TALIA
I awaken in my bed and find Ryin sitting next to me in the embroidered silver armchair. It's startling—did he bring me in here? It sure looks like he's been here for a while. Before I can even clear my throat to ask him about it, he stands, gives me a hasty bow, and then rushes out like someone’s chasing him.
I must look a hot mess, so it’s for the best even though I have so many questions. Leaving them for later, I go through my morning routine, taking a long, restorative shower and then investigating a few of the jars on Celena’s vanity. Still nothing that seems like deodorant, and I keep forgetting to ask.
No stylists wait for me, so I pick my own outfit—one that covers me up more than others I’ve been wearing but is still uncomfortably snug—from the vast closet and lace my boots myself. Everything feels different this morning. The aloneness is actually comforting—at least it’s familiar. There's no one to pretend for, just me. Like always.
I was often alone in my father's house, retreating to my room on the top floor in the converted attic. My stepmother claimed it was so I'd have my own space and not be bothered by the twins, but it left me feeling more remote, never a part of things.
I should have moved out long ago but stayed, at first to help with the girls, and then because it was expensive to live on my own. I never asked my father for anything, including for help paying for college, so I worked my way through, taking a handful of classes at a time. Waitressing, bartending, walking dogs, babysitting for neighbors. No real skills, no real goals. I hadn’t even picked a major after nearly five years of part-time classes. It always felt like I was waiting for something, hoping something would change. And change it did.
Be careful what you wish for.
I enter the main room to find Ryin seated in the ornate chair. As soon as I settle at the dining table, Noomi appears with the breakfast tray.
“You can switch the chair back if you want,” I say while she sets out plates and fusses over their placement.
He doesn't respond, and I'm too tired and worn out to even try parsing his unreadable expression. The weight of last night's ceremony hangs heavily over me. I slept better than I expected, probably because I was so emotionally drained.
Noomi disappears, and I gaze at the food before me with no appetite. I stare for so long that I almost don't hear Ryin break the silence.
“Are you well?”
“How could I be well?” Sudden tears blur my eyes, and I fight them off. I cried too much last night. “How can I eat food prepared by Fai hands? It’s so cruel. How can he do that to you all?” The last question is barely a whisper.
Ryin’s voice is equally low when he responds, “Perhaps you should ask him.”
I sit up straight, my head snapping over to him and wonder inflating me like a balloon. “You're right. I should.” His brows lift in surprise.
Shad wanted me to pretend to be Celena not just to save my life, but also because of what Celena can do. Lyall loves her. He dotes on her and more, he’s proud of her. He respects her. Maybe the old Celena didn’t blink an eye at trammeling and slavery, but this Celena is going to try to exert some influence. Hopefully this will help whatever Shad is working on as well.
Other Nimali must hate the practice of trammeling as well, but it’s just too dangerous for them to go against the king. As long as he believes I’m his daughter, especially with no memory, there’s no way Lyall will harm me, even if I speak out.
My appetite returns in a rush of hunger. I want to be well-nourished for what I'm about to do. I finish my breakfast as quickly as I can, then I find my comm and ping the king.
Harshal, Callum, and Zanna, along with Ryin, accompany me out of the Citadel using a door I haven’t seen before. It leads out the other side of the building from the plaza and onto Montgomery Street. Harshal leads the way down a narrow alley between two tall buildings, eventually approaching another place I recognize.
“Portsmouth Square?” A pang of homesickness thrums through me as we approach the swatch of concrete-covered ground that sits atop a parking garage, though the entrance underground is blocked with crumbling debris and chunks of concrete. The park itself is bordered by trees. Gone are the Chinese-inspired gazebos offering shade to the older residents who used to gather there—at least in my world. A few of the buildings lining the square still display the Chinese writing that marked this as part of the city’s Chinatown. One of my favorite restaurants was just a few blocks away—I’d forgotten, and the reminder is bittersweet.
“The healer must stay here,” Harshal says, pointing to the staircase leading up to the square. Three other glum-looking Fai stand there and Ryin silently joins them.
The guards lead me up the steps and onto the main level of the park. Instead of the elderly residents and tourists that used to crowd the place, the space is filled with dozens of shifted Nimali. They’re grouped in loose rings with two animals in the center of each, fighting.
In the one closest to me, a lioness and a panther tussle. While over the heads of the next circle, a vulture and an eagle face off. Shrieks and roars and cries of pain form a chorus—blood drips from more than one mouth. I don’t think they’re fighting to death—God, I hope not—but they are really injuring each other.
A zebra in the last circle bleeds from a wound on its rump. Its opponent: a dark chestnut-colored horse. Those square herbivore teeth are enough to still cause damage. We reach a raised platform on the side of the courtyard where the king sits watching it all unfold.
Lyall greets me with a big hug, as always, and inquires about my breakfast and sleep. It’s difficult to be enfolded in his arms, accepting the warmth offered, while images of Silas and Joowon run through my head. Recollections of the cold way this man had sent them to their fates play on repeat.
I return his hug without lingering and sit beside him in a padded chair. Thankfully, the bone throne is nowhere in sight.
“Are they sparring?” I ask as the lioness savages the panther’s shoulder.
“Soldiers must train to stay sharp, my dear.”
“But shouldn't they train against people in human form? Like the Fai?” Even as the words leave my mouth, I shiver at the thought.
“Ah, a very good question. But you see, the Fai daimons give them all the power, strength, and resilience of their animal aspect. So it is best to act as if you will be facing the animal even though it will be disguised as a human.”
The red-haired man with glowing eyes, rising into the air with no wings, comes to mind. What other bird powers did he possess? Shaking off that thought, I press forward with my purpose for coming without revealing that I witnessed the horrors of last night.
“I had some questions about the Fai.”
“Yes, dear.” He turns to me with his whole attention, the training ground forgotten for the moment. That simple action makes my throat close up. When had I ever been the sole focus of my father’s attention?
I push forward. “The Fai have been captured as prisoners of war. Do you plan to negotiate with their leaders to give them back at some point—perhaps as a strategy to gain access to some of the disputed bliss matrices?”
“I love that your mind is working toward the benefit of our people,” he says with a smile. “It is something that we have considered; however, the Fai are extremists. There have been peace treaties over the years, but further negotiations always eventually sour. Their beliefs are too strongly held, too fundamental to who they are. They resist all reason and rationality and would never give up a matrix voluntarily. Even for the return of their own people.”
Roars rise from the training ground. An enormous blue dragon has appeared—Shad. He’s facing off against a dozen other large animals, including a rhino. Instead of three rings of sparring, everyone has become a giant circle, focused on this match.
“Shad is your stepson, right?” The curiosity over their relationship distracts me as he swats a brown bear away.
“Yes. After your beloved mother returned to the Origin, I vowed to never marry again. But when a young man emerged from the trials as a dragon, well, custom dictated that I take him under wing. Dragons are the rarest of all, aside from phoenixes. The best way to give him legitimacy was to marry his mother.”
I sit back, unable to tear my eyes from Shad. He doesn't breathe fire and he's not really trying to hurt his own soldiers, but he still fights fiercely. And he’s so large that even against twelve soldiers he appears evenly matched.
“Of course, his father had something to say about that.”
“What?” I turn back to Lyall, who seems lost in the memory.
“The man was a good solider. A rare daimon. A yeti, if I'm not mistaken. Shame to lose him. I had to use the ancient law of honorable combat to challenge him, of course.”
“Like a duel?”
“To the death. Nimali challenged with honorable combat cannot deny it, even if he knows he will lose. It was a great credit to him to be beaten by his king and give his wife and child over to my care. Shadrach’s mother lived only a few months longer. An unpleasant woman, but sacrifices must be made for our people, and young men need their mothers for as long as possible.”
I swallow. I’m unable to look at Lyall at the moment, so I turn back to Shad with my heart in my throat. No wonder there isn't much familial affection between them. The king killed his father, married his mother, and adopted him. Shock chokes me for long moments considering that Shakespearean tragedy.
“Does our culture have many such practices?” I croak.
“We are beasts, dear girl. The daimons who come to us, who we leash, are vicious brutes.” He spreads his arm across the plaza as if showing his proof. “He who rules a society of savagery must do so with the same force the people display, otherwise all would be chaos.
“Every generation does not have a dragon to govern it, but when we rise, we reign with honor and strength. A lion or even a wolf may hold things together for a time, but only a dragon can truly bring the kind of leadership our people need in order to thrive. We would tear each other apart with gentleness or the type of open forums the Fai prefer.”
His hazel eyes drill into me, his mood sharpening. “That is why you must undergo the trials again soon. Once you leash a dragon daimon, your memory will be restored along with your shadow soul and you will take your place as my heir. That is your legacy. You and Shad will rule together, a pair of dragons that no one, especially not the Fai, will be able to defeat.”
“But if you’re right, and I lost my memory soul in a second trial, then I would risk death trying again.” My voice wavers slightly. “You would have me try a third time even if it kills me?”
Lyall leans against his armrest, thoughtful for a moment. “Thousands of years ago, the ancient Spartans sent their sons into the wilderness armed with only a spear and a blanket. At twelve years of age, they were given this test to see if they could survive for an entire month. Many failed; those who did not die of starvation and the elements came home early in shame. Only those who succeeded were allowed to become citizens. The Spartans were a mighty force for a millennia because their warriors, their citizens, had proved their value.”
He reaches over to grip my hands in his. “You, my daughter, are worthy. You will prove your value and you will lead as queen. Your death would mean you were weak, and I know you are not.”
Snarls and growls cleave the air as a wolf falls in the training ground, blood gushing from its wounds. Soldiers in human form rush forward with a gurney and load the animal onto it, then jog toward the edge of the park where one of the Fai waits, eyes glowing, her hands outstretched. At least they heal their injured. My chest numb, I pull my hands from Lyall’s hold and rub at the ache uselessly.
“And when you are queen,” he says, “if it is still your desire to attempt to negotiate with the Fai, you may do so. Although I suspect once your memory returns, you will recall that the best thing we can do is wipe them off the face of the Earth. They are a scourge, and while I admire your compassion, it must be balanced with practicality. The Nimali require a ruthless hand, a leader who they fear as well as love. It is the only thing holding back the beasts from the door.”
Shad's battle is done. All his opponents are down and several more limp toward the waiting Fai healers. The prince transforms back into his human shape and stalks off, disappearing around a corner heading away from the Citadel.
I sit rigidly, staring toward the scene before me with unseeing eyes. Another sparring session begins, but it’s all white noise to me. I vaguely register Lyall’s hand on my shoulder. A gesture designed to give solace. He squeezes lightly then releases me.
It brings no comfort at all, and a realization arises. Shad’s secrecy and his need for a proxy princess make even more sense. I know what he’s doing…the only thing he possibly could be, what I would do if I were in his shoes and left with no other options.
The prince is planning a coup.