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ESSA

I t had been two years since I’d attended a Skrathan ball, and I’d forgotten the wondrous beauty of it. The vast cascading flower arrangements. The flickering candles and torches. The magical fae lights drifting in the air like clouds of glowing dust motes. The long tables set with a feast of bite-sized goodies, including some of my favorites, like fig-roasted zyrfish and honey-drizzled soft cheese. The royal knights in their intricately-painted armor lined up along the west wall of the ballroom at rigid attention. The pixies flitting among the buttresses, leaving trails of sparkling light behind them. Even the ballroom itself was beautiful with its gold-veined white marble columns and its high, vaulted ceilings, with a diamond-cut crystal dome at its zenith to capture and multiply the moonlight.

“Wow. You hold a ball like this every year?” Kit asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.

“Yes,” I said. “As the queen’s daughter I’m supposed to attend, but I rarely do.”

“Why not?” he asked, eyeing a fountain of sparkling wine.

“Oh…” I sighed. “I don’t like the eyes on me, I suppose.”

“I’m not surprised they stare,” he said. “You look like a goddess.”

I assumed he was teasing and slapped his arm. But when I looked at his face, I saw that his gaze upon me was intent, as if he would drink me with his eyes.

I looked away, blushing. “That’s not what I mean,” I said. “It’s the court. Some are envious. Some judging. Some just hating. All of them scheming.”

The breakup with Braimar had also soured me on going to dances, but I didn’t want to bring that up—not to Kit.

“You make life as a royal sound awfully bleak,” he said.

His easy tone made me laugh. “And you grin as if you’d enjoy crossing the mouth of a volcano on foot. But, I have to admit, I feel better walking in here than I ever have before—having you on my arm.”

Kit’s smile deepened.

“If they’re going talk about you, let’s give them something to talk about,” he said, and led me onto the dance floor.

At the very center of the room, he stopped, turned to me and bowed. “May I have this dance?”

I actually giggled—a terrible sound I don’t think I’d made since I was a girl. My hand went to my mouth as I tried to stop myself, embarrassed.

“Of course,” I said, and he crooked his arm around my waist and drew me close. Then we were moving, swept into the flow of the dance along with everyone else on the floor. His dancing didn’t match what everyone else was doing, but I tried my best to follow him, and soon we were gliding across the floor together as one. He moved wonderfully, and I felt as light and graceful and sure in his arms as I did on Othura’s back.

I shook my head. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Hmm. Well, I’m not great at writing,” he said.

“That could pose a problem,” I laughed.

“It does,” he agreed.

“And yet, the fact that you’re a professional at the thing you’re worst at speaks highly for your other talents, I’d say. It’s pretty impressive.”

“The truth is, I’m in awe of you ,” he said.

I tried not to look shocked. “Me?”

“I wish I had a tenth of your ferocity and courage.”

“You flatter me,” I said, my heart beating faster at his compliment. “Besides, I’m sure you have at least an eighth of my courage. You’re remarkably brave for a scribe.”

“There’s being afraid and doing something anyway—as you do—that’s bravery. And then there’s not caring if you live or die. That’s something else.”

I looked at him more closely.

“Are you saying you have nothing to live for?”

“I’m saying…”

We moved together, our motion world blurring around us as he considered my question.

“I once felt I would rather die than be nobody,” he said at last.

It wasn’t the answer I expected. “And now?”

“Now I’m somebody who is dancing with Essaphine,” he said, as if that were the only thing that mattered in the world.

I felt my face heating, my heart beating faster still.

“If your courage came from being willing to die rather than be a nobody, and now you’re a somebody, then by your logic, your courage is gone.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said.

I laughed, and so our conversation went on, by turns silly and flirty, and earnest and probing. After a few dances, we stopped and got wine. Lure, Pocha and Dagar found us along with their dates and we stood around the wine fountain, drinking and laughing. Kit noticed the pixies and Lure explained how the little thumb-sized fae lived in the hollows near the Yrdam Mountains and came here on special occasions, summoned by our dragons, to bless us with their light.

“I’ll be damned. I thought pixies only existed in fairy tales,” I heard Kit say as he gazed up in wonder.

“Then your mistake is believing fairy tales aren’t real,” Lure said.

I watched as Kit noticed the other bits of magick scattered about the room. The flowering vines that were growing up the columns, spreading and blooming before our eyes. The pool in the center of the room that was really a scrying basin tuned to the beauties of the world, showing images of sunrises on the other side of the Earth—butterflies in flight, sunrises on distant islands, and schools of brightly colored fish flashing beneath the seas.

“It’s incredible,” Kit said, the awe evident on his face as he glanced at me. “It’s all incredible.”

His hand found my waist and pulled me in to stand side-by-side with him. I was just tilting my head back to take in his scent when I glimpsed a face up in the galleries that looked down on the room. Cold eyes. Pale skin. Tangled green hair. Braimar. Our gaze met and he bared his teeth like a startled beast and faded back into the shadows.

Kit saw my expression change and frowned. “Essa?—?”

He glanced up to the galleries, confused, but before I could explain, one of mother’s guards approached us.

“Princess Essaphine. Mr. Rowley,” he said. “The Queen would like a word.”

* * *

Mother sat in her box overlooking the festivities. Prelate Kortoi sat with her, as did Hoatan and Targ. The men looked uncomfortable in their finery, but mother shone in a gown the bright crimson of a sunlit ruby.

While we were some distance away, Kit froze. I looked back at him, concerned.

“Kit. What is it?”

He nodded toward Mother’s retinue. “That man with the scarred face. I’ve seen him before.”

“That’s Trag,” I said. “He’s the captain of Mother’s guard—and Hoatan’s right hand. What?—?”

“The Queen is waiting,” the guard interrupted impatiently, and I took Kit’s hand and pulled him onward, though the look of concern on his face remained.

“My daughter and our esteemed guest,” Mother greeted us. “The two of you seem to be getting on well. Are you enjoying the ball?”

“Very much, your majesty,” Kit said with a bow.

“Surprisingly, yes,” I answered.

“And yet I would caution you against too much wine,” Mother said. “Remember, the culmination of your challenge is only three days hence, Essaphine. You’ll want to make sure you feel well.”

“How could I forget?” I said. “And yet you’ve given up hope for me, have you not? What difference, then, if I decide to drink myself into oblivion?”

“While a person lives, there is always hope,” Mother said.

I was ready to snarl back a snarky retort, but Prelate Kortoi jumped in first.

“I believe I am the expert on oblivion here as I am its high priest,” the Prelate said. “Drinking until one experiences oblivion is one of the great religious rites of my order. I highly recommend it. If you take my advice, come see me in the morning. I have remedies that you will find most helpful.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m familiar with your remedies. I’ll pass.”

“Essa…” Mother warned.

The Prelate’s smile didn’t waver as he turned his attention to Kit.

“Speaking of which, I have been waiting for you to return to enjoy more of my coffee, Mr. Rowley.”

Kit bowed. “Apologies. I’ve been quite busy.”

“So I hear,” Kortoi said. “The court is all abuzz with talk of your training with Princess Essaphine.”

“Indeed,” Hoatan said. “Many wonder what advice a foreign reporter can give to a girl who has trained on dragon back her whole life.”

“His cousin is a pilot,” I said, unwilling to let these leeches ruin our night by bullying Kit. “He’s knowledgeable about a good many things. And of course, there is a simple way any man can give a woman confidence. By believing in her.”

Hoatan nodded, chastened.

The Prelate grinned, as if enjoying the whole drama immensely.

Mother looked pensive, tapping her lips with one finger. “I should like to read the article you’re working on, Mr. Rowley. You will come and read it to the court.”

“Well…” Kit cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s not complete yet, your majesty. My research about your kingdom is still ongoing. Really, I’ve seen enough to fill several books. It’s hard to know where to begin.”

“And yet you must have begun by now,” the queen said. “Certainly you’ve written something .”

Kit gave a faltering smile. “Of course, your majesty.”

“Good,” the queen said. “You will come and read it before the court tomorrow.”

“Not tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll all need a day to recover from the ball, Mother.”

She frowned. “The following day, then. In the meantime, I hope you’ll both enjoy yourselves. Just remember, Essaphine, the eyes of the kingdom are upon you. If you should win your challenge with Laynine, you shall wear the crown one day—with all the expectations that come with it.”

I knew what she meant. Remain pure. Don’t sleep with Kit.

“Of course,” I sneered as I gave her a courtesy, then I grabbed Kit’s hand and departed.

As soon as we’re reached the dance floor again, the herald shouted, “Laynine of the house Stratos, Acting Irska of the Royal Skrathan.”

“Ah, your cousin is here,” Kit said lightly.

Laynine entered, looking stunning in a sapphire-colored gown. As we watched, a crush of nobles hurried over to pay their respects to her. An almost comical number of riders got glasses of wine and headed in her direction, each hoping to be the first to offer a drink. A knot of jealousy balled up in my stomach.

“Essaphine.”

I turned to find Aunt Dreya at my side. She too looked lovely with her auburn hair pinned up and wearing an agate-colored gown. I brought my fist to my heart in a riders’ salute.

“Durram,” I greeted her with the deference a student owed her mentor.

“Don’t you look lovely tonight?” Auntie said. Her gaze went to the door. “I may be biased, but I believe you and my Laynine are the stars of the ball tonight.”

Her words were meant as a kindness, I knew, but bringing her daughter into my compliment did little to dampen my irritation.

Kit came to my rescue.

“As an unbiased outside observer, I agree,” he said.

Aunt Dreya looked Kit up and down. “Unbiased... I don’t know. You’re here on Essaphine’s arm, aren’t you? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of your acquiesce,” she said. “Though I certainly know who you are.”

“Kit Rowley,” he offered her his hand to shake. She offered hers limp and palm-down, and he took the hint and brought it to his lips.

“In normal course, it would be my place to train Essaphine for her challenge.” she said. “But I hear you have assumed the role of durram for her.”

I spoke up quickly. “I am sorry, Auntie. You know how much I value your instruction. Perhaps in the next few days, before the challenge, we could?—"

She waved off my words. “I have taught you all I know. Perhaps there is some unconventional wisdom our handsome friend can impart that I cannot. But tell me, Mr. Rowley, I hope our Essa has been treating you well during your visit with us.”

He gave a low nod. “I couldn’t dream of a better hostess.”

My Aunt’s gaze returned to me, her voice low. “It’s not too late, Essa, for what we discussed. The Prelate and I have been talking. He has connections all over the world, and has offered several different estates owned by the Brotherhood which would be suitable for a royal of your stature to reside in—with servants, space for Othura to hunt…” She glanced at Kit again. “You could even bring along whatever companions you wished. It could be a good life, Essa. Much better than the war and the constant political jockeying here at the capital. And you’d be far from the prying eyes of the nobles. You’d be able to do, to be , whatever you wish.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure Kortoi would be happy to be rid of me. It would be one less arrow in the royals’ quiver. And for you, it would be one less bump on Laynine’s road to the crown. It’s what you’ve always wanted for her, isn’t it?”

Aunt Dreya paled. “Essa. You know I’ve loved you like a daughter.”

“And yet, Laynine is your daughter.” I pointed out. I could feel my cheeks reddening, my eyes burning with pent up tears.

Dreya glanced around at the nobles watching us. “I’m trying to save your life,” she hissed.

“Running away is no life,” I shot back.

Taking Kit’s hand, I turned and pushed my way through the crowd, tears blurring my vision.

Calls of Laynine! And Irska! Rang through the ballroom as Laynine’s admirers clambered for her attention.

Through the cacophony Aunt Dreya called after us. “I hope you can talk some sense into her, Mr. Rowley. It seems you’re the only one she cares for now.”

From over by the orchestra, Dagar spotted us and raised a hand, calling us over, “Essa! Kit!”

But I was in no mood for chat. Instead, I grabbed a bottle of sparkling wine from a passing tray and tugged Kit after me though a side door, down a short servants’ hall, and up a narrow, winding staircase.

“I’m sorry,” Kit said as we went. “What your aunt said?—”

“It’s not her fault,” I said, sniffing and blinking back my tears. “It’s just this place. Between the royals and the nobles and the Gray Brothers and the Skrathan and the war, it’s all just so impossibly complicated. It’s like… like a hall of mirrors.”

At the top of the stairs there was a narrow door. I turned the dusty knob and pushed. When it didn’t give, I banged my shoulder into it. It creaked, but didn’t open.

“Here, let me,” Kit said. I stepped aside and he shoved the door. It swung wide, revealing a low, dim room. It had a pleasant smell of dust and candle wax and coziness, the same smell I remembered from my childhood. I found a candle on a table and Kit produced a mechanical lighter from his pocket and sparked a flame.

I hadn’t been up here in years—from the looks of it, no one had—but the room was just as I remembered it. A space about the size of a servant’s bedroom, with bare wood floors with a sloped ceiling. In the center of the room, an ornate brass grate in the floor looked down upon the ballroom below. Muted strains of music drifted up, a sleepy, pleasant sound.

“What is this place?” Kit asked, glancing around.

I smiled. “My hiding place. Well, one of them. It was created when the palace was built as a place for bowmen to watch over the royals on the dance floor below. When I was a girl, mother used to let me stay up here and watch as the balls would take place below. I’d steal a bunch of grapes and sit here with my dolls, making them twirl and pretending they were dancers on the floor below.”

Kit’s smile mirrored mine. “Sounds nice.”

“It was. Far better than swimming with the sharks down below.”

I knelt beside the grate and gazed down. Through the floral-pattered brass, I could see dancers twirling, revelers sipping drinks, the musicians rapt in their playing. Kit came up beside me. I felt the warmth of his body immediately, smelled the scent of him, a smell like warm maple syrup mixed with sun-baked skin and the earth after a rain. The light from below shone up through the grate, illuminating his beautiful face. Long, sensitive eyelashes. A rugged chin. Full lips crooked into a bemused half-smile.

Those lips... my eyes lingered on them too long. And his eyes were on mine. Suddenly, the air in the little room seemed too thin. The world spun as if I might faint.

“Have I ever told you the story of what happened to my arm?” I asked suddenly.

He shook his head. “No.”

I handed him the bottle. “Open the wine and I’ll tell you.”

* * *

The wine burned sweetly going down, its miniscule bubbles pleasantly tickling my throat. I handed the bottle back to him. He took a sip and I tried not to think of how sharing the bottle like this was like a kiss once-removed, like the rim of the bottle was transporting my kiss to him and his kiss to me.

“I was five years old,” I said, my eyes drifting from his lovely face to the dancers spinning on the floor below, then unfocusing as my mind went beyond all that could be seen to a place of memory. “My mother had taken me flying before on short little hops. Some of my earliest memories are of the wind in my hair. The feel of her dragon’s sides moving between my legs as she breathed… the little grumbling sound their breath makes as they exhale. It was frowned upon to take young people on dragon back before they were bonded, but I was persistent. I loved mother’s dragon, Autan—and I begged for years to ride her. Once I tried it, I was always begging for more. To go higher, further, faster. Mother, I imagine, took it as a sign that I was destined to become a great rider. So one day, she relented and agreed to take me on a longer trip. We were to go to the Temple of the Oracle in Umsir, in the mountains. It was a fine day when we set out. Clear skies, a fair, warm breeze. But as we crossed the highest peaks of the Yrdams, a storm front came. It was this wall of towering black cloud. Mother spurred her dragon on, hoping to reach the temple before the storm hit. And we almost made it. But from out of the clouds, a creature came. It was like a dragon, but skeletal. And its eyes… I’ll never forget the eyes. There were none. Where the eyes should have been there were just two holes, as if someone had scooped bits of storm cloud and placed it in the unnatural beast’s eye sockets—a black blacker than midnight. The thing attacked. Mother’s dragon tilted to defend itself, but the demonic dragon was more powerful than she expected. It knocked us into a roll. And…”

My throat closed up. I clamped my eyes shut, a dam against the tears that tried to come. Only then did I realize I’d never told this story before—to anyone. Everyone around me already knew it. It had followed me around all my life, whispered from person to person. But I’d never told it. Never spoken of it aloud.

Kit took my hand. His skin was soft, but there was such strength in his grip. I squeezed back. And I continued, pushing each word out with effort, as if drawing a knife from a wound. “I fell. Mother’s dragon dove to save me, but I was out of reach of her talons. So she caught me the only way she could—with her teeth. As she caught me, she was exposed, and the attacking dragon caught her by the neck. We all fell. It was all a blur for me, of course, the shock and terror of it all… but somehow, mother struck the attacking dragon with her sword and made it release us. Autan was able to get us to the ground safely. But her wound was grave. She had to put herself into a kataal, a healing sleep that can last for a hundred years. And as for me…”

I held up the stump of my arm. “The bone was snapped. The muscles torn and twisted. The artery severed. All they could do was remove it and cauterize it with dragon fire. After that, it was clear I would never be the great rider mother was. And without her dragon, she flew no more. Mother lost her youngest heir and her dragon in one day—the two greatest losses one could bear.”

“But she didn’t lose you,” he said gently. “You’re still here.”

I gave a wan smile. “Not to her. Not in the ways that matter.”

“You’ve never mentioned your father,” Kit said gently. “Is he dead?”

I shook my head. “I never knew him. We have only queens in Maethalia. The heads of all the noble houses are considered my fathers.”

Kit frowned. “And the dragon that attacked you?”

“It was never seen again,” I said. “Nor have I ever heard of another like it. I think many in the court think mother went a bit mad that day and imagined it. But I saw it. It was real.”

I swigged from the bottle until I had to come up for air. Then I handed it back to Kit, my head spinning.

“So, there you have it,” I said. “The story of a broken girl...”

Kit’s eyes held mine. Gods, the way he looked at me. It was so direct, so complete, his gaze like the heat of the sun on my face. No one had ever looked at me like that before.

“You, Essaphine Torholt, are the most complete person I’ve ever met in my life.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out part whimper, part sigh. “This from an enemy poet.”

“I am not a poet,” he said. “And I am no enemy of yours.”

His fingers touched my cheek, his thumb erasing a tear, and I couldn’t stop myself from nuzzling into his touch. I didn’t want to stop myself. Not tonight. Not anymore. When I opened my eyes, his face was close to mine, his lips so near I could taste the sweet wine on his breath.

“You don’t want me,” I whispered. “I am a dead girl,”

“And I’m a dead man,” he said. “So this must be heaven.”

Then his lips were on mine, our kiss slick and salty with my tears. The first touch was teasing, probing, tremulous with longing. His hand found the back of my neck, pulling me in closer, his tongue slipped between my lips. My fingers slid into his hair, our mouths pressed together, tasting, clashing, hungry.

Then he pulled back, breathless.

“Essa,” he said. “I have to tell you something. When I say I’m not a poet… I’m not a writer, either.”

“And I am not a rider,” I said fiercely. “I am nothing. I have nothing. I feel nothing. Except when I’m with you…”

I shook my head. Words failing. Instead I went in for another kiss, but he held me back, shaking his head.

He shut his eyes, bared his teeth with frustration. “I want you, Essa. I want you like I’ve never wanted anything. But… I really am your enemy.”

“Then conquer me,” I breathed.

For a second he hesitated, his eyes wild with want, his chest rising and falling.

Then he was on me, pushing me backward. He caught my head in the crook of his arm, protecting me from the impact as we landed together upon the floor. Our teeth clashed, our lips nipping and sliding together. He sucked my lower lip in a way that sent a hot tingle between my legs. I bit his until I tasted blood. In response he pressed me to the floor, his weight bearing into me. I felt his desire pressing against me, wringing a groan of longing from my chest. I reached for him and squeezed, making him gasp with want.

“Take me,” I breathed. “Now.”

His hands were on my bodice, untying, unlacing, finally tearing with frustration, then his mouth was on my breasts. Kissing. Sucking. I arched my back, a tiny squeal of desire coming from the back of my throat as I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer. Even through the layers of clothes I felt him throbbing and I pulled him closer still, making him groan in pain and longing.

“Essa,” he gasped. “I want you. God, I want you.”

“Yes,” I growled, my hand on his belt.

“But we can’t,” he hissed.

My hand found him. I stroked, feeling him hot against my palm. His mouth opened in a silent cry.

“Yes we can,” I whispered.

He gave the faintest nod. Then he was shoving my skirt aside, reaching for his belt buckle. I shifted, opening my legs—and my foot hit something. There was a clink, then the sound of shouts from below.

I craned my neck to see the wine bottle had tipped, its contents spilling, drizzling through the grate—onto the dancers below.

Kit and I locked eyes, an identical look of open-mouthed shock on our faces. They were followed an instant later by peals of uncontrollable laughter. Quickly, Kit righted the bottle and we both scooched back from the grate and the many eyes that now peered up at it with ire.

“Oops,” he whispered. And we were both laughing again. I didn’t even notice our hands were entwined until I looked down at them. It felt so natural, so right being tangled up with him.

“They’ll be looking for a culprit. We should run,” I said.

“Or lock the door,” he smiled, pulling me to him. He looked at me for a moment, his gaze so full of feeling it almost brought tears to my eyes. Then he kissed me. It was a kiss filled with everything. Want and need and—and something else I feared to put a name to. But I felt it, as real and as alive as the beating of my own heart.

Then there came a sound. A low, sonorous blast that every Skrathan instantly felt in their very bones.

“The Theyrune horn,” I whispered. “Battle...”

We stood up fast, righting our clothes. Below, the music had stopped. Another sound came from outside the door—the tramping of feet coming up the stairs—toward us.

“There’s another door. Quick!” I said, taking Kit’s hand and tugging him behind me. The second door led to a short stair down to a hallway that ran along the upper edge of the ballroom. More grates looked down on the space below, which was clearing out fast. We traversed a short maze of halls and staircases, then finally emerged into to one of the palace’s many courtyards, still hand-in-hand. The bells in the tower were clanging, and the drone of necromancer engines hung in the distance. Airplanes. An attack.

It couldn’t be... Enemy planes regularly attacked at the front lines. But they’d almost never ventured as far as Issastar. And they almost never attacked at night.

I turned to face Kit. “I’ll find Othura. You return to your room. Go!”

He looked at me like he wanted to protest. Instead he gave a single nod.

“Be careful,” he said.

And we ran.