TALIA
The jeep darts along the overgrown streets, but I can’t get those sounds out of my head. The growls and roars of animals mixed with human shouts and war cries. I press my palms into my eyes and shake my head, willing myself to wake up. What did I do to deserve this as my afterlife? I wasn’t religious, never went to church a day in my life, but I was a good person. Kind. Caring. Never cruel, even with all the shit that life threw my way.
I scrub at the tears streaming down my face and curl up on the seat, trying to catch my breath. Trying to make sense of it all.
The glowing eyes. The flying people. The animals attacking.
“Maybe I’m in a coma,” I whisper. “This is some kind of fever dream.”
Shad skids around a corner and I peek over at him. His face is fierce, and his grip on the steering wheel looks punishing. He pulls out something from a side pocket of his pants. It sort of looks like an old flip phone, but thicker. He taps it, negotiating the streets one handed, and the device glows blue, just like those people’s eyes.
I grip the bar on the door, seriously considering opening it and trying to get out. Of course we’re driving too fast, but I’m already dead, right? Can I die again? Would that take me somewhere even worse?
“Your Grace?” a voice on the end asks in a clipped tone.
“The princess is safe and we're headed to the Citadel. Where was our air escort? The ground support?” The last sentence is practically shouted.
“The enemy created distractions to the west and south to peel off your guard, sir.”
Shad sighs deeply, sounding more pained than angry now. “They will have to deal with the king.”
The person on the other end is silent for a long moment. “Yes, Your Grace.”
“We're eight minutes out.”
“I’ve doubled the air guard,” the voice says. “You will have no further incidents.”
“Good.” Then he taps the thing again and it fades back to a dull gray color.
Out the window, a number of large birds fly overhead. All my curiosity and wonder about being home—but not home—is gone, leaving behind a sick, cold terror that’s infused itself into my bones. I need to get out of here. Is that even possible?
“Your people grow bold, healer,” Shad says, peering into the rearview mirror.
I turn to find Ryin staring straight ahead stonily. “You would have them sit idly by while their brothers and sisters are enslaved? While our enemy does its best to destroy us? Your Grace.” His affect is flat, but I hear a slight sneer as he uses the honorific.
Twisted around in the seat, I’m suddenly unable to move. “You’re…you’re a slave?” Visions of my ancestors in chains fill my mind. Stolen away from their homes to toil and be tortured on this land.
I look to Shad, accusatory.
“He is a prisoner of war,” he says tightly. My confusion must show on my face. He scrubs a hand over his head then his shoulders slump.
“Those people who attacked us are Fai—a rival clan. Our clan, the Nimali, and the Fai have long been enemies. Since the Sorrows, however, our conflict has intensified. When your father began his rule, he also began the practice of taking prisoners of war to work as drudges in the Nimali settlement. To demoralize the enemy and weaken them.”
I look back at Ryin staring stoically out the windshield. The different clothes and the heaviness of his demeanor make sense now. Demoralized, yes, but weak? I’m not sure. There is a certain defiance to Ryin that shines through the surface-level deference.
I want to apologize, though I haven’t had any part of this. And I don’t want any part of this. “I need to tell you something—” But the words die in my throat as we turn a corner.
There are lights. And civilization. We’ve crossed into the Financial District, and it’s like a switch has been flipped. One minute we’re in the future of the Terminator movies, and then the next block is almost like the city I remember.
The buildings here have been rebuilt or restored. Electricity is flowing. Streetlights shine down on quiet, lovely, manicured streets. Darkness has fallen, but there’s no fog here. We pass shuttered coffee shops and restaurants and businesses, even a theater. The area comprises just a few blocks and beyond that is darkness, but it’s all so recognizable that I spend a little while just taking it all in.
We pull up to one of the city’s most iconic locations, the Transamerica Pyramid. It’s a tall, narrow pyramid-shaped building that defines the skyline. In front of the building, several blocks have been razed and a large grassy plaza that doesn’t exist in my world stretches out. Benches line the sides, and replicas of old-fashioned gas lamps light up the park with blue-tinted light. It’s so charming and picturesque that it nearly makes me rethink the whole “being in hell” thing. And then I flash back to the animals screaming.
Shad pulls the jeep up to a circular driveway at the bottom of the tower. Two armored trucks are parked ahead, and soldiers clad in black are stationed outside the front doors.
“This is the Citadel,” Shad says, cutting the engine. “This is home.”
That snaps me out of it. This isn’t my home and can’t be. He moves to open the door and I grab his arm to stop him. “Shad. I am not Celena. My name is Talia Dubroca, and I realize I must look like your princess, but I promise you I’m not her. I…I didn’t know what to do before…I was still a bit shell-shocked back there on the wall. But if she’s missing, you should probably keep looking for her. I’m not her.”
I’m trying to will belief into him, but his expression grows concerned. He turns to Ryin. “Are you sure you checked her for severe trauma? She didn’t have any head wounds?”
I roll my eyes and blow out a breath.
“No, Your Grace,” Ryin says without emotion. “Everyone deals with the loss of a memory soul differently. Confusion is often a side effect.” He’s not looking at me, only Shad.
I take a deep breath, forcing the exasperation to manageable levels. These men aren’t listening to me. I probably shouldn’t have even gotten in the vehicle, but what other choice did I have? “Listen, I don’t know what a memory soul is, but I remember my life just fine. I’m just… not from here,” I finish lamely.
“Check her again,” Shad bites out. I’m half afraid his forehead is going to get stuck with permanent frown lines because he’s scowling so hard.
Ryin bows his head with great patience and closes his eyes. A moment later, when they reopen, they’re glowing electric blue. I yelp and jump back, slamming into the dashboard.
His hands are surrounded by the same bright, blue light, and he holds them out toward me, leaning forward between the gap in the seats. I shrink away but he doesn’t try to touch me. I feel nothing—no heat or cold or anything else from him. No darts of magic or energy sizzle out from him to me; he just holds his hands out staring with that eerie gaze. Then, he lowers his hands and leans back. His eyes close, and when they open, they’re normal again; dark brown and filled with sadness.
“No head trauma. No other injuries. But…” He frowns deeply.
“But what?” Shad asks.
“Older injuries. Ones that must have been healed during her disappearance. I fear she was…” He swallows and looks directly at me, expression laced with pity. “I fear she was tortured. Her arm was broken, and there are other scars.”
Shad’s fists tighten. “But daimon healing leaves no scars.”
“I know. I cannot explain it.”
Both men gaze at me, and I wonder if they will finally believe. Confusion tangled with dread is all I sense from Shad. Ryin is still implacable. If there was pity there before, it’s gone now.
“Leave us, healer.” Shad’s voice is clipped.
Ryin exits the car without a word and goes to stand several feet away. I turn back to Shad, whose gaze is thoughtful. “You truly are not Celena?” he asks, and hope flickers to life within me.
“I promise you I’m not. I remember my entire life. I…I died, and then I found myself here and was attacked by that…thing out there with the red eyes.”
He takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his face. His eyes close for a long moment. When they open, determination shines in them. “You can’t tell anyone else.”
“What?”
A tap at his window makes me jump. A young Asian man in the black soldier’s uniform stands there. Shad holds up a finger indicating the man should wait and lowers his voice to an insistent whisper.
“Tell no one. You must be Celena for now. It is the only way you will survive. I will explain more as soon as I can.” Then he opens his door and is gone.
My door opens too and another soldier is there, an older dark-haired man whose eyes widen when I turn to him. He takes a step back, then bows, and offers me a hand to help me exit the vehicle.
“Your Grace,” he says reverently. “Welcome home.”
Shad comes around to stand next to me. I search for Ryin and find him a dozen steps away, arms clasped behind him.
“The king is inbound,” one of the soldiers says to Shad, who nods.
“Come,” he tells me. “We cannot keep him waiting.”
I shake my head, unwilling to keep on with this ruse. Surely this Celena’s own father will know I’m not his daughter. “Shad, listen—”
A roar rings out overhead, drowning out my words. I drop to the ground and crunch into a ball. Another attack? Shad is by my side, reassuring me. He grips my arm gently, telling me to look up. My ears are ringing and I don’t want to, but his calm demeanor edges into my panic and curiosity wins out. I look up.
All the lights around the plaza leave the sky illuminated, so it’s not hard to make out the beating of huge wings circling the towering building. A monster, a gigantic beast, flies overhead and lets out another cry.
It grows closer, the flapping of its wings and the tornado they almost create seeming familiar. As it descends, I’m able to make out the animal’s features and my mouth goes dry.
I sit on the blacktop of the driveway, staring up, mouth hanging open. It takes a second to find my voice and when I do, it’s just a croak.
“Is…is that a dragon?”