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Chapter twenty-three

Seraphina

B risk steps carried Seraphina through the darkness as she fled from the Crow with her godparents and her Queensguard.

The heavy skirts of her gown thumped against her ankles with each step. The air was humid and thick. The night was choked with the tang of woodsmoke.

She couldn’t breathe.

The Crow’s words haunted her. They buzzed within her ears as she raced toward her own pavilion, desperate to see Sir Tristan.

King Edmund desired her to marry his brother? To name him king?

Never . She would rather rot.

“There is always Lothmeer,” Duke Percival reminded her between his gasped breaths. He struggled to keep up. “We do not have to do this, Your Majesty. There is still Lothmeer. ”

“Lothmeer?” A bitter laugh escaped Seraphina’s lips.

Mysai could not wait for Lothmeer. Elmoria could not wait for Lothmeer. The very stars would fall from the heavens before the Emperor of Lothmeer would even consider raising his sword and coming to their aid.

“Or we can seek a loan from the city-states and hire a mercenary army,” her godfather suggested next.

“Or simply an alliance with the city-states,” Duchess Edith interjected. “You are young and beautiful, Your Majesty. You could easily win the aid of any merchant prince from Fortuna.”

Seraphina stopped dead in her tracks and whirled to face her godmother. “Shall we leave now then, Your Grace?” she asked, her tone scathing. “So I would have time to sit for a fresh portrait with which to entice a merchant prince?”

Was that truly all she was good for? Batting her eyes and attracting a husband who might save her from Edmund Hargrave’s petty games?

Her godmother frowned at her, but she let the words stand.

“How much more time would you both have me waste while Drakmor declares war on us?” Seraphina whispered, starting toward her pavilion again. “While the people of Mysai slowly starve?” Or worse?

She couldn’t rid herself of the memory of that black smog hanging low over her city across the Straight. The death. The screams.

The bloodied crow.

Duke Percival laid a hand on her arm, stopping her again with his touch. “We are not your enemies here,” he whispered, eyes searching her face in the darkness. “We love you. And we are trying to help you.”

Seraphina pulled her arm from his grasp and snapped, “Then help me think of a proper solution instead of more ridiculous ideas.”

Duke Percival flinched away from her words, as if the very syllables had struck him across the face.

She regretted them at once.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, as Duchess Edith stepped forward and wrapped an arm about the duke’s waist. “I’m sorry. I’m just…” Seraphina trailed off and rubbed her face. Sweat clung to her brow as if she were breaking free from a fever.

Her godmother shot her a look. “Moody? Well, one can hardly blame you. But our point stands, Your Majesty. There are other options available to you.”

Duke Percival let loose with a long sigh. “There is always another way.”

Seraphina offered another quiet, “I’m sorry. You’re right.” Stepping in close, she wrapped both her arms around her godparents, careful not to squish poor Alyx in the process. Physical contact was still unpleasant in such humidity; everyone was far too sticky and warm.

But they deserved her apologies all the same.

They were all on the same side. They all wanted the same thing.

Duke Percival pressed a kiss to her brow and whispered, “It’s all right, dear girl. We understand. ”

With a weak smile, Seraphina withdrew from their embrace and hurried the rest of the way toward her pavilion. She needed to see Sir Tristan. She needed to ensure he was well.

And she needed to speak to Oracle Tsukiko. Tsukiko was bound to know what she should do next.

When she arrived to her makeshift palace, she found Sir Tristan still lying on a cot in the center of the room with Tsukiko and a physician kneeling beside him. Shield Ichiro lingered nearby, as ever. The rest of the Oracle’s Redguard haunted the corners of the room.

“How is he?” Seraphina asked, rushing over. Her heart caught in her throat, though, when Tsukiko looked up to reveal tears shimmering in the depths of her silver eyes. “Is he…?”

She couldn’t bring herself to finish the question.

“He sleeps still,” the physician informed her, a tired edge to his voice. “As should we all. There is nothing more I can do for him tonight.”

Tsukiko stroked the unconscious knight’s hand and whispered, “But he dreams the most beautiful dreams.”

Seraphina frowned over that. Could an Oracle truly see a person’s dreams?

But more importantly, would Tristan ever wake again? What was she to do if she had to return to Goldreach and tell Olivia that Sir Tristan would never again bother her for a game of cards?

Those were the questions she wanted to ask.

What departed her lips instead was a question for the Oracle. “Did you know this would happen? ”

In the wake of those words, a great silence fell upon the room.

Tsukiko ceased her stroking of Sir Tristan’s hand. Her godparents shared a look. Shield Ichiro glanced her way and narrowed his eyes.

But Seraphina kept her attention fixed on the Oracle when she asked again, “Did you know?”

She hated the way her lips trembled around the words. She hated how that sliver of betrayal pricked her heart and filled her thoughts with the whispers of doubt. But she had to know.

She simply had to know.

When Tsukiko looked up at her at last and met her gaze, the Oracle uttered in that soft, airy way of hers, “The future is never set in stone, Your Majesty. Nor does the Lord on High provide me with a manuscript I am to read and follow. He gives me visions and I read the signs.”

Within her thoughts, she heard Tsukiko’s voice again unfurl. The Oracle whispered, I am not the Navigator, Seraphina. I am the Compass.

Seraphina pursed her lips. Those words brought her little comfort. “Then read the signs of my vision,” she implored. “Tell me what I am supposed to do and I will do it.”

Shield Ichiro suddenly snarled, “You have mistaken my lady for a street fortune teller who claims to read runes.”

“Ichiro,” Tsukiko exhaled, and the man quieted at once.

But his eyes burned with all his words left unspoken .

The Oracle’s attention shifted back to her when next the other woman uttered, “That vision was for you and you alone, Your Majesty. Only you can read it.”

“Me?”

That revelation was like a punch to the stomach. It sucked all the air from her lungs. Who was she to read signs from the Lord?

Who am I? Tsukiko asked in return.

Seraphina looked toward where the Oracle still knelt at Sir Tristan’s bedside. The Kunishi woman rose to her feet—slowly, as if she were moving through water. The bells about her wrists chimed with each of her movements.

But they tolled with a strange cadence. Like the beating of a heart.

Or the thunder of hoofbeats.

You are an Oracle , Seraphina replied with a shake of her head. And I am but a woman .

The air within the pavilion grew closer. The scent of wet earth filled her nose. Wet earth and horse sweat.

And blood.

Who am I? Tsukiko’s voice echoed within her thoughts again as the world fell away.

No longer did Seraphina stand within that tent of painted canvas on Nerina Reef with her godparents and Sir Tristan. She was elsewhere.

A different tent. A different land.

She was in Kuni.

She didn’t know how she knew that. She simply did .

Before her crouched a little girl tangled up in the arms of a woman. The woman wore armor. A spear and shield lay close at hand. A young boy watched the world beyond through the flap of the tent.

“They are coming,” the boy cried, luring a sob from the little girl. “The warlord is coming.”

“Tsukiko,” the woman whispered, and Seraphina’s heart skipped a beat when the girl looked up to reveal her eyes. They glowed silver, as brilliant as twin stars in her small, tear-streaked face. “Tsukiko, I need you to listen to me. Go with Ichiro. Follow the river. Don’t look back. Be brave, my love. Stand tall.”

“Mama—” Little Tsukiko whimpered and clung to her mother’s armor.

But the woman shushed her. “Mama will be right behind Tsukiko. Mama will follow.” She turned to young Ichiro next and handed the boy her spear. “Protect your sister, Ichiro. Make for the shrine. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

The boy took the spear in his trembling hands and nodded his understanding. He looked little older than six years of age.

But Tsukiko looked younger still.

“Go,” the woman commanded, shoving them toward the back of the tent. “Out the back. Hurry.”

Seraphina heard screams in the near distance. The clash of steel. The cries of horses. The sounds of battle were drawing nearer by the moment. They were running out of time.

The scene shifted .

She raced through a forest drenched in cold mist, running as fast as she could. A river burbled nearby. Before her ran the fleeing children. They were fast.

But the men hunting them were faster.

“Hurry, Tsukiko,” Ichiro begged as he half led, half dragged the girl through the brush. The clamor of hoofbeats pounding against moist earth sounded just behind. “Faster.”

But it was too late.

Who am I? Tsukiko’s voice echoed again within her mind while she watched on. While she witnessed six riders—tattooed men with red skulls painted across their faces—surround the two children.

“Take the girl. Kill the boy,” one man screamed, and young Tsukiko turned to face him, as defiant as any Kunishi shieldmaiden. Her little fists clenched. Her chin lifted high.

Ichiro stood firm between her and the other Kunishi—a Shield, even then. Seraphina hadn’t realized he was her brother. But she could see it so plainly in that moment as the boy took up his protective stance, as he lifted their mother’s spear. His hands trembled, and one man dared laugh.

It was a laugh cut short.

Seraphina’s eyes widened when a barrage of arrows soared from the shadows of the nearby trees and peppered the enemy riders. Three slumped and tumbled from their saddles, and their horses bolted deeper into the woods. The three who remained turned to face the new threat, weapons held at the ready .

From the trees marched seven red-clad warriors surrounding a woman clothed in white and gold veils. Two men wearing robes embroidered with the golden sun of the Lord walked with her.

But it was the woman who immediately drew Seraphina’s eye. She seemed to shine with a brilliance all her own, even within the dim light beneath the trees.

An Oracle.

As the Oracle’s Redguard dealt with what enemies remained, the woman herself turned to look down at the two children. Even covered as she was by an Oracle’s customary veils, it was easy enough to see the way her gaze shimmered. The way a single tear trickled from the corner of one eye.

“There you are,” the Oracle whispered over the melody of the trickling water and the swiftly fading sounds of battle. “For so many years have I searched for you, little Sister…”

Just as the Oracle reached out a hand toward young Tsukiko, the forest melted away. Seraphina stood within a great nothingness, alone with Tsukiko as she was now.

The grown woman and Oracle she had become.

Seraphina gazed into those silver eyes and into the vast sea of unshed sorrow they contained as Tsukiko further whispered within her mind, Who are you?

Seraphina rubbed her cheeks to rid herself of her own tears. Her heart ached for little Tsukiko, for little Ichiro, and their lost mother.

But she didn’t know how to answer this latest question any more than she had known how to answer the first .

I am no one. I was not born for greatness as you were, Tsukiko. A humorless laugh escaped Seraphina’s throat. It echoed strangely within that great nothing. I am the daughter my father never wanted? The queen who was never meant to be?

A sudden breeze whipped past, sending Tsukiko’s many veils to snapping in the wind. In the next moment, the Oracle dissipated like mere wisps of smoke and Seraphina stood alone.

But Tsukiko’s question remained.

Who are you?

The peal of bright laughter that followed those words promptly shattered Seraphina’s heart as easily as glass. She turned to face its source with fresh tears in her eyes, even though she already knew from whence it had come. She would have recognized that laughter anywhere.

Mother .

She stood within the queen’s chambers at the palace in Goldreach, watching her younger self and her brother running circles about the furniture while their mother chased them. Hamon .

Little Hamon.

She remembered that day. It had been a year before the wasting sickness ravaged Goldreach and took their mother. Before their father had placed even more responsibilities on Hamon and turned him cool and serious.

Seraphina pressed a hand over her mouth and watched her brother laughing and leaping about like a stag in the woods. He looked so young. They both did.

And they were happy.

“Mama, I’m tired,” young Seraphina complained, flinging herself onto the sofa. “ I want to play a new game.”

Silvia de la Croix stopped to catch her breath as well, smiling. “I know just the game to play. I’ll teach you how to play Sovereign.”

Hamon wrinkled his nose. “That sounds like a girl’s game.”

“Sovereign is a card game, my love. And anyone can play it.”

Hamon clearly wasn’t convinced. He sighed and made a big production of flopping himself onto the sofa as well.

Young Seraphina watched their mother with wide eyes, though, as the queen pulled out a deck of Sovereign cards and revealed each of the four different cards one by one.

The King. The Queen. The Knight. The Knave.

“Sovereign is a rather simple game,” their mother explained with a smile, “and many believe the only way to win is through luck. But that’s not true. ” Silvia leaned in closer and imparted on a whisper, “The true way to win is to know your opponent and anticipate their next move.”

“How do you play?” young Seraphina asked.

Their mother shuffled the cards and further explained, “You have four rounds per game. We will play together so you can see for yourself. I will place one card facedown on the table, and then you will do the same. We will turn them over at the same time and see who won that round. And then we will do that three more times. Whoever wins the most rounds wins the game.”

Young Seraphina frowned. “But how can I win if I can’t see what card you played, Mama, until I’ve already played my own?”

Hamon groaned, “This is a girl’s game. ”

Silvia chuckled at them both. It was to young Seraphina she directed her next words, though, when she reminded her, “If you know your opponent, my love, you will always be able to anticipate what card they will play next.”

“But I won’t know what cards they have in their hand unless I peek,” young Seraphina complained.

“And that’d be cheating,” Hamon declared, ever the stickler for the rules.

Their mother smiled. “Yes, that would be cheating. But if you can’t guess what cards they might have in their hand, just play the strongest card you have, sweetheart. You’re guaranteed to win if you do that.”

The memory faded about the edges, the colors bleeding into one another like a watercolor painting caught in the rain. But Seraphina watched on as long as she could, desperately drinking in every detail.

The way the sunlight spilled in through the window and caught her mother’s chestnut hair. The way she laughed. The way she smiled. The way she dealt each hand of cards while they played Sovereign long into the evening.

Who are you?

That question flitted through her mind yet again as the world slowly returned to Seraphina’s view. She was back within that painted pavilion on Nerina Reef, standing next to Sir Tristan’s cot with her Queensguard and godparents surrounding her .

“Your Majesty?” Duchess Edith asked from where she stood directly before her, gentle hands cupping her cheeks. “Are you well?”

Seraphina felt a single tear slip from the corner of her eye as she met her godmother’s green gaze. Concern shone there as the older woman searched her face.

Seraphina did her best to muster a smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m well.”

But she wasn’t. Not truly.

Seeing her mother again had ripped open wounds she thought had long since healed. Her heart ached all over again with the hole Silvia de la Croix’s passing had left behind. It had been so long ago. Surely, it shouldn’t hurt this badly still.

But there were some wounds that no amount of time could fully heal.

Drawing in a deep breath, Seraphina set aside all those old hurts. She delicately pulled herself from her godmother’s hold and wiped her own cheeks clean.

“Perhaps you should sit down,” Duchess Edith softly suggested.

But Seraphina shook her head. She couldn’t rest now.

There was too much work to be done.

“Your Grace?” Seraphina prompted, looking to her godfather next. Duke Percival raised his eyebrows, concern plainly written on his own features. “Send for my lawyers, please. And tell them to prepare for a long night.”

Duke Percival shared a quick look with his wife. “Does this mean…we have a plan, Your Majesty? ”

Seraphina glanced past her godparents and affirmed, “Yes, we have a plan.”

Across that small distance, she met Tsukiko’s gaze. And though no further words were exchanged between them, she felt as though they had finally reached an understanding.

A shared, unspoken sorrow.

There they stood, two women who had lost their mothers at too young an age. And yet, their mothers had sought to impart powerful lessons to them both before their deaths.

That of strength.

And that of strategy.

She knew who she was. She was the daughter of Silvia de la Croix, the greatest Sovereign player she had ever known.

And she knew how to best Edmund Hargrave at his own game.

“And what might that plan be, if we may ask?” Duchess Edith lightly pressed, drawing Seraphina’s attention back that way with the question.

Seraphina offered a weary smile and explained, “We’re going to play the strongest card we have.”