Shadowborn Read online

  “Only a little sore,” Kael said, and the left side of his face curled up in a grin. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a day or two at most before I’m out there getting myself killed alongside you.”

  Bree was still not convinced. Kael’s grin had vanished the moment he stopped talking, and she knew her brother too well to think it was because of the pain. Something bothered him. Telling herself it was only because of his close brush with death, she patted his leg and headed for the tent’s open flap.

  “At least try to rest for a little bit,” she said. “Oh, and I’ll let Clara know where you are. I’m sure some snuggle time would do wonders for your health.”

  Kael flung his shirt at her. It thudded against the tent flap as she closed it behind her. Bree thought Clara would be with the other Seraphim relaxing around a small bonfire in the middle of the street, but she was not. A few larger tents were to either side of her, also propped up in the center of the road, but they were filled with rows of bunks for sleeping. It didn’t feel right that Clara would turn in for the night so quickly, especially not without seeing Kael first. The only place left to look was the home nearby that had been claimed by the royal family to be used as an armory. Bree ducked inside, saw the walls and tables filled with shields, spears, and a few precious sets of wings, including Bree’s. Noticeably absent was Clara’s set.

  I guess she went home, Bree decided. Not a bad idea, and she wished she could return to her bed at Aunt Bethy’s, but if everyone else had to sleep on uncomfortable cots in their stationed camps, she was certainly no different. Bree walked to the large northern tent, the appointed women’s tent, but was stopped halfway there by a Seraph landing from the sky.

  “Breanna?” the man asked, squinting in the dim blue light.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Your presence is requested at the holy mansion.”

  “Are you to carry me?” she asked.

  “You’re to fly,” the Seraph answered. “Now make haste.”

  Bree kept her face passive despite her concern. By the sound of it, either Rebecca, Argus, or the Archon wished to speak with her at the mansion. For what reason? And more important, with crystals so scarce, why would they require she have her wings with her?

  Bree returned to the armory and donned her black jacket and silver wings. The light element within the left gauntlet had been removed, and she grabbed a replacement before heading outside. The Seraph nodded to her, then began walking toward the bonfire when she powered on her wings.

  “Are you not coming with me?” she asked.

  “Others here are also invited,” he said. “Go on ahead. You know the way.”

  Bree’s worry only grew. Why the urgency? Why the vague orders?

  “Yes, sir,” she said, softly lifting into the air. Once above the roofline she rapidly increased the throttle until she was soaring toward the holy mansion in the heart of Weshern. Her imagination bounced between a dozen reasons why she could have been summoned. Likely her every guess would be wrong, and she was worried over nothing. For all she knew, Rebecca Waller had cooked up another publicity stunt for her to perform. Keeping the Weshern people’s morale high seemed more important to Rebecca than the actual war itself.

  Bree landed at the outer gate surrounding the mansion, knowing that flying any closer would risk inviting an arrow from the archers posted throughout the building’s many barred windows. The gate itself was twisted and broken from the assault to save the royal family from their prison. Two soldiers with spears and shields guarded it nonetheless.

  “Welcome, Phoenix,” said one as they made way for her passage. “You’re expected.”

  Bree smiled politely at them as she passed. She didn’t know their names but she recognized their faces. Ever since the fireborn’s descent, she and her brother had become regular visitors to the holy mansion. Bree crossed the walkway, walked up the steps, and met the waiting servant at the mangled front doors.

  “Follow me, please,” said the smartly dressed man. They traveled down empty halls, the damage from the attack still evident. Shadowed squares marked removed paintings, too damaged to repair. Curtains were burned, walls knocked in from stone and ice boulders, and everywhere it seemed there was a stain of blood. The servant walked straight ahead of her, back stiff, arms behind him. No small talk. Bree wished he’d at least try. They weaved through the halls in silence, ending at the enormous dance hall.

  The great hall no longer held extravagant parties with dancers floating above one another on golden discs raised to the ceiling. Bree felt a stab of sorrow seeing those discs. A lifetime ago, she and Dean had danced above all others on one such platform, a magical night she wished she might return to every time she lay down her head to sleep. Back then she’d viewed the great field of stars powered by light prisms to be one of the most beautiful things she’d ever witnessed. Those light prisms were gone, delivered to the war effort, but their loss didn’t sting like it should have. Those stars were no longer a historical echo of the past. Now the true stars shone their beauty every night, the lone joy brought about by all the ugliness, war, and death.

  Instead of dances and feasts, the hall was now Rebecca Waller’s permanent home, and had been so since the Archon named her head of defense after all her work building up the resistance. The tables were covered with maps, charts, and lists of supplies attached to the various encampments. Rebecca sat with Argus Summers and Avila Willer at a smaller, circular table. The Archon’s wife had slowly taken on more duties as her husband focused on maintaining public appearances while recovering from his many injuries.

  Just a normal meeting, Bree told herself as she slowly breathed out her nerves. Nothing to worry about. She joined the table, the echoes of her footsteps disturbingly loud in the quiet.

  “Thank you for coming, Bree,” Rebecca said. Her hands were crossed in her lap instead of holding a pencil or pad. Not a good sign.

  “Indeed,” Argus said, fidgeting in his chair. His face was a mess of bruises, and a long scar cut across his forehead to the back of the skull, pale and white and disrupting the neatly cut trim of his hair. So far as Bree knew, he’d recovered from his injuries inflicted during his capture and imprisonment, but the legendary Seraph was yet to return to battle.

  “While Center’s obvious lies and abandonment should have drawn the remaining islands into war, the situation has not proved that simple,” Avila said. “None of the other islands have suffered as we have, nor have invading boots marched across their streets. Some have hedged their bets, acting cautiously instead of pledging their support outright. The most troublesome one has been the Dayans, the rulers of Candren.”

  “Are they afraid of Center?” Bree asked.

  “Not afraid. I think all of us in power have moved past that. The trouble with Candren is that despite their willingness to resist Center’s control, they want to do it alone instead of in a cohesive alliance with all four islands.”

  “We were at war with them when Galen fell,” Argus said, cutting to the point. “And that war has not officially ended. That’s what we’re here to accomplish. We’re sending a delegation to formally declare peace, opening the door to an alliance against Center. However, there’s some significant distrust toward us from their populace, and we’re worried things might turn sour.”

  It made a little bit of sense, though it still troubled Bree. Were there really so many people out there willing to turn a blind eye to all of Center’s crimes just to be spiteful toward Weshern for what amounted to a handful of battles in the sky?

  “How do I fit into this?” Bree asked, glancing between the three. “Am I to protect a delegation while there?”

  “In a way,” Avila said. She leaned back in her chair, hands folded over her dark blue dress. “You will actually be an integral part of that delegation, Breanna.”

  Bree blinked a few times, tried to get her brain to function.

  “I can’t,” she said.

  “You can,” Argus said.

  �
��No, it’s … I’m not any good with this sort of thing. You can’t have this pressure on me. I’ll botch the whole thing, and then what? We lose out on a potential ally?”

  “Calm down,” Rebecca said, her scolding tone like that of an annoyed schoolteacher. “Your responsibilities are minimal. Archon Dayan personally requested you make a visit to the island. You’ll greet a few crowds, have an audience with the Archon, and overall be there to help nudge the public’s opinion. We need them to see us as friends and the theotechs as their true enemy.”

  It sounded like a thoroughly miserable time to Bree. Yet again she’d be propped up and paraded about like a trophy. Instead of flying across the sky with her burning blades she’d be in tedious meetings and dinnertime discussions, perhaps even a literal parade through the streets. Look at the Phoenix, Mommy, thought Bree. Isn’t she scary?

  “I have no choice in this matter, do I?” Bree asked.

  “No, you don’t,” Argus said, rising to his feet. “Consider it an order from your commander, and be annoyed with me if it will help you cope.”

  Bree clipped her heels together as she stood straight and saluted her fist against her breast.

  “Yes, sir,” she said. “When do we leave?”

  “Right now, actually,” a voice called behind her. Bree turned to see Chernor Windborn enter the room. He was dressed in his Seraphim uniform, his wings and harness strapped to his giant frame. His enormous maul hung loosely in his left hand. The Seraph nodded his respects to Avila, then looked to Argus.

  “I assume she’s heard the whole spiel?” he asked.

  “More or less,” Argus said.

  “Good. We’re moving out when the sun starts to rise. We don’t have the midnight fire to hide our wings anymore but the first sharp rays of sunshine might do the trick. I expect you to be on your best behavior, Bree, and follow orders to the letter. Argus has put me in charge of your ass while we’re on Candren, so don’t make me regret the decision.”

  “You’re not coming with?” Bree asked the commander.

  “I am,” Argus said, pushing in his chair. “But I’ll be discussing strategy and doing my own meet-and-greet among their Seraphim. I can’t afford to keep an eye on you while we’re there. Try not to be shocked, Bree. You’re not the only one with a reputation here on Weshern.”

  He smiled at her to show he wasn’t truly serious, and Bree smiled back, glad for anything to help ease her nerves.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But I’m the only one with a good reputation.”

  “Smart-ass newbies,” Argus said, and he shared a grim shake of the head with Chernor. “Always quick to dismiss those who actually know what the hell they’re doing.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Argus old buddy,” Chernor said, smacking him hard on his uninjured side. “Reality’s usually quick to slap them around a few times to show them what’s what. And if reality won’t, my maul will.”

  Together Chernor, Argus, and Bree traveled down the hallway, though not to leave the premises, she noticed. They were heading toward the walled-off garden built into the very heart of the mansion. No meeting up at a dock, then. Perhaps they feared potential spies. Given their ambush on the return trip home, it was certainly a possibility.

  A pair of glass doors blocked the entrance to the garden, and even before they opened, Bree recognized the blurry silhouette of her brother. Clara stood beside him, the two wearing silver pairs of wings. Kael’s giant shield rested in the grass beside him, the bottom digging a half inch into the dirt. Saul lingered nearby, and though he looked tired she was surprised at how eager he seemed. Several other members of Wolf Squad chatted with one another separate from the three, and they fiddled with their wings or checked the straps to their harnesses for a third or fourth time.

  “Finally she appears,” Kael said when he heard the door open. “Looks like I won’t have much chance to rest, will I?”

  “They not give you a choice in the matter, either?” Bree asked him as she joined his side.

  “A direct order from Argus,” Kael said. “So no, not really.”

  “You’re there to be a backup Skyborn in case the first one disappoints,” Saul said, and he winked at Bree. She punched his arm.

  “Dick.”

  Bree’s attention stole toward the stone path winding off through the painstakingly organized collections of flowers. Argus’s wings were waiting on a bench, and the man slowly took them into his arms. He paused, a fleeting look of hesitation passing over his face, and then his hands were a blur. In a flash the buckles were secure, the gauntlet cinched tight, and the wings shimmering a soft silver as he tested his equipment. Bree saw an immediate change in him, a relaxed confidence he’d not had since his capture. Argus was at home in the skies, no different from Bree.

  “Do you think he’s nervous?” Kael asked when he realized where she looked. His voice dropped low to avoid being overheard. “I heard he was tortured pretty badly before the Speaker tried to drop him in a well.”

  “No,” Bree said, remembering that fleeting look. “Not nervous. I think he’s relieved.”

  A black square hovered over the mansion rooftop, six fishermen carrying another platform. Bree frowned, confused.

  “Who’s the platform for?” she asked as it settled to the ground.

  “We aren’t traveling alone,” Clara said. “This is a formal declaration of peace. We’ll have a few lords with us, as well as myself to act in my father’s stead. Plus, Rebecca’s coming to be the master of this parade.”

  A worried look crossed her brother’s face. They’d just been ambushed accompanying a platform traveling to nearby Elern. There was no guarantee a similar fate didn’t await them on their way to Candren.

  “We’ll be fine,” Bree promised. It offered about as much comfort as she expected.

  “Sure we will,” he said, clearly not believing a word of it.

  The door to the garden reopened, and seven men and women exited in an unsteady trickle. Their clothes were immaculate, steel cuffs and black buckles for the men, silver trim for the women in their blue dresses. Despite their importance, Bree recognized none of them. These were the landowners, the maker of laws, the controller of trade and tax, and Bree couldn’t name a one. Just another reason she was painfully unfit for any sort of role in the peace negotiations.

  But perhaps it didn’t matter. She wasn’t there to argue or inform, only to look pretty as she let the people of Candren gawk at her and her burning blades.

  Rebecca was the last to arrive, three folders tucked underneath her left arm and a single long pencil held in her right hand. She tapped the pencil against her leg with speed rivaling the wings of a bird, and Bree wondered if the woman even realized she carried it.

  “It’s time we leave,” she announced to the gathered crowd. “Best we not keep Candren waiting.”

  Argus ordered everyone into a single formation of nine, with him at the lead and Bree at his side. The nobles piled onto the platform, looking awkward and uncomfortable with how close they stood to one another. Rebecca remained at the side of the platform holding one of the protective ropes. She looked almost bored.

  The fishermen raised the platform into the air on the count of three. It rocked unsteadily for a moment, then smoothed out as they coordinated their lift. Bree admired how quickly they’d taken to the work. Their previous cargos were nets full of fish, and it wasn’t like they had needed to worry about jostling the occupants flying back to land.

  A single twirl of Argus’s finger and the formation lifted, flying much higher above the platform. Bree wondered why they flew with such a small escort as they slowly drifted to the northwest. Surely their passengers were more worthy of protection than the two platforms full of salt they’d escorted earlier.

  She needn’t have worried. Rebecca had mentioned not keeping Candren waiting, and she understood what the woman meant as they neared Weshern’s edge. Forty Candren Seraphs hovered in six scattered formations, the rising sunlight reflecting o
ff their yellow jackets. They looked like an impatient swarm of hornets, Bree decided. Not exactly a pleasant sight.

  “Don’t be so nervous,” Kael said as they approached the island home of their former enemy.

  “Who said I was nervous?” she asked.

  “I was talking to myself.”

  The ocean steadily passed beneath them as Candren neared. The only excitement came from two knights who flew nearby and quickly retreated. Bree knew they were too close to Candren for any reinforcements to arrive, particularly in numbers high enough to challenge such a strong escort. That fact only mildly calmed her nerves.

  They did not land at the docks, nor anywhere near the edge. Bree kept an eye on the ground beneath them, taking in what she could of Candren. It lacked the plentiful rivers and waterfalls of Weshern, but in that drier landscape she noticed vegetation she’d only previously seen in books. Tall cliffs lined with pale yellow vines. Valleys filled with mushrooms growing in the shade of curled trees with wide, flat leaves. What Bree would give for a chance to wander among its wilderness. Only the scars of ash from the fireborn ruined the splendor.

  Their capital steadily neared. The sprawling city was built upon all levels of an extremely steep hill, one long road curling around and around its circumference. Tightly packed houses littered the way, many carved into the earth itself. Long rope ladders hung from short wood planks, offering a shortcut to the next circular revolution of road above or below.

  At the bottom of the hill was a structure both familiar and yet not. It looked akin to the Crystal Cathedral, but instead of painted glass it was built from the dark clay of Candren’s land. They flew too high for her to get a proper look at it, but she made sure to note its location in her mind.