Blood Heir

32

Ana awoke to silence, snow, and stars. A cold draft stirred through the broken windowpanes of the dacha she and Linn had found. The fire in the hearth had gone out. From the soft, silver-blue glow of light beyond the tattered curtains, she could tell that it was still night. Dawn lingered, just out of reach.

Yet something had shifted in her senses. It took her a moment to realize that her Affinity was back.

Relief flooded her, and she sat up in the rugs and furs she and Linn had piled together for a makeshift bed. The girl was nowhere to be seen, but the soft whickering of their horses near the door told Ana that her companion would not be gone for long.

Ana clutched her head in her hands. She always felt off balance when her Affinity returned; it was like being able to see again, darkness slowly giving way to patches of light and blurred movement.

It had been a day since they’d ridden from the Kerlan Estate and escaped Sadov in the Syvern Taiga. In the semidarkness, she could still taste the nauseating fear that had coated her tongue, the hiss of Sadov’s voice from the shadows.

In five days’ time, your brother will announce his abdication due to ill health and appoint the Kolst Contessya Morganya as Empress Regent of Cyrilia.

The world drew into sharp focus. She had four more days to get to the capital of her empire.

She reached under the pile of blankets until her fingers grasped the beaded purse that had been tied to her wrist when Sadov had abducted her. Now ragged with dust and blood, it still held the last of her belongings.

Ana dug out a globefire and shook it. The chemical powders inside the orb rattled, and eventually, a spark caught on the oil coating the inside of the glass. Light lanced across the small cabin, and she held it close as she rummaged through her purse.

Her map was still in there, tattered and stained. Holding the globefire over it, she found the name of the village they’d passed last evening before settling into this empty dacha: Beroshk.

With her thumb, she traced the distance to Salskoff, and calculated.

Exactly four days of travel by horse. Her stomach tightened. They would just make it; they needed to be on their way soon.

She shifted her position, and the remaining contents of her purse spilled out. A copperstone and a silver pocket watch glinted in the light of the globefire. The sight of these objects brought back memories that ached like fresh wounds.

She held a purse full of things that belonged to people who, no matter how hard she tried, she would never be able to bring back.

Ana hurled the purse across the room.

The door opened behind her, bringing a breath of cold wind. Ana turned to see Linn clutching a satchel to her chest. Her knives were strapped to her waist, her movements sharp and lithe.

Ana looked away, ashamed to be seen crying.

Without a word, Linn crossed the room and plucked the scattered belongings up and carefully tucked them back into Ana’s purse. She hesitated, her eyes searching Ana’s face. “These seem precious to you,” she said.

Ana wiped her tears, reeling back the dark well of her grief. “What’s the use of holding on to these things if the people who owned them are gone?”

Linn laid the purse by Ana’s mess of blankets. “Do you know what I have learned?”

“What?”

“Only loss can teach us the true worth of things.” Linn’s clothes rustled as she knelt before Ana and grasped her hands. “There is nothing we can do but go on, one day at a time. We live in their memory, taking the breaths they cannot draw again, catching the warmth of the sunlight that they were meant to feel.”

The knot in Ana’s chest loosened a little; she brushed the back of her hand against her cheek, wiping away her tears.

Linn held out her hands. “Come. There is something I want to show you.”

Linn opened the cabin door and disappeared. Ana followed, and when she reached the open doorway, the cold and the sight before her stole her breath.

Outside, the sky was aglow with currents of hazy blue lights that shifted and ebbed like gentle waves, their soft glow reflected on the dark tree lines of the Syvern Taiga. A smattering of stars glittered like silver dust caught in between. And, from time to time, a wave would break away and dip down, down, down, until it disappeared beyond the trees of the Syvern Taiga.

“The Deities’ Lights,” Ana whispered. She had read of these in her studies, had craned her neck at her bedroom window for a glimpse, but the walls of the Salskoff Palace had always stood too tall. “They’re… beautiful.”

Linn grasped her hand and pointed. “Look.”

A cold wind brushed past them, and the entire forest seemed to whisper in response. At the edge of the trees, snow swirled from the ground as though stirred by phantom fingers. Ana watched as one of the drifts of snow swept into the air, twirling faster and faster until it took the shape of a deer. Beneath the blue glow of the Deities’ Lights, the silver conjuration looked ghostly as it took a graceful step forward.

“Ice spirits,” Linn whispered, hushed excitement in her tone.

Another gust of wind scattered snow that took the shape of a running fox, and then there was a bounding rabbit, and a soaring eagle plunged into a weaving sky that looked alive.

Half-fascinated, half-afraid, Ana took a step back. “Linn, these spirits can be dangerous.”

Linn shook her head. “Only some. When I was with the brokers, they often made us sleep outside as punishment. The ice spirits kept me company.” She turned to Ana, and the lights and snow reflected silver in her dark eyes. “I wanted to show you because I think there is good and bad in everything, Ana. And it is the good of this world that makes it worth saving.”

Ana closed her eyes. The silence, the lights, and the snow made everything seem dreamlike, and she wanted for this night to never end. “When Ramson freed you, you could have taken your freedom without choosing the Trade. Why didn’t you?”

Linn placed her hands together and clasped her fingers to form an oval. “Action, and counteraction,” she said patiently. “My people believe that every action has a counteraction. Yin and yang; moon and sun; night and day. Ramson saved me, therefore I saved you.” She said this simply, confidently, as though it were as easy as differentiating between black and white.

Ana wrapped her arms around herself. In the absolute quiet, it felt like they were the only two beings alive, and the confession unfurled with a plume of her breath in the frosty air. “I’m afraid, Linn.”

“That’s good.” Linn gazed into the distance, where the ice spirits frolicked in their ever-shifting forms beneath the blue light of the Deities. “My mother told me that is when we can choose to be brave.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier.”

Linn cast her eyes down and smiled. “Want to know a secret?”

Ana found herself smiling back. “Sure.”

“I am afraid, too.” The words were a whisper in the wind. “But… there is something I want, a feeling stronger than my fear.”

“What is it?”

“Freedom.” Overhead, the shadow of a hawk soared beneath the shifting blue lights in the sky. Its screech pierced the night. “My traffickers stole my freedom and my voice. They led me to believe that there was nothing I could do. That there was no hope.” Linn’s eyes were closed. She drew a breath and turned her face to the shimmering lights outside. “I have waited so long to make a choice of my own. For every Affinite freed, like me, there are thousands of others still trapped in this system, invisible in the shadows. I choose to fight for them, for me. Which do you choose?”

Ana’s voice was hoarse when she said, “I choose to fight.”

Linn’s eyes flew open, and Ana could swear someone had cast in them all the stars in the night sky. “Good. Now, I have something to show you.”

Back in the dacha, Linn handed Ana a rolled-up piece of parchment. “I found this at the marketplace.”

Ana unfurled the poster, and the world around her seemed to crumble to ashes.

It was a portrait of Luka. He looked older than she had last seen him a year ago—or perhaps it was the way the artist depicted him. His jaw had strengthened and his shoulders had broadened, yet one thing that hadn’t changed was the radiant smile that lit his face. The artist had painted him with a fur-rimmed silver cloak, a tiger’s clasp at his throat, and the white-gold Crown of Cyrilia sitting perfectly on his head.

Gently, she ran a hand over his face, tracing the bump of his chin and the spot where his dimple should be. The artist hadn’t captured that. She let her gaze linger on him a few moments more before dropping to the line of gold text emblazoned beneath.

Ana’s teeth clenched. At least Tetsyev hadn’t been lying to her about that part. Four days—they would arrive on the cusp of Coronation evening.

She would get there, or she would die trying.

Hold on, Luka, she thought. I’m coming.

“He’s beautiful,” Linn breathed, her gaze on the snow-dampened portrait of Luka. “I had always pictured Emperor Mikhailov to be… well… monstrous.”

The words stirred a spark of anger within Ana. “Why?”

“Growing up in Kemeira, we were taught of the cruelty of the Cyrilian Empire, of the way Affinites are treated here.” There was no hostility on the girl’s face. She peered down at the portrait, brows creased, as though she were genuinely reflecting. “And after I came here, I learned how your people view us: as ruthless, cold-blooded warriors. I suppose we are all heroes in our own eyes, and monsters in the eyes of those who are different.”

Ana thought of the Vyntr’makt in Kyrov, of how the yaeger had looked at her, like she was the monster. “It is not often brought up in Cyrilian textbooks or classes, but I know the other nations view Affinites differently,” she said instead.

“Yes,” Linn said. “In Kemeira, we are the Temple Masters. We serve with whatever Affinity the gods granted us. I trained with the Wind Masters to hone my Affinity, to protect my kingdom.”

A chill crept through Ana. “You were trained by the Wind Masters?” The Kemeiran Wind Masters were only spoken of in hushed whispers throughout the Empire. They were the deadliest assassins in the lands, rumored to have mastered the secrets to flight. They were men and women of wind and shadows, unseen and unheard. It was said that the only time one saw a Wind Master was before he or she slit one’s throat.

“I was trained to serve Kemeira; I was trained for a grander destiny. I thought I would find that.” Anguish flitted across her face. “I boarded a Cyrilian ship in hopes that I would find my brother and return home. But when I landed, they took my belongings and my identification papers. They told me I would be arrested unless I signed an employment contract. I didn’t know that I would lose my freedom that day.” Linn hung her head. “The Wind Masters trained me for a grand fate, a great destiny. I do not know what that is yet, but I think… I think you might be a part of it.” Linn drew a breath and lifted her eyes, courage seeming to settle on her shoulders. “My people believe in fate. So I will follow your path, Ana… in search of my destiny.”

Ana reached out and squeezed Linn’s hands. “You will carve your own path,” she said. “And you will build your own destiny.”

Linn’s lips curled; a smile broke across her face, lovely and full of hope.

For the next three days, they traveled from dawn to dusk, bundled in furs and cloaks, their thick-hoofed horses keeping up a steady pace. Snow continued to fall from gray skies, and the world was a whirl of white. They made sure to arrive at villages or towns prior to nightfall, and crept out of snowed-up inns when the last of the Deities’ Lights were still fading from the sky, and the ghostly glimmers of ice spirits disappeared with the first cracks of the day.

At night, they ran through their plans. They would arrive just in time for the Coronation—so they would need to unveil Morganya’s conspiracy before Luka abdicated.

The Coronation would be the only time the Palace had a large enough number of people going in and out that they could enter without detection. Ana knew how these events worked; there would be a line of guest carriages for miles out. Guards would be posted at the Kateryanna Bridge, checking guests and tickets.

Their only chance was to intercept a carriage and swap places with the guests inside.

Ana would reveal herself once she was inside the palace and reunited with Luka. She would tell her brother and the Court everything, while Linn went to the apothecary’s wing to find the poison and the antidote, which would be evidence of her claims.

On the fourth and final day of their travels, there was a stillness in the air. The snow had stopped. The sun dusted the world in gold, and their horses’ steps were quiet in the soft layers of snow.

When Ana steered her horse between two tall pines, she found herself at a cliff’s edge. She gave a sharp tug on the reins, and when she looked up, a hundred emotions filled her.

The sun was rising over white-tipped mountains, transforming the snow-covered earth into a glittering canvas of corals and reds and pinks. Wisps of clouds streaked the waking sky, stained with the fiery orange rays of the sun. Tundra rolled out in every direction as far as the eye could see, interspersed with white pines and jagged mountains. And so far in the distance that it almost—almost—blended into the landscape were the shimmering white steeples and red-tiled roofs of Salskoff.

Home.

Winds—fresh and cold and scented like winter—caressed her cheeks, stroking her shoulders and the nape of her neck. Her hood tumbled from her head and her hair danced in the breeze.

Home. As she stared at the Palace in the distance—her Palace—a sense of doubt shadowed the longing that grasped her heart. There had been simpler times, when the halls rang with her and Luka’s laughter, when she would huddle by the door of her chambers at night and whisper to Yuri over a mug of hot chokolad. When Mama and mamika Morganya had sat together by her bed, stroking her hair until their murmurs faded into dreams.

But it was impossible to think of the Palace without thinking of the cracks that had spread over the years. Papa, turning away from her. Sadov, smiling at her pain. All this, built on the fabric of corruption that had allowed for the nobility to profit from the pain of Affinites.

Home would never again carry the same meaning for her, Ana realized. And as she straightened in her saddle, Shamaïra’s words whispered to her in the winter wind. No, Little Tigress—we take what we are given and we fight like hell to make it better.

Ana opened her eyes. She was the heiress of the Mikhailov line, the Little Tigress of Salskoff, and she was coming home.