The question was the barest inflexion of breath, yet the words hit Elettaria harder than any blow. She stilled, panic cold in her veins, and Argen used her hesitation to his advantage. It had only been a fraction of a second, but in battle, seconds bore the cost of life. Argen struck and the sound was thunder, his sword bearing down on hers like the blood orange sun.
Stumbling backwards, she blocked Argen’s next attack awkwardly, fighting to keep her arms steady. But she was too late. She had made a mistake, and Elettaria, more than any, could not afford to.
“Long enough to defeat you.” Her teeth clenched around the words as Elettaria’s muscles screamed. Argen was barely a hairsbreadth away. This close, she could see the sweat that lined his brow; the dark eyes that promised nothing but malice.
With a grunt, Argen pushed his sword harder against hers, and Elettaria’s arm began to visibly shake. Behind him, she could make out the blurred outline of the Legion, the soldiers whose respect was barely won. Steeling herself, she pulled her left arm back and rammed her shield into Argen’s own. He wavered and Elettaria took the chance, spinning to the side. Her plait flapped behind her as Argen followed, his blade roaring through the air, but Elettaria was on steadier footing now. Deflecting the crescendo of frantic blows, she locked away the pain that jarred down her blade and into her bones, honing her mind to a place where she was light as air, where her sword was an extension of herself. She knew Argen; he would tire. All she had to do was wait.
Time slowed and her body ached.
But then—she saw it. The next time their swords met, Elettaria winced, letting her sword fall to the side as she briefly let her pain run free. The low chuckle of a man who thought too much of himself reached through the air towards her, a smug smile flitting over his lips. Argen angled his arm lazily, wrapping it across his body in a manner that guaranteed vulnerability. Then, he swung hard and fast, a sinister promise woven in the movement.
The smile dropped as Elettaria dove to the ground, blade whistling over her like the late summer breeze. His arm flung wide, and Elettaria sprang upwards, using her momentum to land her boot squarely in the centre of his chest. Rage, the colour of blood, bloomed on Argen’s face as he realised his mistake. Hacking towards her he breathed hatred, but Elettaria was already twirling away, blade flying like her breath. Meeting his sword with her own, Argen faltered, his weight set too far back. With another spin, Elettaria kicked again, this time even harder. Pain lanced up her side as her strike sent Argen sprawling backwards into the dirt. Her sword licked his neck before his eyes found their way to hers.
Shouts and jeers from the surrounding legion glanced off the stone walls like sunlight on silver. Lowering her arm, Elettaria gave Argen an appraising look.
“Well, Argen, it seems I finally know the real reason for your insubordination.” Her voice was soft, blending with the gentle breeze that lifted tendrils of hair from where they had escaped her braid. “You cannot stand that I am the better warrior.”
Elettaria had insisted that when in training, all were on an equal footing. There would be no special treatment or singling out in her quadrant. But now, looking at the growing fury of Argen’s expression, she wondered just how wise a decision this had been. Footsteps broke through the quiet intensity, a hand clasping her shoulder from behind.
“Brilliant demonstration!” Geden declared loudly, squeezing her shoulder and causing it to groan in protest. Yet looking up into Geden’s smiling face, Elettaria felt her concerns begin to scatter.
While Geden certainly didn’t look like much of a soldier, with his floppy dark hair and matching umber eyes, Elettaria knew that behind his soft exterior was a warrior worthy of being her Second. Perhaps even worthy of being the First.
“Thank you.” She replied lightly, watching as Geden glanced behind her, his eyes hardening towards where she presumed Argen now stood.
“The bastard,” Geden mumbled.
“Indeed,” she muttered back. Turning, she held up a sunburnt hand to where the First Standing of the Second Army Legion stood. They fell silent.
“I earned the right to train you.” Her voice rang clear throughout the courtyard, over the scuff of boots on dirt and the quiver in her heart. “To imply otherwise is to question the judgement and authority of your King and Council. Equality on the battlefield does not equate to disrespect towards me, my station, or any of your comrades.” Her gaze surveyed the men and women present. “You challenged me once, and I decided to prove my substance”—her eyes flicked directly to Argen’s—“but if you challenge me again, I will not be so lenient.”
She watched as the men and women around her nodded, mixtures of conviction and disinterest marring their sweat-lined features. It would have to be enough. Smiling tightly, Elettaria turned back to Geden. She could smell the perspiration and leather that coated her. “There was a moment when I thought I had lost my stride,” she said quietly. Geden’s eyes were soft upon her.
“I saw.” The question of why hung silent between them. Combing the air for an answer, a heavy weight settled deep inside of her.
“He knows,” she muttered. “They all know that Aixen has returned.”
For a moment, Geden looked uncharacteristically serious, and Elettaria felt something inside of her knot itself tighter. But then he smiled once more and shook his head.
“That means nothing... Anything else being said is just baseless rumours.”
Baseless. The word echoed inside of her. As Geden searched her face, his hand squeezed once more. “There is nothing to fear, Taria. You are Heir. Not him.”
“For now,” she murmured, trying to push the worries aside as she glanced back to where the legion milled about. Her ears pricked as she tuned into their chatter. Praise mixed with tiredness was all she could pick out. It had been a long day, yet she had given them cause to believe in her. A sliver of pride warmed her, yet any satisfaction she felt dissipated as the familiar pinpricks of pain spread under Elettaria’s skin, strands of mist leeching through her mind as the world tilted a fraction. From the corner of her gaze, she saw Geden shift minutely closer.
“Are you well?” His words were barely a breath. For all his bravado, Geden knew when discretion was paramount.
Glancing around, she nodded subtly before stepping away. “It has been a long day, ‘tis all.”
“That it has. But knowing that Argen will be brooding certainly puts a smile on my face.”
“Everything puts a smile on your face,” she huffed.
Leading the First Standing of the Second Legion had long been a dream of Elettaria’s, a way to secure the respect of her council and people, to prove once and for all her strength and ability as future ruler of Dytikon. Yet within the few moons of assuming the role, she had twice overheard questions surrounding her constitution and merit. The first, she had pretended not to hear. The second had left no option. It did not help that Elettaria was now increasingly certain she was about to disappear for a few days, the pain intensifying with each second, and she wondered momentarily if she should lay the groundwork for such eventualities. Turning to the slowly dispersing crowd, the lies already caressed her tongue when Argen’s hostile gaze met her own.
Do not let their words be what breaks you, when the might of mountains has not.
The words of Dytikon’s finest scholar, Mendae Culam, filled her as Elettaria drew her shoulders back, raising her voice. Argen would not cow her.
“I hope you have learned your lesson, Argen? Or do you need to meet my sword once more for it to sink in?” Geden’s distinct laugh barked out from next to her, releasing a little of the tension in her joints as a few others chimed in. Hers were not the eloquent words of an Heir in that moment, but childish words meant to wound Argen’s biggest vanity: his pride. She watched with satisfaction as his jaw ticked.
“Very well then. We are done for the day.”
Sheathing her sword, Elettaria turned on her heel, plait flapping as she disappeared between the large pillars that led away from the training area. As soon as she was out of sight, she extended a hand to steady herself, the cold stone walls consuming her vision as her legs and heart trembled. Dark spiral steps set deep into the castle walls swam below her as the stone cooled her forehead. She loosened a slow breath. Following the steps skyward would lead to the main castle and her quarters. Wisdom told her to go and rest as the ache burned towards agony. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and straightened. Wisdom could wait.
Turning left, Elettaria headed downwards, the curling stone hard under her heels as glimpses of the forest greeted her at every turn. In her mind, she begged, not yet.
***
Laughter pealed out of Elettaria as Geden spun and then dipped her with exaggerated flair six days later, their steps increasing with the swell of the music and pulling a flush to Elettaria’s already ale-warmed cheeks. Retreating, she joined hands with those on either side of her, and they danced to the crescendo, Elettaria’s crimson silk skirt swishing as faces familiar and new gleamed all around her.
Lanterns every shade of autumn flickered overhead, draped between trees that were silhouetted by moonlight. Tables laden with roasted duck, honey-drizzled cassava and shredded amaranth leaves scented the air beneath them, lining the neatly trimmed hedgerows that now served as the edges of an outdoor ballroom. In the middle of it, guests donned in cloths of gold, burgundy and copper pirouetted and swayed like the falling leaves.
The music ended with a resounding thump that whirred through the night as Geden swept Elettaria up and swung her around. She felt the thrill of it in her bones, her worries and lingering aches dissolving into the night.
“Well, thank you for the dance, M’lady.” Geden’s voice rumbled through her as he placed Elettaria down and gave an exaggerated bow.
“The pleasure was all mine.” She laughed, bowing deep in return. As she rose, she felt the eyes of those around them, peering at the elusive Heir who was here and dancing. There had been many years she had been unable to attend, the pain that caused always echoing many moons beyond the event itself. She loved little more than the Light Festival. Yet this year she had been lucky, her fit of sickness keeping her down only for mere days after the fight with Argen, even if strands of mist still leeched through her body. The errands the court believed she had been running on behalf of her father traversed her mind as she met the eyes around her. She knew that every time she disappeared, another mind was led towards the truth. The web of lies constructed over the three decades of her life to hide her illness had too many holes and it was only the build-up to the fits and fevers—the pain that spread like dense fog, the blurring of the world around her as if open-eyed underwater, the hollowness that ate at her chest and stomach until staying upright was not possible—that had allowed her to hide them for so long. So far, she had always had a warning, but the cold grasp of fear never relented. What if one day, as the fits took hold increasingly often, she did not?
“Shall we search for another drink?”
Elettaria beamed, touching the back of a hand to her face. “Another drink and perhaps somewhere with more of a breeze.”
Geden weaved through the crowd, Elettaria on his heels. High placed tree stumps peered over smaller shrubs and enduring flowerbeds around the dancefloor, their tops glistening with crystal vases filled with colourful drinks. When Elettaria was inevitably accosted by merry partygoers or self-promoting opportunists, Geden was smooth and quick with his excuses and soon they made it to one of the peripheral high oak tables, the gentle wind cooling. Handing over one of the glasses that Elettaria had swept up to Geden, she took a sip of her own, relishing its sweetly bitter taste. Instinctively, her eyes scanned the crowd, looking for the curls of dark brown hair that had once been as familiar as her own, but still she found nothing. Only whispers of Aixen’s return had reached her so far. Being confined to your bed brought little more, yet the man who had once meant so much to her had consumed her thoughts.
“How are you feeling, Taria?” Geden asked softly, breaking Elettaria out of her reverie.
She closed her eyes, hating the question. But tonight was a night to forget such things. “Like I could fly.”
“Now that would be impressive indeed.”
“Is that a challenge?”
“Is that a death wish?” Geden countered and Elettaria laughed, the fire-lit torch flickering beside them.
“Defying death is my occupation.” She spoke in jest but the smile on Geden’s face dimmed ever so slightly.
“Well then, let us drink to that.”
Their glasses clinked, and Elettaria let the liquid burn a sticky sweet trail down her throat.
“Speaking of death defying,” she said, swirling the dregs around her glass, “I see your dancing has improved. No more lumbering around the dance floor for you!”
“Lumbering? Honestly, I stood on your foot on one mere occasion, and you have never let me live it down. Do you know how many times you have stomped all over my feet while dancing?”
“I believe that would be zer—”
“It is at least ten,” Geden continued, “but like the gentleman I am, I do not insist on pointing it out at every opportune moment.”
Elettaria snorted. “Yes, quite gentlemanly of you to interrupt me so.”
“Perhaps if you acted more worthy of such behaviour, you would be rewarded with it.”
“I am Heir. None are more worthy than I,” she replied haughtily. It was Geden’s turn to snort.
“I distinctly remember you once hiding from a man who held you in his favour. In fact, I am certain you have done this on many occasions. Not exactly behaviour becoming of an Heir, is it?”
“Yes, but that is because I did not wish to be bored to death.”
“I thought defying death was your occupation?”
“Exactly! I cannot be made to do such work in my own time as well. That would hardly be fair. Anyway, you are not one to talk, Geden. I have seen more than one young man look at you with forlorn eyes this evening. A previous lover-now-avoided, I presume?”
“You may have something that resembles validity in your point, although—, ah, Matel,” Geden broke off as one of the Rectitude’s newest scribes appeared between them. “How are you this fine night?”
Flashing his most dashing smile towards Matel, Elettaria could see how Geden so easily left a trail of broken-hearted men in his wake. Next to him, Matel was a stark contrast. He looked exactly as you would expect of a scribe: translucent skin that thirsted for sun, stretched over a wiry frame. Elettaria noticed his constantly shifting, scared yet furtive gaze that gave him the overarching appearance of a slightly malnourished forest deer.
“I am well, thank you, Geden.” Matel nodded to Geden before turning to Elettaria and bowing so low that she worried he might never reappear. “And how are you, Heir Elettaria?” he inquired, dragging himself upright with visible effort.
“There is no need for such formalities, Matel, though I thank you. This is a celebration for the people and of the people. We are all the same, especially tonight.” She smiled gently as she spoke, noting the blush that rose to his cheeks with her words. Glancing at Geden, she did not need him to speak to know he was thinking of the use of her ‘regal voice’ as he called it in private.
“I think this is a celebration of more than just the people, is it not, Heir Elettaria?”
Displeasure coloured her body as a loud voice spoke from behind them. Turning, Elettaria observed Argen sauntering along the edge of the wood towards them, his hulking frame blocking out far too much light.
“Oh?” Elettaria did not hide her irritation, though internally she winced at her invitation to any further conversation.
“Is this not a celebration of the restoration of True Light and the salvation of an entire Kingdom from, shall we say, less worthy leaders?” Argen’s mouth twisted as he spoke. Out of the corner of her eye Elettaria saw Geden’s jaw work.
“You do not speak to the Heir in such a manner,” Matel squeaked, sounding more abrasive than she had ever heard the mild, tentative young man and causing her lips to twitch.
“It is quite alright, Matel. I am used to such things from Argen. After all, it is not an easy task convincing others to think of him as highly as he does.”
Geden coughed sharply as Argen’s eyes narrowed on her.
“I have heard many a rumour, if you’ll permit me, Heir Elettaria, that you are in fact in favour of the celebrations that fall within other domains, such as The Daru Lands. They celebrate power fractured from True Light and call it magik, a gift from a goddess, do they not?” Argen stepped nearer as he spoke, the torchlight flickering over the tight lines around his eyes and mouth.
Elettaria felt her spine stiffen as memories of her late mother, the daughter of a Daru leader, flashed before her eyes. She remembered holding her hand as they watched silvery lights descend from the skies and into the trees, all those around her gasping with delight. A throat clearing brought Elettaria back to the present. She had never known how to deal with Argen. The son of the highest Councillors he was supposedly a Noble. His character was anything but.
Plastering a benign smile onto her face, Elettaria placed a hand over her heart, feigning sincerity. “I had never taken you for such a gossip, Argen.” She watched the darkening shadows on Argen’s face that waved like the branches in the night beyond. Next to them, Matel looked like he rather wished he were anywhere else.
“I am merely repeating what I have heard.”
“Understandable given that you are incapable of independent thought.” Geden laughed, squeezing Argen’s shoulder as if they were the best of friends as the partygoers who lingered nearby shot curious glances their way. Elettaria watched Geden’s knuckles whiten in a way that could not be comfortable for either. That being said, Argen was built like a small fortress so there was a distinct chance he felt nothing.
“Nothing to say about the corrupt ways of the Daru, then?” Argen challenged, taking a step closer to where Elettaria stood, shaking off Geden’s hand. “Or do you plan to just hide behind others?”
Lifting her chin to hide her fluttering nerves, Elettaria looked squarely into his dark eyes. “You would do well to watch your tongue, Argen. This is a night for all to celebrate freedom from corruption and deceit, but when that freedom turns to sedition, there will be consequences. It may be hard for you to do so, but you would be wise to remember that.”
Argen said nothing in reply, looking at Elettaria with such utter contempt that she briefly wondered if she could have him arrested for an expression. Before the thought could tread any further, he left, pushing through the crowds and disappearing from sight.
“How dare he speak to you in such a manner,” Matel squeaked. “I shall report him on your behalf if you will let me, Heir Elettaria.”
“It is quite alright, Matel. Argen uses his words as he uses his sword: with brutality but no strategy. There is no real threat, only a waste of hours on a beautiful night such as this.” Registering Matel’s uncertain expression, Elettaria gestured towards the whirling dancers. “Please, you should find a dance partner and go enjoy the rest of the night. Do not let us keep you any longer from the celebrations.”
Matel commenced a bow at her dismissal, though when he reached halfway, he appeared to remember her earlier words, straightening alarmingly fast before flashing her and Geden a weak smile and scurrying off. Sensibly, he took the opposite direction to Argen. Elettaria hoped she, too, might be lucky enough to avoid him for the rest of the night, although Geden looked like he had quite different plans as he glared in the direction in which Argen had gone.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Geden’s face smoothed as he looked back at her. “That man is a walking provocation. How you handle him so well, I shall never know.”
Elettaria gave a dry smile. “I am used to him.” She did not voice the cold fear that perhaps there was more to Argen than baseless verbal abuses. That, perhaps, he somehow knew her inner most thoughts on the Light Festival and the memories of her time in The Daru Lands that pricked her heart with their warmth.
“Argen does seem to have a bizarre wish to be the first arrested for treason in quite some time. Although, I cannot lie, Tari; I would very much delight in being the one to grant his wish.”
She chuckled, Geden’s words and the lantern light chasing the lingering worries into the corners of her mind.
“And perhaps you shall be. Now, though, what say you to another dance?”
In reply, Geden grasped Elettaria’s hand, tugging her back towards the dancefloor. As they took their positions, she glanced up.
Dark eyes bored into hers.
Aixen stood alone, encased in the tree’s shadows, nurturing a glass of mead. His expression was unreadable. Glancing back to Geden, Elettaria placed her hand in his, but she could not prevent her gaze from darting back to Aixen’s as the conductor tapped his baton and held it up, the musicians bows poised over strings. Her heart clenched.
Eight years was a long time, yet Aixen looked almost exactly as he had the day he left. Curling dark hair fell into equally dark eyes—eyes that seemed to see everything. Only his cheeks had sharpened with age, now matching the brilliant mind concealed inside.
Elettaria felt her heartrate spike, yet this time it had nothing to do with the dance as Geden twirled her once and then a second time. She whipped her head round with the movement, momentarily losing her balance, but when she looked up again, Aixen, was gone.
Eight years ago, the man that had been like a brother, and then so much more, had left without explanation. Eight years ago, he had been rumoured to be a candidate for Heir. For in Dytikon, Heirs could be nominated or born, and while Elettaria was the King’s daughter, Aixen had long held many people’s favour.
But then he had vanished.
And now, just as silently as he had left, Aixen had returned.