CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER ONE
“Make them fear you and you will be powerful. Make them believe in you and you will be unstoppable.”
~ Beledine Arowey, Second Age
Twelfth Age, Year 611
Being a hero was hard work.
Keriya Soulstar groaned and pressed a pillow over her ears as the alarm clock on her nightstand chimed five. She had never been a morning person, and recently she’d been enjoying her sleep—no night terrors, no restless hours, no haunting memories. She longed to luxuriate in her newfound peace, but sleeping in was not part of a hero’s schedule.
A muscled arm reached over her, tapping the insistent clock into silence.
“Rise and shine,” Viran murmured. He brushed a soft kiss on her shoulder before rolling away to start his morning routine.
The sentiment was sappy—and irritating, because
everything
was irritating at five o’clock in the morning—but Keriya couldn’t help the drowsy smile that spread across her face.
Viran, having lived in the military most of his life, was disciplined in a way Keriya could never hope to be. Every morning was the same: he showered, dressed, stretched, read for twenty minutes, and left to start his day before the clock chimed six.
She dozed through most of his routine. It had been a long time since her body had allowed her to rest, and she cherished these calm moments.
“Keriya, you’re going to be late.”
She gasped as a blast of cold airmagic snaked beneath the blanket, ripping it away. Pushing herself up, she scowled at Viran. Amusement glittered in the depths of his blue eyes.
He wouldn’t leave until she was up, and if she lingered any longer, she’d make
him
late. With another groan, she swung her legs off the bed.
“I’m awake.” She pushed a matted cloud of white hair out of her face and squinted at him through eyes crusted with sleep. “Happy?”
He bowed, sweeping aside his cloak. Sethildras, the legendary blade she’d gifted him, glinted at his hip. “You are a vision of beauty, my little dragon.”
Keriya hurled her pillow at him. Viran sidestepped and opened the door, ducking into the bright marble hallway of the eastern wing.
“Love you, even though you’re making fun of me,” she called.
“And I love you, even though you’re attacking me with deadly projectiles.”
The door clicked shut, and Keriya began her own routine. She grabbed her uniform from where it lay in a crumpled heap beside a stack of books, then went to the bathroom to change.
Made with Erastatian silkworm threads that shimmered white-gold, containing built-in armor courtesy of the dwarves, the uniform made her look older and regal. She admired the glint of the trimmings in the bathroom mirror—and frowned when her gaze landed on her face.
“Mm. Let’s do something about that hair.”
Keriya represented the Empire of Allentria, and she had to look the part. She dragged a brush through her mane and applied her secret weapon: a potion that turned her frizzy tresses sleek and shiny. Satisfied with her appearance, her gaze shifted to the piece of parchment she’d tacked up beside the mirror.
To Do List:
- Clean room
Keriya shot a guilty glance into the room, which was . . . not
filthy
, but very much in a state of disarray. It wasn’t even her room, it was Viran’s. Though she had private quarters, she preferred to stay with him. Listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing helped her fall asleep. Having him beside her kept the nightmares at bay.
“I really should clean today,” she commented to Aurelas, her plain steel sword. It rested on the table near the balcony doors, half-hidden amidst piles of scrolls, maps, and chicken-scratch notes Keriya scribbled while researching.
Cleaning, however, seemed an insurmountable task. Papers littered every available surface, and she’d have to quadruple-check each page before discarding it. She didn’t have time for that. It was nearly six-thirty, which meant she had to leave for . . .
- Dress fitting
“Ugh.” Keriya yanked the list down. “No more delaying this.”
She grabbed Aurelas and buckled its belt around her waist, though there was no real reason to take the blade. Unlike Sethildras, which housed magic that had to be guarded, Aurelas was ordinary. She kept it because it held sentimental value. It had protected her from Necrovar.
Her mind clouded as it shifted to the Shadow Lord. Her stomach churned with nausea, so visceral and sudden that she hugged her arms to her abdomen.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
Slowly, her sickness subsided. Keriya stuffed the list into her pocket, embraced her magicsource, and teleported.
Lightmagic transported her at impossible speed, making her feel as though she were expanding to the size of the universe. Then she was small and compact again, arriving at the in-house Imperial clothier. Three floors, two corridors, and one tower away from Viran’s room in the east wing.
Gods, but Keriya loved magic.
A petite Erastatian stood by the gilded doors. Short and slender, she was a perfect picture of poise. Her golden curls looped in an elaborate up-do, her rosebud lips gleamed pink, her sky-blue eyes were artfully outlined with cosmetic paint, her peach skin was flawless.
“You’re late.” The woman’s commanding voice was at odds with her doe-eyed gaze.
Keriya pointed to the clock that hung at the intersection of halls. “It’s six-thirty exactly.”
“Fifteen minutes early is on time. On time is late,” said Alisa Belbreeze, Chief International Liaison of the Imperial Alliance Institute. She threw open the clothier doors and swept inside.
Grumbling under her breath, Keriya followed.
The fitting wasn’t as bad as she’d expected, though it was still pretty bad. Belbreeze had chosen the fabric and style of Keriya’s dress for the upcoming New Year’s Gala. It was purple—and a bit too revealing.
“Can I . . . request sleeves?” Keriya asked, surveying her outfit in the three-paneled mirror. The gauzy trails hanging off her shoulders did nothing to conceal the collection of scars on her arms, and the v-shaped neckline put her darkest scar on display.
“No,” said Belbreeze. “You’ve delayed so long that you left no time for adjustments.”
“We have a week.” Keriya ran her fingers over the puckered patch of discolored skin on her sternum. Necrovar had given her that mark.
A reminder of a past she couldn’t outrun.
“And every day is packed with preparations.” Belbreeze whipped out a clipboard, displaying an itemized schedule that put Keriya’s list to shame. “Besides, this gala is your societal debut as much as it is a celebration of our new alliances. We want you to look your best.”
At seven-fifteen, Belbreeze called a halt to the fitting and departed for her next meeting with the royal Jidaelni envoy. Keriya changed back into her uniform and pulled out her crumpled list.
- Eat breakfast!!
It seemed trivial, but it was the most important thing she could do for herself. As a Tier Eleven wielder, her body burned energy at an exceptional rate when she used magic. To avoid the gaunt look of working mages and maintain muscle mass, she needed proper nutrition.
The banquet hall was bustling when she arrived. Crystal chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, illuminating tables laden with mouth-watering delicacies. Floor-to-ceiling bay windows overlooked the eastern quadrant of Noryk, where glittering skyscrapers speared the azure sky. Snow-dusted mountains loomed in the distance. The Imperial City was resplendent in the dawn.
She queued at one of the buffet tables, accepting heaping portions of everything that caught her eye. Candied Smarlindian yams, Erastatian honeywheat rolls, and a spiced mango salad—a Ghoren Islands recipe adopted by the Imperial chefs.
“Dragon Speaker.” A familiar voice hailed her as she headed toward an empty table in the window alcoves. She glanced over her shoulder to find Zarius Caelburn, highest officer of the Imperial Guard and military leader of the World Alliance.
“Commander-General,” Keriya greeted him as she slid into a seat. “You’re looking well.”
“As are you,” Caelburn replied in a coldly polite tone. They danced on eggshells around each other, Keriya and Caelburn. He held a lot of political clout, so she had to ‘play nice,’ as Belbreeze put it. He wasn’t her biggest fan, but she
had
saved Allentria.
She shivered, though her uniform contained an enchantment that kept her at an ideal temperature. If Caelburn discovered how close she’d come to destroying the world during that final battle . . .
“Do you have news from the coast?” Caelburn asked.
“Not thince yetherday,” Keriya replied through a mouthful of pastry. “I’m heading out again soon. I’ll report anything unusual.”
“See that you do.”
Caelburn left her to eat her breakfast in peace. Relative peace. She couldn’t go ten seconds without some foreign dignitary wishing her well. She stumbled through half-memorized customs of high society, hoping she didn’t accidentally insult anyone or ‘speak like a peasant’—an egregious crime, according to Belbreeze.
Keriya bussed her tray, ducked out of the hall, and slipped into an alcove before anyone could stop her. She fished out her To Do list so she could mentally check off one more item:
- Scout borders
She left the palace in a dazzling flash, teleporting to the Fironian coast. She arrived on a sandstone cliff west of a bustling port city. A briny sea breeze gusted up from the whitecaps, flecking her cheeks with sand and salt, tossing her sleek hair asunder.
Though the seasons had stabilized in Necrovar’s absence, the weather was mild this far south. She tilted her face skyward, drawing ocean air deep into her lungs, letting the elements revitalize her.
“Keriya!”
She looked to the sea, grinning. A dragon glided across the narrow strait between Cinder Isle and the mainland, sunlight winking on her jade scales.
Keriya stepped back, giving the dragon space to land. She hooked pearly talons into craggy crevices and folded her leathery wings with effortless grace. As she crouched, a human leapt from her shoulder. Keriya barely had time to register the flash of purple eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses before he strode forward and caught her in a hug.
“Easy,” she laughed, returning the embrace. “You’ll mess up my hair.”
“I think that ship has sailed,” said Fletcher, releasing her. The wind had chapped his sun-darkened face, but an exuberant flush made his tan cheeks glow with life.
Keriya’s grin widened. Just to spite Belbreeze, she raked her fingers through her hair, letting the wind catch the long strands and whip them behind her.
“
Drachrheenar
,” the dragon rumbled in greeting.
“Morning, Khyvette. You’re looking good!”
“This is not an ideal time of year for shedding,” said Khyvette, picking at a scabby patch on her foreleg. Though most of the dragon’s hide was new and glossy, several flaky areas remained. “We’ve been too busy to travel to more humid climes to speed the process.”
“We’re expecting another ship tomorrow,” Fletcher added. “Danisan claims it’s from Syrion.”
“Good,” said Keriya. “I look forward to meeting the Syrionese.”
Fletcher shot her a skeptical look over his glasses.
“What? I mean it! Tomorrow won’t work with my schedule, but I’ll meet them at the gala. Assuming they have time to talk to me.”
He folded his arms. “I don’t think you understand. They’re
all
coming to talk to you.”
“Not just me. You and Khyvette—”
“Impressive though we are,” said Khyvette, “you are the main attraction. The legend of your victory against Necrovar has spread to the far corners of the globe.”
Keriya bit back the response that sprang to her lips whenever someone mentioned her victory. It hadn’t been a true victory—but Belbreeze had made it plain that she was never,
ever
to admit that in front of foreign guests.
“Where are they getting their information?” Keriya asked for the millionth time, gazing across the sparkling sea. Beyond the lush hills and gleaming ports of Cinder Isle, where inbound ships were rerouted for docking, the Waters of Chardon stretched endlessly.
Fletcher shrugged. “No idea, but I’m not complaining. Allies are showing up on our doorstep for the next wave of the war.”
Those words doused Keriya’s good humor. Noticing her shift in mood, his face fell. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t worry.” She’d been practicing smiles at Belbreeze’s behest, and now she could fake one so well that not even her best friend of fifteen years could tell the difference. “It’s all good.”
“Really? Have you had a breakthrough with research?”
“Um . . . yeah, I’m getting close. I have a great new plan in the works.”
Fletcher didn’t look convinced, and neither did Khyvette. To stave off further questions, Keriya changed the topic. “I don’t have anywhere to be until eleven-thirty. You have room for one more while you scout?”
She spent an enjoyable few hours flying with Fletcher and Khyvette. Though their patrols had once served to oust the Moorfainians and cull stray shadowtroops, now Fletcher’s missions primarily functioned to spot approaching ships.
Today’s flight didn’t turn up anything unusual—good thing, too, or Keriya would have to report to Caelburn—and when Fletcher’s dwarf-made wristwatch chimed eleven, she prepared to depart.
Khyvette landed on a sandy beach, settling Keriya beside a copse of palm trees.
“Do you have time to stop by tomorrow morning, at least?” Fletcher asked her. “You can pitch us your new plan.”
“Oh. My plan.”
Now I actually have to come up with something.
Khyvette’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, and Keriya hitched a wide smile in place. “I’ll see you at the usual time!”
She wasn’t sure she’d fooled the dragon, but Fletcher seemed placated. Keriya waved farewell to the bondmates as they launched into the azure sky, and fished out her To Do list.
- Checkin with G’shídrian
Keriya had indebted herself to Lord G’shídrian in exchange for the phoenixes’ help in the Shadow War. In the year since the phoenix lord had called in his favor, she’d made little headway on her assigned mission.
She teleported to the Fironian capital, arriving on the city’s high point outside the palace gates. The guards bowed and stood aside to admit her, though she paused before the elaborate sandstone archway, surveying the metropolis.
Fyrxav had suffered greatly when Necrovar’s demonic followers had occupied it. With the
necrocrelai
gone—having fled the continent—the Fironians had reclaimed and rebuilt their land. Now the streets were lively. Open-air markets thrived in cobbled squares, music could be heard on every corner, and the spicy scent of street food wafted up to her through the forest of beige towers.
Keriya turned her back on the sparkling city. Beautiful though it was, she couldn’t shake the creeping sense of unease that clung to her whenever she visited Fyrxav.
Too many traumatic memories surrounded this place.
She shoved those memories aside, throwing back her shoulders and striding through the entry foyer. She was Keriya Soulstar, legendary hero of the Twelfth Age, and according to Belbreeze, she had a reputation of confidence and valor to uphold.
Veering left, she passed a colonnaded gallery and entered the west garden courtyard. There she found G’shídrian perched in his favorite acacia tree, preening his red-and-gold plumage. Reclining on a bench beneath the branches, a blanket draped around her shoulders to fend off the late autumn chill, was Roxanne Fleuridae.
Roxanne’s honey-hazel eyes flashed gold in the midday light as she looked up from her work. She dumped her pile of papers on the bench and let the blanket slide from her slim, muscled shoulders as she rose. “You’re late.”
Keriya huffed a sigh and embraced the taller woman. Roxanne’s cropped hair, which curled in dark, silky wisps, tickled her nose. “It’s eleven-thirty on the dot.”
“On time is late in this modern age.”
“You sound like Belbreeze,” Keriya muttered.
“Can’t say I’m fond of her, but she has a point.” Roxanne drew away and scooped up her pile of papers. “Take a look at this.”
She clutched a map of the Fironem, marked with intersecting lines of magical topography. For months, she’d been researching ways to complete the seventh item on Keriya’s list, the favor G’shídrian had asked of her:
- Rescue Valaan from the Etherworld
No big deal. Just free the Allentrian guardian of firemagic from the parallel universe where Necrovar had imprisoned him. All Keriya had to do was find a way to safely enter the Etherworld—that task was item #6 on her list.
“See that, near the Chasm?” Roxanne pointed to a lattice of lines near the canyon. “The Rift is wide there, and the Flame’shikrim sense Valaan’s presence when they draw near. This could be the winning spot!”
“Great.” Keriya tried to sound excited, but her stomach sank at the thought of the task ahead. “I’ll scout it tomorrow.”
Roxanne’s full lips curled in a smirk. “Yeah? You aren’t busy getting ready for the
gala
, the most important night of our lives?”
Keriya chuckled. “I’d rather enter the Etherworld. If I get stuck there, I won’t have to attend.”
That was the roadblock. One of them, at any rate. Keriya
couldn’t
enter the Etherworld. Thanks to the magic in her soul, she’d become a prisoner as soon as she crossed the threshold of that hostile universe.
“You never know, it might be fun,” said Roxanne. “Besides, it’s your birthday. It’s like the whole world came to celebrate with you.”
“Somehow, that doesn’t make it better,” Keriya said wryly.
They made plans to explore G’shídrian’s new location together before Keriya departed. She bowed to the phoenix lord and embraced Roxanne once more, then teleported to the Imperial Palace. After a hearty lunch, she slipped off to work on her afternoon task:
- Do research
The Imperial Library, located in the west wing with vaulted ceilings and magnificent bay windows to mirror the banquet hall, would have been an enjoyable place to pore over aged tomes. Keriya had spent her early days of research there, lounging in comfy armchairs. The dark nature of her studies had led her away from the library to the Antiquity Stacks.
She strode through marble halls until she came to an antechamber hewn from natural stone. A single wooden door stood in the center of the far wall. She turned the tarnished brass handle and the door swung inward. It had been enchanted to open at her touch.
The Antiquity Stacks housed tomes too ancient—or dangerous—to be displayed in the public library. This room had no windows. It was three stories tall, lit by floating orbs that emitted a steady, purplish-blue light. The stacks, crammed with books, stretched endlessly into the shadows.
“What’s that? Who’s—oh. It’s you.” Master Rikoru, ward of the Imperial Library, shuffled out from between stone shelves. His silver hair glinted in the fey light. His face was wrinkled with age, but his narrow blue eyes were bright and piercing.
“Nice to see you too, Master Rikoru. Any luck on your end?”
“A few things,” he said gruffly, waving a gnarled hand. “I left them on the third table down.”
“Thanks.”
“This research won’t lead anywhere,” he told her. “It’s all fairy tales from ages past.”
“The dragons say otherwise.”
“Hmph.” Rikoru’s mouth twisted, but not even he could argue with that. “I still say you’d do better just to practice your wielding, like a normal person.”
“I’m not a normal person,” Keriya murmured, drifting past him into the shadows.
Normal people didn’t risk the destruction of the world when they wielded.
Keriya went to the table where Rikoru had piled a neat pyramid of scrolls. She unrolled one and found that, like many older texts, it was written in runes she could understand. These ancient letters were the same ones she’d grown up with in her hometown of Aeria.
“The Origin of Valemagic,” she breathed, her fingertips tracing the title. Inhaling the musty scent of old parchment, she began to read.
Hours and hours she sat there. It was lucky she’d gorged at lunch, because dinnertime came and went. Rikoru’s scrolls contained little substance—mostly they recounted legends of valemagic’s mysterious guardian, the Dragon Empress. Keriya already knew the information they presented.
She is the god and guardian of Pure Valemagic.
She dwells in the Broken Vale at the crown of the world.
Only those who know the way may find her home.
Therein lay the conundrum.
Another
conundrum. Or perhaps the same one, because the problems that prevented Keriya from rescuing Valaan also prevented her from completing the last four items on her To Do list:
-
Find the Dragon Empress
-
Master valemagic
-
Free the dragons from their Spider
-
Defeat Necrovar (for real this time)
Valemagic was, and always had been, the answer. It had crafted Keriya’s life, shaped her destiny. It had given her the power to speak to dragons and save the world.
Or destroy it.
The last time she’d wielded valemagic, she had fallen victim to its seduction. It had seized control during her final battle with Necrovar, whispering to her, spurring her to do tremendous and terrible things. In her desperation for victory, she’d used it to siphon energy from every living soul on Selaras.
She didn’t trust herself to use it again, not in her current state. For a year-and-a-half she’d been seeking information that would help her find the Dragon Empress, so she could learn to master the fathomless power in her soul.
And still she had no answers.
Her brush with destruction horrified her. More horrifying still was the fact that she longed to feel valemagic surging through her veins. She yearned for her heart to chime in tune with the pulse of the universe. She longed for it like a drowning man longs for air.
Keriya gave her head a vigorous shake. “I need therapy.”
“The palace infirmary employs several psychologists,” came Master Rikoru’s scratchy voice. He emerged from the stacks, glaring at her. “And it’s nearly midnight. Off with you!”
“Can I take this one?” she asked, waving a scroll.
His bushy white brows stormed together. “You haven’t returned the last ones you borrowed!”
“Yeah, because I’m trying to figure out how to save the world.”
Rikoru tossed his hands in the air and stumped away, conceding defeat. Clutching the scroll, Keriya embraced her source and teleported one final time.
Faint spots winked across her vision when she arrived outside Viran’s room. Dizziness and a hint of nausea stole through her. She swayed, leaning against the door frame. All in all, she hadn’t done much wielding. There was no reason to be this exhausted.
“I’ve been busy,” she murmured, making excuses to the empty hall. “I had a long day.”
Yet it felt like she’d accomplished nothing. So she would tack the To Do list up in the bathroom again and take it with her tomorrow, hoping tomorrow would reveal the answers she sought.
Composing herself, Keriya turned the knob and eased the door open, thinking Viran would be asleep. He wasn’t. A merry fire crackled in the hearth, and he was up and about, cleaning.
“Clean the room,” she moaned, slapping a hand to her forehead. “I didn’t clean the room.”
“I’m doing it,” he said as she shut the door.
“I’ve had cleaning on my list for weeks,
months
, and I haven’t done it. I haven’t done anything, and I . . .” Keriya’s throat tightened. Her chest heaved with pent-up, broken breaths.
She stamped down on an irrational surge of adrenaline. Heroes didn’t have panic attacks—it was not on the list, not part of the itemized schedule. She fought to normalize her breathing, identifying familiar, calming scents: the smell of books. A hint of fresh snow wafting through the open window. Viran, whose aroma was a mix of summer and sand and magic.
He was suddenly in front of her. He placed his hands—one flesh and blood, the other a dwarf-made metal prosthetic—on her shoulders. “Keriya, I don’t mind the mess.”
“You do. You hate messes.”
“But I love you. So I’ll tolerate your mess, as long as it means you’re here.”
She buried her face against his chest. Strong arms wrapped around her, and the weight of her impossible tasks lifted from her shoulders.
“Any luck with your research?” he asked, stroking her flyaway hair with his human hand.
“No. And the stupid gala’s in seven days—six, now—and Belbreeze will be parading me around, telling people I’m the Master of Valemagic, when in reality I’m too scared to wield it for fear that I’ll kill everything on the planet.”
Viran tensed, and Keriya’s heart broke. He was one of her victims. He’d allowed her to siphon his magic and use his energy. In doing so, she’d nearly unraveled him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, leaning back to stare up at him. “I’m not going to wield it, and Belbreeze knows that. I’m not going to touch it until I’m sure I can control it.”
Viran planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “I’m not worried about that. I have faith in you, drackling.”
“I just don’t want anyone making promises on my behalf,” she murmured.
Promises I can’t keep.
The power to fix everything tingled at the tips of her fingers, yet she couldn’t use it. That didn’t stop her from wanting it, wanting
more
. Wanting with every thread of her being.
“How can I help?” asked Viran, pulling her thoughts away from magic. He gazed at her with such tenderness that her frustration melted.
“Just hold me.”
Keep the nightmares at bay.
Viran pulled her close, and Keriya clung to him more tightly. She didn’t know what she’d done to deserve someone like Viran, and she had no idea why he continued to tolerate her messes.
Because he thinks I can do it. Find the Dragon Empress, master valemagic, kill Necrovar.
Viran was counting on her. All her friends were. The whole of Selaras was.
Keriya could not fail them.