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Chapter Twenty-Six

Daeros—Tenebris

Kallias’s blood is sticky on my hand. I try to wipe it off on my skirt, but it just smears and catches in the silk.

I crouch in the vent that connects with the great hall, scrubbing at the blood, scrubbing and scrubbing. But it just continues to smear, and at last I give up, cursing. I pull my knees tight against my chin. I sob, without understanding why.

I killed him. And Kallias was right. For a moment I felt powerful. And then I scrambled down to the floor and was sick in one of the potted orange trees.

It takes a long while before I come back to myself, lift my head, wipe my eyes. I realize that the night grows short. That there is not much time left before the Yellow Lord’s trial of power.

What am I going to do?

I can’t let my brother kill Saga and Vil. I can’t let him kill Ballast . I can’t, can’t, can’t. But how am I supposed to stop him? If I had my magic, maybe I could—what, subdue him and the fifty Iljaria who answer to him? Violet Lord , who do I think I am?

Gulla’s words spell out in my mind: You need to figure out where your loyalties truly lie. You need to figure out what is buried within your own heart.

Where do my loyalties lie?

With my family, with my people. Of course they do. Of course.

But.

My father, forging me into a tool, locking my magic away, sending me into the den of a lion without a backward glance. I was just a sacrifice. A useful sacrifice, and a willing one.

But a sacrifice all the same.

Did he ever think about me, after he sent me away? Did he hope I was doing well? Or was he just impatient for news of the Yellow Lord? He didn’t send the ambassador more than once.

I am Iljaria. I must be faithful to my people.

But.

The Iljaria are pacifists. We don’t believe in war, in death. It is not our way.

Except our history is steeped in war and death.

The entire nation of Skaanda fled Iljaria to escape it.

To cover our shame, we built a barrier of magic and hid in the haven of power and privilege we created while the rest of the world destroyed one another.

And now Iljaria has emerged again, to seize more power and remake the world according to our whims.

To Brandr this is justice. Retribution. He has no qualms at all in sacrificing two peoples to accomplish his purpose.

I can’t accept that.

Saga, trusting me to carry her through the snow. Trusting me in the caves, even when she woke to find her worst enemy there with us. Saga, bursting with joy when we met up with the Skaandan army. Pulling me out of my nightmares. Trusting me, always trusting me, even as I plotted to betray her.

Vil, befriending me, making me feel safe, reminding me what it should be like to have a family. Dreaming of bigger and better things for the country he so loves. Offering his heart, even though I found myself unable to take it.

And Ballast. There on the cliff when my sister died, there in the great hall when his father locked me in an iron cage.

There in his childhood bedroom, bringing me food and books, giving me the precious gift of light and companionship to hold back the horror of the dark.

There in the caves by a rushing river, his mouth on mine and his fingers in my hair.

There in his father’s prison cell, reviling me, burns on his neck where the collar bound him.

I can’t let my brother kill him. I can’t let him kill any of them.

I refuse.

My throat hurts. Kallias’s blood is stiff and dried on my hand now. I try not to think about him, slumped and dead in the cage. I told him I would be free, when he was dead. But I’m not.

If I don’t do something, and do something now , that will be Saga and Vil, very soon. That will be Ballast.

Gulla’s fingers flash in my memory, spelling out a truth I wasn’t quite ready for: You need to figure out what is buried within your own heart.

I take a breath.

I think you already know.

She’s right.

I do.

I should stop to scrub my hands, to change my gown, before I go back to Gulla’s room, but I don’t. When I drop down from the vent, Gulla, Rute, Finnur, and a few other of the older children are waiting for me. The younger ones are asleep in the big bed, their dreams making them whimper.

Gulla and the others look at me, and I see the truth of what I’ve done reflected in their eyes.

I don’t know why, but I feel dirty, ashamed, like Kallias’s blood has seeped through my skin and into my heart.

I am a monster now—isn’t that what Kallias said I would become?

My cheek is raw and tender where I gnawed on it.

I bite down again, because I don’t have time to cry anymore.

You have decided, Gulla signs to me.

I nod.

“What do you need us to do?” asks Finnur. Yellow and violet spark around his head.

“We’re ready,” says Rute quietly. “All of us.”

My throat hurts and I hate this—how can I ask them to risk their lives after everything they’ve already been through?

Gulla gives me a frank look. Time is running out.

I take a deep breath, send each of them a swift, hard glance. “After the sun rises again, when the Iljaria queen arrives, my brother means to unleash the Yellow Lord and wipe out Skaanda and Daeros. We can’t let him.”

Rute and Finnur nod. Pór, the Skaandan cellist of about ten, looks determined, while twelve-year-old Gaiana, a Daerosian mathematician, gulps nervously.

“Tomorrow—in a few hours, actually, he’s going to execute innocent prisoners, including the prince and princess of Skaanda and ... and Ballast.”

Gulla’s eyes go wet, and she ducks her head so I won’t see.

“What’s your plan, Brynja?” asks Rute. She jiggles her foot, muscles antsy.

I tell them.

It doesn’t feel like a plan, really. And there’s not much of a chance it will work. But it’s all we have.

Rute will come with me through the ceiling to the dungeons, where we’ll free the prisoners.

She’ll sneak most of them into the tunnels to hide, and then go to fetch Kallias’s wives and Princess Aelia and bring them there, too.

Then she’ll raid the kitchen and the cellar to keep everyone fed.

Gaiana and Gulla will usher the children into the tunnels, while Finnur and Pór go to free the Daerosian army.

I don’t like this at all, but Finnur claims he has enough magic to get past a few Iljaria guards.

It’s up to me to talk to Saga, Vil, and Ballast.

We don’t have any time to spare. I give Gulla a quick, fierce hug; then Rute and I scramble up into the vents.

My heart is a riot in my chest as I drop down outside the door to the dungeon. Rute lands beside me and picks the lock with swift efficiency. I’m glad—I’m shaking too hard to be of much use.

Rute starts methodically unlocking all the cell doors and explaining to everyone with quiet urgency what’s going on. Lysandra starts shrieking out demands, but her brothers quickly hush her and join Rute in spreading the word.

I go straight to Vil and Saga’s cell, every nerve on fire. Kallias’s blood cracks stiff on my hand, and just the sight of it makes my head wheel. Why didn’t I stop in my rooms to wash, to change? It’s too late now.

Saga is slumped in the corner, her face to the wall, but Vil lifts his head, watching me. He looks pinched, hungry, and I have the sudden horrifying realization that my brother probably never sent any food down here.

“Brynja,” says Vil. “What do you want?”

Saga jerks around at his words, her eyes flashing. Rage coils off her.

I take a breath. I gnaw on the raw spot in my cheek. I will myself to have courage.

“My brother means to kill you all tomorrow. I’m here to rescue you.”

Saga throws her head back and laughs, then picks up a rock and hurls it at me through the bars. I duck but the rock grazes my face, leaving a raw line of pain in its wake.

“ Like Hell You Are !” she shrieks at me.

I gnaw on my lip. “The Yellow Lord is chained in the heart of the mountain. He’s the weapon my people buried so long ago.

My brother will make the Yellow Lord kill you, and then, when the sun rises and the Iljaria queen arrives, he’s going to unleash the Yellow Lord wholly, and wipe out all of Daeros and Skaanda.

Millions of people are going to die unless you help me stop him. ”

“And how exactly could I help the Iljaria ?” snaps Saga.

I touch one of the iron bars, let its coldness burn me. “I wanted to tell you, Saga,” I say quietly. “I almost did, lots of times. But Indridi—”

Saga stiffens, and Vil drops his eyes to the floor.

“She urged me to keep my secret, as she kept hers. She said—she said—” Grief and helplessness roar within me. “She said it didn’t matter that we were friends. That if I told you I was Iljaria, I would be arrested. Executed.” I chew on my lip. “She was my cousin, you know.”

Saga’s eyes go wet. Vil curses and slams the heel of his hand into the rock.

My heart beats, beats. “I thought I was serving my people, being faithful to the task my father set me all those years ago. But I couldn’t leave you to die, Saga.

I couldn’t do it when we escaped. I can’t do it now.

My brother’s actions are wrong . This land used to belong to the Iljaria.

But that doesn’t give him the right to take it back again like this.

My people are supposed to believe in peace, in the sanctity of life.

This is revenge. This is death.” I clench my bloodied hand.

I try not to think of Kallias, stiff and cold in my dangling cage. I believed that too, once.

“You betrayed us,” says Vil, his voice rough and cold. “Why would we trust you now?”

I give a tired lift of my shoulders. “Because I can’t do this alone. And because you are my friends. My ... family. And because—because I’m sorry.” My voice breaks.

It’s Saga who gets up, who paces over to the cell door. There is still anger in her eyes, but the hatred has, perhaps, lessened a little.

“I was wrong,” I say. “I was so wrong, Saga. I won’t ask you to forgive me. But will you help me?”

Behind me, Rute and the rest of the prisoners are waiting. I glance back at her and give her a swift nod. She leads them away, ushering them through an entrance to the tunnels I found on my last visit here, just past Ballast’s cell. Pala and Leifur are the only ones who linger.

Vil climbs slowly to his feet and comes to stand by Saga. “What’s your plan, Brynja?”

I pick the lock to their cell and pull the door open. They both come out, eyeing me warily.

“The Skaandan army has to be close,” I say.

“I haven’t told my brother about them, so he doesn’t know they’re coming.

Go down into the tunnels, speak with the scout, meet up with your soldiers.

The Daerosian army should be free shortly.

The combined forces of both armies should be enough to subdue fifty Iljaria.

Rute can bring messages back and forth to coordinate the attack. ”

Vil looks at me doubtfully. “Can’t your brother just kill us all with a snap of his fingers?”

I grimace. “That’s why I have to get my magic back. I’m going to talk to Ballast. I think he might be able to help me, and I think the Daerosian army will follow him. So all we need to do is—”

“Ballast is gone,” Saga interrupts.

I blink at her. “What?”

“After your last little visit, an obliging rat came and brought him the key to his cell. He’s gone.”

Panic races through me. “Where did he go? Why didn’t he let you all out?”

“Why would he?” she snaps. “He has no love for Skaandans.”

“He said something about gathering his own army,” says Vil.

“The Daerosians?” I ask.

Vil shakes his head. “I don’t think he meant a human army.”