TALIA
Outside, the morning is gray, but warmer than I’d expect from this city. I realize I have no idea what month or season it is. Not that it matters much in San Francisco—the weather could be anywhere from cold and rainy to even colder and overcast any time of the year, but I am curious. “What’s the date?” I ask Ryin, who walks a few paces behind me.
“It’s the fifth day of the Weed Month, year fifty-three Post Sorrows, Your Grace.”
Oookay. “Thanks,” I tell him, then wince and press my lips shut.
In the circular driveway in front of the building, a line of young women stand in a perfect row waiting for us. They’re all wearing shades of red and smile brightly as we approach. Shad is there too, just off to the side with a handful of soldiers. He greets me with a bow.
“Celena, these are your courtiers. I’ll let them reintroduce themselves.” He melts away and they all curtsy as one and begin the introductions.
Elayne is short and curvy, in her early twenties with straight black hair and cool blue eyes. She’s the most effusive, making sure I know how much she missed me and hoped for my safe return. Alaya is lean with wild curly hair. She looks Latina, is maybe seventeen or eighteen, and her smile is the warmest and most sincere. Ofelia is a skinny younger teenager with mousy, lank hair. She keeps her eyes downcast and practically whispers her greeting and how happy she is to have me back home.
Last is the queen bee. I can tell by the way she holds her shoulders and meets my eyes with no fear and very little deference. She's not tall, about my height, and thin in a way that still seems strong and powerful. Her skin is a beautiful, rich chocolate, so smooth she's probably never gotten a zit in her life. Her name is Dominga, and I'm not sure if she’s Celena’s best friend or greatest enemy. The look she gives me just about slices me in two, it’s so full of rage and joy—I’ve never seen an expression like that. I want to avoid her, but I think I should keep her close.
“I’m sorry that I don’t remember any of you,” I say. “But I’m glad to be back and I’m happy you’re all here. I’m not sure we can pick up where we left off”—I look at Elayne here; her eager beaver energy is a little off-putting—“But friendship is so important, and I’ll need your help navigating the unfamiliar.”
My little speech has shocked them all into silence. Courtiers are friends, right? This is, like, Celena’s squad, or at least I think it is, but their reactions have me questioning that. I have no idea how I should act in order to more effectively be the princess. She’s quite obviously nothing like me—maybe I should lean into that.
King Lyall finally pulls away from his advisor and addresses everyone present. “Today is a day for the people to see Princess Celena retaking her duties. To show them that the blood of dragons is strong and we are not easily daunted.”
Everyone is quiet, showing great submissiveness to their leader. Lyall spins around and soon we all fall into step with the guards creating a wall around us. Shad walks ahead with the soldiers. Lyall is on my right, and there’s a brief flurry of activity to my left until Dominga emerges the victor, claiming the space at my elbow with Elayne just beside her, visibly pouting. The younger girls trail us, chatting amongst themselves. I can’t find Ryin, though I know he’s not far away.
“Was it very awful?” Elayne leans around Dominga to ask.
“Was what?”
“I heard you were attacked by a Revoker.”
Dominga rolls her eyes. “I’m sure it was an absolute delight.”
Elayne’s curiosity seems pretty bloodthirsty. “I don’t remember it,” I respond. “And I’m still not exactly sure what a Revoker is.”
Elayne looks only too happy to offer details. “Demons. Creatures with wings and scales and claws and sharp teeth. They're horrifying.” She shudders dramatically, and I stifle a laugh.
“They sound like dragons.” Well, that was the wrong thing to say. Both girls slide horrified gazes toward Lyall, who is once again ensconced in conversation with Lord Jovi.
“They're nothing like dragons.” Dominga’s voice is clipped. “Revokers are covenant breakers who feast on human flesh. Their poison makes you die a painful death, then their daimons harvest what’s left of your body to increase their numbers. They’re a vile scourge.”
“I keep hearing that word, what is a daimon?”
Dominga eyes me a bit confrontationally. Elayne takes this as her cue to explain. “Daimons are spirits—they’re our counterparts in the spirit plane. It’s one of my favorite stories. The legend goes that many generations ago, the daimons grew curious about the mortal world. Spirits have no physical forms, but their world connects to ours in many places—the bliss matrices—and they wanted to be able to explore but had no bodies to use.
“A human brother and sister, both powerful seers, were the first to communicate directly with the daimons. They made a pact to share their bodies with the spirits and allow them to experience life through their eyes. In return, the host would receive strength, powers, and other gifts at will. That was the first covenant.”
Elayne gesticulates wildly as she tells the story. “The brother and sister could not agree on how humans should host daimons. She believed the physical form should change to match the daimon’s essence. But her brother thought it best for the human to retain his natural form and only take on the qualities of the daimon. And so the feud began.”
“The feud?” I ask.
“Between the Fai and the Nimali. The disagreement was never resolved and the followers on either side became the two clans. We Nimali transform into animals that match the essence of our daimons, while the Fai keep their own bodies, but take on the daimon’s powers.”
“And are you born with a daimon?” I wonder if I’m supposed to have one inside me—will that be a dead giveaway that I’m an imposter?
Fortunately, she shakes her head. “You have to go through the trials, but only once you reach adulthood and can fully consent.”
Dominga crosses her arms and seems to grow more agitated, but Elayne plows on, ignoring her.
“You have three attempts to leash a daimon—leashing is what we call it. The Fai call it something else, right?”
“Joining,” Dominga spits out.
“Right. So you get three attempts, usually starting at around age twenty-one or so.”
“And what happens if you fail?” I ask.
Dominga glares at Elayne, who has finally taken note of the woman’s deteriorating mood and clams up. Dominga answers, enunciating each word carefully. “Each failure results in the forfeit of a soul. You can survive without two, but if you fail a third time, you die.”
“So…we have three souls?”
“Memory, voice, and shadow.”
“The first two seem self-explanatory, but what happens when you lose a shadow soul?”
“You lose your shadow.” Her tone is like she’s talking to a preschooler. Then she points to the ground beneath us. The overhead sun has created shadows for everyone around.
Everyone except me.
I stumble, but recover quickly. My breathing grows shallow. I wave a hand around but there’s nothing. No movement at all.
“Your souls are restored when you leash your daimon,” Elayne chirps. But I barely hear her. How is this even possible? I’m not Celena, I’m from a place where shadow souls aren’t even a thing—at least I don’t think they are—but here I am with no shadow. Did I lose a soul when I was brought here?
“So I’ve tried before?” The whisper is so quiet I don’t think they can hear it, but Dominga nods. No shadow. No memory—though that at least isn’t true. My memory is perfect even if virtually no one here understands.
I’m still reeling from the revelation that my shadow is missing when the soldiers stop walking. Lyall turns to me. “It is important for our subjects to see your strength, dear girl. You are unbowed and unbroken. No one here is your equal. They’re barely worthy of setting eyes upon you and should treat this opportunity as the great gift it is.”
I blink, surprised, but nod as if I’ve understood. Lyall moves forward and the sea of guards parts for him. I follow the king into the lobby of a brick building facing the plaza. It turns out to be a fabric mill and clothing manufacturer.
Inside, the workers are already lined up waiting for us. There’s a giant showroom with curtain-length swatches of fabric hanging from the walls in dozens of shades of red and blue, along with a handful of browns. That’s it. The fabric comes in different textures from satiny smooth to the leatherish texture of my own outfit.
The managers show off their wares with pride, but fear tightens their expressions as Lyall marches over to a display and brushes the cloth with a hand. Tension clogs the air as he affects a thoughtful expression. Then he releases the cloth and wanders away.
“This is all so lovely,” I say, to cut through the thickness in the air. “I can’t wait to go shopping.” The factory owners release a collective breath and smile.
“We’ll have some bolts sent over to the royal seamstress immediately for you, Your Grace,” the woman says.
I’m about to deny the offer—I definitely have more than enough clothes—but Dominga catches my eye and gives a swift shake of her head. A thanks is on the tip of my tongue, but she narrows her eyes, so I bite my tongue and simply nod. The woman in blue beams.
The tour continues, focused mostly on the buildings surrounding the plaza. We meet business owners and craftsmen, engineers, scientists, and a troupe of actors rehearsing in a small playhouse. We tour a hydroponic farm that takes up the entirety of a tall building at the far edge of the park. Apparently, there are several like it scattered across the reclaimed part of the city and they provide all the city’s produce.
Everyone we meet is dressed in either a red or blue color palette until we reach our final stop, three blocks off the plaza. It’s a building that reminds me of an old bank, with half a dozen roman columns holding up the front portico. There are words carved into the cracked white stone. I can just make out Reserve Bank and smile to myself.
The inside has been completely redone and is now a honeycomb of rooms, each filled with children all wearing shades of brown clothing that is ill-fitting and obviously of lesser quality. Joy seems in short supply here. The children are polite and well groomed, but there’s no laughter ringing through the halls. There doesn’t seem to be a playground or play area at all.
“The Umber orphanage is one of your favorite charities,” Elayne confides in me as we stroll down dark hallways. Every building we’ve been in has covered all the exterior windows from the inside. The interior light always has a blue cast to it, giving everything a sheen of iciness.
Everyone is obviously afraid of King Lyall. He hasn’t lost his temper once, hasn’t snarled or threatened, but each person we meet seems wholly focused on his reactions. After their initial welcomes and expressions of gratitude for my safe return, I’m largely ignored, an afterthought, which does tell me something about the princess. She must have existed in her father’s shadow; no one here is afraid of her.
I think I’ve done okay so far. I’ve been cool and somewhat remote, nodding regally instead of being effusive with my thanks or praise, and no one has commented or seemed surprised. Shad’s promise to help is never far from my mind—I need to talk to him in private again so we can figure out how I got here and if I can go back.
But the more people I meet, the more I wonder if the princess can do more to help. It’s clear that this place has a whole set of problems, my new father included, and if my presence here can be beneficial in any way, shouldn’t I help to change things? If I can.
We exit back onto the plaza, ready for the next stop on the tour, when an alarm blares. Every building seems to be equipped with a speaker; the high-pitched sirens leave me covering my ears and crouching as the guards surrounding me draw tighter.
People are shouting and then Shad is there, holding me by the elbow and urging me forward. “To the shelter!” he yells.
“What is it? What’s happening?” I ask as soldiers form a protective circle around me and we hustle forward.
“The lockdown alarm.” Shad’s voice is barely audible over the piercing bleats. “There’s been a breach somewhere in the city. We need to get you to safety.”
We run to the nearest building, an astonishingly modern, silver mass of smooth shapes that reminds me of the Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. The shiny metal is reflective and looks like someone bent a few sheets of steel into different directions and set them down. It definitely didn't exist in my San Francisco.
The wide double doors open on their own and we rush in, though some of the guards who were with us peel off and stay outside. I don’t know what I was expecting of the interior, but a giant, empty room was not on the list. The entire first floor is a wide expanse of gray slate flooring—no furniture, no walls, nothing. But I barely have time to register the oddness when I’m led to the corner where a stairwell lies.
My retinue is down to Shad, Ryin, and three other guards. They draw to a halt just in front of the stairway entrance, which is dimly lit with bliss lights. Concrete steps descend into darkness, with the low blue glow barely bright enough to make anything out.
Shad releases me and takes a step back. “Go with them down to the shelter where you’ll be safe. I’ll come back to get you once the all-clear sounds.” With that, he jogs away, and in a brilliant flash of light, transforms into a dragon—this one blue and silver with a wingspan so wide I can’t even fathom it.
My jaw is slack. I’ve really only seen a shift once, when Lyall did it, and my brain is having a hard time catching up to my eyes. Shad takes flight, right there inside the building, and heads toward the ceiling. Some sensor must turn on, because part of the roof retracts and then he’s through it, disappearing into the blue of the sky.
I continue staring up at the space he just occupied, but the soldier to my left, a tall South Asian man, his long hair caught in a low ponytail, urges me forward. “We must get you to the shelter, Your Grace.”
I nod and turn back to the stairway of doom and start down, my body still shaking from shock. I’m sandwiched between the two men and one woman with Ryin bringing up the rear.
“Is everyone here a dragon?” I ask, my voice echoing.
“No, Your Grace. Only the king and prince.”
We descend into the depths of the building. There are so many steps that I’m breathing hard and sweating by the time we finally reach the bottom. It’s cool and damp and more than a little creepy. A wide, rusted metal door that looks like it hasn’t been opened in centuries is set in the middle of a cinderblock wall. Next to it, the smooth panel of white looks out of place. But when the soldier who spoke to me places his hand on it, the whole thing glows blue and the door pops open with an ominous creak.
“Your Grace.” He motions me inside the room, and I step through the doorway on rubbery legs.
“All the buildings in the plaza are fitted with these shelters,” he tells me. “It’s protocol when a lockdown alarm is given.”
The darkened room lights up when I step inside to reveal gray cinderblock walls and a small space about ten by ten with a cot sitting along the far wall. The only other furniture is a metal bookshelf stocked with canned food, a first-aid kit marked with the familiar red cross, and a few other unlabeled boxes. A covered silver can about two feet tall sits in the corner. I hope that’s not a toilet—then again, I hope it is.
This place is narrow and coffin-like, and I balk at the thought of spending any time entombed here. “About how long do the lockdowns last?” Panic edges my voice.
“Generally no more than a few hours, Your Grace.”
“Hours?” Now the panic isn’t just along the edges—it’s all throughout. I shake my head. I can’t stay in this tiny box for hours. The walls already seem to be sliding inward. “There’s got to be another option.”
“Other than the Citadel, these shelters are the safest places to be during an attack.” His voice is patient, but his eyes are strained.
“Five adults cannot possibly spend multiple hours in this tiny room.”
“The shelters are for the highest-ranking Nimali present. Only the healer will be with you. We will stay outside to guard the exterior.”
I swallow and feel tears stinging my eyes. At some point Ryin slipped in; I feel his silent presence at my back.
“It’s the king’s orders,” the soldier says, and my resistance melts away. There’s no way I can ask one of them to go against the king. I have no doubt that Lyall would deal very harshly with them, so I nod mutely and the soldier bows before closing the door in my face.
Locking me into my nightmare.