Bryre's Jewels: Book I of Forgotten Ages

By Joan How

To the west, proud and alone, was the Imperial Country. To the East stood the Freelands, engulfed in civil war since its very birth. Above them was Cecorria, Home of all Sorcery, struggling against its very own downfall. And finally there was Bryre, the keeper of the sinister Blood Jewels, deadly to all who held them too close. But above them all was another country, a country ignored and long gone silent, but just stirring awake.
Only myths told of three heroines arising to meet the powers rising from the North, but myths are myths, stories, and nothing more

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 25, 2006
• ISBN: 9781477166475

Joan How

Joan How currently resides in Boston, Massachusetts. After being inspired by countless fantasy novels, she wrote Bryre’s Jewels during her high school career. She is currently writing whatever else suits her fancy (including the next installment of The Forgotten Ages), and still is a devoted fantasy fan.

Book preview

Chapter One

It was dark and ominous as the circle of men knelt and prayed in low undertones. Every figure enclosed in the chain of zealots wore black hooded robes, pulled low over the eyes and spilled loosely in pools around their knees. All flesh was covered, save for their conspicuous white hands, wrung out or clasped together as the worshippers murmured their pleas. At the head of the circle a solitary man stepped forward and removed his hood, revealing a gaping scar that ran across his face. He may have been a handsome man, once long ago, but the scar had taken over his face and stolen whatever identity he once held. The chanting grew louder as the Leader took from beneath his cloak a single jewel, blood red in color and as large as his fist. He placed it on an elevated pedestal encircled by white diamonds and held up his staff. Immediately, all noise ceased.

There it lies in front of you. He whispered in a low voice, though his words rang loudly across the dank chamber. Who is ready?

An unmasked man stepped forward, his face naked from the shadow of his hood. He was shorter in stature than most, and bald as well. Sweat dripped down his head as he bowed.

Leader, I will try.

The Leader eyed him critically before sweeping his arm forward. The pale man approached cautiously, hesitantly grasping the Jewel in his papery white fingers.

His eyes widened as the Jewel darkened. Then, with a nod from the Leader, he closed his eyes and exhaled. The bald man stood, shaking, and for a few moments, the scarred man thought it was done. But then the bald man gave a hysterical shout, and clutched the Jewel to his breast as he drunkenly lurched to the ground. The circle stepped back as the man, his eyes rolling backward and his face dripping with perspiration, stumbled blindly toward the doors. A crash of light followed, and a billow of smoke enveloped him, all amidst a choking, inhuman scream. Ashes sprinkled to the ground in a neat pile of dust, with a single Jewel sparkling innocently on top. The circle turned to look at the Leader, his staff outstretched and still smoking from the explosion.

He was not the one. He said flatly and slipped the Jewel back in his robe. Today is not the fated day. He put up his hood and left without a backwards glance, the dead man already banished from his memories.

This will never work, he thought. Those fools will only follow the guise of the Cult for so long. His time is growing near, and without a Shadow, He will never rise. The scarred man took out the Blood Jewel, turning it slowly beneath the fading light as its bright colors shimmered and winked. Ever the wily servant, he thought, staring piercingly into the gem. Will you ever return to your Master’s service?

By now, the seagulls were everywhere, squawking and circling overhead the glistening blue ocean. Arielle could dimly see the outline of workers on the Imperial Harbors, like little ants bumbling obliviously in front of a sprawling mass of translucent emerald spires. The Imperial Palace was a monster of a castle, but it had a sort of tenacious elegance in its imposing size. Arielle could hardly believe she was here. The Imperial Country was a notorious enemy to the Cecorrian Tower of sorcery, but Arielle believed that her home had greater enemies. Above them all were the ill omens of the North, where the legends smiled down on them as the Tower numbers dwindled. Arielle knew that salvation came only from sorcery, but having searched all of Cecorria and the Freelands, she had only found a handful of promising women, and no men at all. The Imperial Country was all she had left.

But Arielle was not discouraged. There was one who came out of the prophecy, whose powers were unimaginable. Even Oreus, doubtful of anything told at a fireside, had admitted at the sheer miracle of it all. But until two more could be found, she was meaningless.

It’s been a long journey, Oreus. Arielle opened her eyes, sensing her half brother behind her.

Oreus nodded, not moving. But we are here.

Arielle hesitated, her gray eyes glinting beneath the sun. And what do we find here? Arielle thought bitterly. Without the Tower’s help, we are nothing. If only they could see what I see, Arielle looked away. But they are fools. Seeing nothing but Bryre’s shiny Jewels . . . 

Do you think we will find any? She said finally, trying to break the silence.

Oreus approached Arielle, and leaned forward so that he too was peering closely at the Imperial Harbors.

We are desperate. He said softly. Arielle’s gaze did not waver.

Indeed we are. She murmured.

Your Majesty, a Cecorrian ship has just arrived in the Harbors.

Cecorria? The Imperial King said irritably. Crystal shifted her weight, carefully balancing a fireball in her hand. Making fire always calmed her, but she had to be careful to conceal any sign of sorcery from her father, the Great Imperial King Torma, Hater of All Things Magic.

The servant nodded, and Crystal’s father waved his hand.

I suppose out of courtesy we ought to give them a room for the night. Most unwise to anger the Tower. The Imperial King frowned. But what do they want? We are hardly a friend, and a sorcerer hasn’t stepped on our soil since… since, well, since a long time ago.

A long time ago is right, Crystal thought with a smile as she dutifully pretended to write out her calligraphy. After all, the Imperial City despised anything associated with sorcery, from Bryre’s legendary Blood Jewels to Cecorria’s Tower to even harmless magicians playing card tricks.

Shall I leave, Father? Crystal asked in a low undertone. Torma turned to her thoughtfully.

No, no. He finally said. I don’t want you getting mixed up with the Tower. He laughed nervously, and although he did not continue, Crystal knew he was referring to her own magic.

It isn’t my fault. Crystal thought stubbornly. She let the red fireball turn slowly to a blue, feeling its heat ebbing into cold ice. She remembered the first time she had created fire. She was around five or six, and in one of the deep trances that would overcome her unexpectedly from time to time. Sometimes she could feel the earth tingling beneath her, every worm and grub wriggling beneath the rocks and soil. Other times, if she was very weary, she could feel the air full of life, as if beings were swarming in the air, chattering angrily. But it was when she was around five or six that she disappeared into a completely different realm, more surreal than her pixies and earth ever were.

She was angry about something. Crystal didn’t remember what, only that her hand still stung from the slap she received. As she stared dismally at her garden of drooping lilies, she sank past the earth, past the pixies, and was surrounded by heat emanating from a ball of fire. It engulfed her, consumed her, and licked at her hungrily, even greedily. Even at that young age, Crystal knew that the Core of Flames was no vision, but something inside her, as if she was staring through a window into her body. The outlying layer of fire was made of glowing hot ember, a fusion of red, orange, and yellow flame, while the inside was blue-white ice. And in the very center of the ball, Crystal saw poison, black sparks that leapt off the walls of its containment, ricocheting back and forth. It was this unknown substance that had frightened Crystal. Venomous, tainted with some unknown evil just bursting to be released. Abruptly she had fainted, only to wake to screams and shouts as well as the charred remains of the lily garden. Her already distant mother was in near hysterics when she heard, and after that hardly ever spoke to Crystal at all. And her father had intimidated every servant into silence and then raged at Crystal for nearly an hour before threatening her banishment if she ever experimented again. But it was an empty threat, and though her parents forbade it, she revisited the fire, learning to suppress the black energy and at the same time withdraw flames of fire and ice into her hand. Now, she was so adept at her gift that throwing fireballs was as easy as blinking.

Crystal? Crystal! Torma’s voice penetrated into Crystal’s thoughts, and irritably, she looked up.

Hmm? She murmured, her eyes focusing on the Imperial King’s face.

Stay focused. A good queen must always be alert. Torma said with a disapproving frown.

Of course, Father. Crystal mumbled with annoyance. What was so horrible about sorcery? She saw nothing immoral about it. And especially with the state of the world as it was, Crystal thought it was perhaps necessary.

There was a war brewing, and Crystal felt the unease. She eavesdropped behind doors, wandered into conversations not meant for her ears. Worse, nightmares of blood and shadows plagued her dreams, so much so that Crystal had forgotten what it felt like to sleep. She shuddered just to think about it. Fire… and a scarred man… a crooked dagger, and the hideous skull gaping at the hilt… But the war involved the Cecorrian Tower as an ally, and so, of course, the Imperial City was not involved.

Apologies, Father, Crystal murmured, though by then Torma was brooding silently, his daughter the last thing on his mind. Shall I leave you alone?

Torma glanced at her, then gave a weary smile. Yes Crystal, I would like that.

Dutifully Crystal kissed him on the cheek and left him mulling in his throne room while she wandered the halls. The First Imperial King had wanted his Palace to be above all large to show his defiance and pride to the rest of the Land. The Great Hall thus had a ceiling that looked like the sky and a wide passage with mirrors and windows for walls, giving Crystal a disconcerting feeling that she was walking on air. It stretched throughout the palace like a king’s road through a country, branching off into rooms, stairs, or smaller halls. Sometimes Crystal would walk through the entire palace just by following it. She had gone a good distance when she spied her chambermaid in her cousin’s room.

The sorcerers are here. Her cousin Mattie announced as a greeting. Crystal rolled her eyes while she settled in. Mattie aimlessly picked up an ivory comb and brushed her long black hair. Those of the Imperial race all had charcoal hair and dark eyes, though Crystal was a slight exception. Crystal had the black hair and eyes, but she had paler and creamier skin than most of those in the City.

"Well, if you’re really looking to show off your healing, Mattie, why don’t you just go run into a sword? Crystal murmured nonchalantly, and then looked up. It’ll do all of us a favor." Mattie sniffed, as Thorne stifled a laugh.

It’s true, though Crystal. The always-talkative Thorne commented, picking up the conversation. I saw the ship myself in the Harbors. The taverns are abuzz with it. It’s not everyday a Cecorrian comes to the Imperial Palace.

Mattie shut the door behind her. See?

I never said that I disagreed with you. Crystal countered irritably.

Yes, but you were still being disagreeable, Mattie gave a thin smile. Your jealousy is easy to hear.

Scorn is more like it.

Jealousy, Mattie said adamantly. That I am a sorceress.

Thorne scowled, and was about to remark on that, but Crystal interrupted her. Shouldn’t be saying that here, Matteriéna T’lamane. Crystal looked at her from the side of her eye. Would you like my father to overhear? Mattie’s smile faded, and then she glared at Crystal before opening her mouth to protest.

That was rhetorical, Mattie. Crystal said flatly. I’ve had enough of your bleating. Mattie glowered, and then turned heels to depart, but not before a giving final retort to save whatever dignity she had left.

Jealousy won’t get you far on the Throne, and it won’t get you far here.

Jealousy? Crystal laughed silently. If you only knew what I could really do. Covertly, she made a fireball, and then let it sizzle away. Mattie always made outrageous remarks regarding her desire to be a sorceress, but Crystal knew that it was nothing more than her frustration of not being able to receive the Imperial Throne. Crystal sincerely despised her with all her heart, but because she was her cousin, and too young to truly know what she spoke of, she was forced to endure her gloating of being able to heal. It was a little odd, and Crystal later admitted that it perhaps really was sorcery. But then again, it was nothing compared to fireballs and levitation. She was a fool, though, to announce her love of Cecorria in the Palace. King Torma was outraged when he overheard her declaration of traveling to the Cecorrian Tower, and nearly exploded when he caught her healing an injured squirrel. After her punishment, Mattie made sure to voice all opinions of magic in low tones. Well, lower tones.

Don’t mind Mattie Crystal. You know how she is.

All too well, Crystal said dryly. She looked up at her maid. Thorne, what do you think about our visitors… ?

Well, Thorne said eagerly. Obviously Cecorria’s desperate. I heard at the taverns that some of the sorcerers have been killing each other for stronger spells. One crone even ventured that they would drink each other’s blood, but she was crazy. But still, it’s an interesting idea, isn’t it?

Depends on your point of view, I suppose. Crystal winced, although she personally found nothing interesting about men cutting each other’s throats and drinking the spilt blood. "But I do believe they’re desperate. Why? I mean, what’s stretched them so thin? Do you think they’ll recruit anyone?"

Thorne seemed to be at a loss for words. I guess, Your Majesty, Cecorria’s just getting frightened of Bryre. And as for recruitment… I’m not sure Mattie has the courage to announce her powers. Do you know how furious her mother would be? Thorne laughed, and Crystal smiled, thinking of Roweina T’lamane’s face turning as bright red as a tomato.

Mattie will never leave.

Never learned a lesson in her life, that one. Thorne grinned, but the grin faded away as she spied Crystal staring emptily at the blank wall, her eyes obviously elsewhere.

Thorne sighed. Are you… ? Crystal blinked, looked up, and smiled apologetically as Thorne sighed again. She was always eager to gossip, but she had to leave the Princess alone. Perhaps you should take a nap, Thorne suggested as she opened the door to leave. You do look like you could use some sleep.

Crystal smiled wanly, thinking of nightmares and skulls and scars. You have no idea, she murmured. She turned toward the window, staring out into the harbor and watching the Cecorrian flag waving gently in the wind from its ship.

But how do you know? Brianna asked. She and her friend Hurin lounged lazily with a group of soldiers in a tavern. She was still in her dusty uniform and apron, as her precious break was too short to change clothing, and frankly, because she didn’t care. One of the soldiers, a bulky short man with a hint of a beard, slammed down his mug of ale.

Because all the soldiers know. The man, named Kalliene, shrugged. "What I don’t know is why the Imperial City? They’re bloody sorcerers, and Imperial men burn sorcerers."

But are you certain? Brianna said doubtfully, flipping her straggly red hair nonchalantly. She would have to wash it, although Brianna didn’t know where she could find the time, with the entire city muttering to one another and raising its eyebrows.

Of course I’m certain! Kalliene snapped. Why don’t you look at the Harbors? Are you too blind or too stupid to recognize the Cecorrian seal waving on the sails?

Obviously they’re scouting. A tall, willowy man by the name of Terine said disdainfully. The Tower’s growing sparse.

It’s not like they’re going to find anything here. Kalliene sneered.

Brianna had to agree with that. What Imperial man would have the dignity to join the ranks of Cecorria, Home of All Things Magic?

Well they’re desperate. Hurin offered. A war, perhaps?

Rowelle, an older, burly, redheaded man, shook his head. Who would the Tower fight against? They’re losing arms, that’s all.

Is it perhaps the Dark One? Light knows the Overseer jumps at her own shadow. Terine laughed, and the others joined in save for the more superstitious Kalliene.

Do not speak of the Dark Lord. Kalliene said firmly. "Even if it is folly. Not even the Tower believes it, and they would believe almost anything."

Terine gave him a disdainful smile. If Torma heard you speak those fears of the Dark Lord, it would be treason, Kalliene. If a woman heard you speak those fears, she’d think you a cowardly child.

Besides. Hurin ventured uneasily. Best not provoke curses, whether they be false or not.

Dark One or no, we’re still Imperial Soldiers. And Torma has plenty of enemies to fight. Brianna said dryly. Let’s go.

Kalliene snorted. You act as though you are one of us, girl, he said, then grinned and eyed her slender curves wolfishly. I should remind you who the man is here.

Brianna drew herself upright, eyes flashing. Touch me, and I will prove that you are no man, she warned.

Give her a sword, and she would, Hurin murmured. Brianna flushed as Kalliene’s face darkened.

Fine. Let’s go.

The group ambled to the courtyard, lounging about lazily and jesting as they half-heartedly thrust polished wooden swords at each other. Hurin paired off with Brianna, and they began to duel. Brianna fought with ease, but was careful not to show too much ease. Hurin needed as much confidence as he could get, being the scrawny, undersized boy he was. And although he was good, Brianna was, to put it simply, amazing. Sometimes Brianna believed she was born with a sword in hand.

The clangs of the wooden swords took on a steady rhythm, and as Brianna’s feet nimbly danced at their own accord, her mind drifted away to other thoughts. A voice whispered for her to pay attention, but Brianna shook it away. Lately the voice in her head was becoming more and more audible. It was only this morning that the voice had literally shouted, when Brianna had collided with the Princess. Sometimes Brianna feared she was going insane.

Hurin’s sword clattered to the ground, bringing her back to life. He was drenched in sweat, but Brianna did not feel the slightest fatigue. Blushing madly, she hurriedly picked up the fallen wooden sword, but Hurin waved it away. They went to the viewing benches, and sat down wordlessly, watching the duels.

How do you do that? Hurin finally asked. Brianna shrugged, her eyes far away.

I don’t know Brianna answered vaguely. It’s always like I’m only half there. Something just helps me, fights for me… But Brianna failed to say what that something was. Hurin peered at her curiously, and then gave a lopsided grin.

It’s a pity you aren’t male. God knows the soldiers we have already are bad enough.

Brianna gave a weak smile, and they stared at each other for a while. Hurin’s grin faded, and finally, he looked away, and they sat there in silence.

I found a passage, Hurin at last said to break the discomfort. They were always finding secret passages, as the Imperial Palace was full of them.

Really?

It’s a long one too, Hurin clambered out of his seat, wooden sword still clutched awkwardly in his hand. He looked at Brianna expectedly. Are you coming?

Hesitatingly Brianna glanced at the sun, though she could hardly tell whether it was evening or morning from its position. I guess I have time… she said reluctantly.

But the passage was longer than Hurin expected, and when Brianna and Hurin finally emerged into the Great Hall they spent another hour trying to find a stairway to the maid’s quarters. By the time Brianna was running to her post the evening had already turned to night.

Madame Tugarthe is furious with you, Brianna. Feline, a pretty Imperial Maid and one of Brianna’s closest friends handed her a broom when Brianna arrived panting for her shift. She turned to look at Brianna and widened her eyes. Where were you?

Brianna sighed, and squinted out the window. She didn’t like working late, but if Brianna did nothing that day Madame Tugarthe would skin her alive. Hurin and I found another passage, and I forgot.

It’s fine. Feline said. I covered up for you. Suddenly she brightened. Did you…

Brianna suppressed a wave of irritation. No, I didn’t see Pippier. Or Igriani. Feline cast her an annoyed glance. How did we ever become friends? Brianna wondered. There was nothing she loved more than mud on her sword and callused fingers, while Feline dreamed of silken slippers and a noble husband. She fancied marrying into the glamour of the Imperial Family, and because Pippier and Igriani were cousins to Crystal, she flirted with them as often as she could. Pippier and Igriani were always amused, but never fully interested. They hardly spent time dueling with the baseborn, never mind marrying one. Feline never will have much hope with them, Brianna thought. Their families are far too conceited to consider marriage to an Imperial Servant. No matter how pretty.

Look. Feline pointed through a window that faced the courtyard and a parallel hall. Brianna peered through, and could see a pair of figures being escorted down into a guest room. The two maids stood on tiptoe to gain a better view of the Cecorrian visitors being shown Imperial courtesy.

Brianna? Fellienna? Madame Tugarthe’s sturdy and almost masculine voice rang through the halls, and the two girls turned guiltily.

"Maids are known for gossip, true, but not Imperial Maids. She said sternly. Feline, I thought your shift was over."

Yes’m, Feline bowed, and after looking at Brianna with a raised eyebrow, lifted her skirt and scampered away.

Madame, I… . Tugarthe glared at her.

Yes, it is not everyday Cecorria comes to visit the Palace, but it is not any of your business. Besides, I’m sure the details will filter through. Madame Tugarthe added grimly. I’ve been hearing trouble about you, Brianna. She turned to look at Brianna squarely in the eye. Mock fighting with soldiers, disrespect toward the Imperial Family. You had a run in with the Princess a couple of days ago, so I heard.

I collided into her! That’s it! Brianna protested. It’s not my fault she takes everything so personally…

Well, you shouldn’t have been clumsy anyways. Madame Tugarthe finished flatly. Her voice softened. I know that you were meant for greater things Brianna, and believe me, I would know, I raised you. But the Imperial Country is troubled. Jobs are scarce, the world is unsettled, and war is threatening to spill over the Land with Bryre and Cecorria circling each other like wolves. Upholding a position as an Imperial Servant is very honorable, considering what else is out there. Brianna did not answer, looking down at the floor with a mixture of anger and shame. I need you to be more respectful to authority. I know that at times, the nobles’ behavior can be… questionable, but you must remember your place.

Brianna looked up. I don’t mean to be rude, really I don’t.

I know. Madame Tugarthe sighed. You’re so mild and sweet around my girls. But contempt is something you have to deal with everyday. And especially with Cecorrian Sorcerers around… Madame Tugarthe laughed dryly. "You need all the Light’s favor you can receive." Brianna smiled, knowing Tugarthe’s personal dislike of Cecorria.

I want you to be more intent on your work, Brianna. No more prowling the Imperial passageways with Hurin. You’re going to get yourself stuck in Imperial walls one of these days.

Yes, Madame. Brianna bowed her head, and Madame Tugarthe turned to leave.

Oh yes, and Brianna? Brianna looked up. "You do not miss your shift. You’ll have stable duty for a week."

Brianna groaned.

It’s common knowledge that the Imperial City does not associate with sorcerers and magicians. Kreoule, the Supreme Imperial Advisor, paced the room while King Torma and Queen Paullina stared arrogantly at the two visitors from their thrones. Beside Queen Paullina, in a less adorned high backed chair, was a fat lady with heavily rouged cheeks.

Of course. Arielle said, her tone an icy blade. Beside her, her half-brother, Oreus, shifted his weight tiredly.

What business would the Overseer have in Imperial Lands? The fat lady barked. Queen Paullina put a hand over hers.

Roweina…

The lady turned, podgy flesh and all. Paullina, you know how much I despise Cecorria. She said. "The fact that they’ve actually found a way inside our palace…"

King Torma looked at her irritably. It was well known to everyone but his wife that Roweina was a conniving snake desperate to have the throne for herself. The fact that she was sitting beside the throne and yet already giving out orders bothered Torma deeply.

State your business. The Imperial King said.

Arielle looked sideways at her brother. She had once been a beautiful woman, but much of the beauty had been lost to the tight creases tugging at her eyes, the slightly sunken pouches circling beneath them. It was those eyes that hinted at her beauty, for they were large and gray, the color of wolves. But now… the gray was hard steel now, swimming with distrust and shrewd intelligence. In fact, the only thing remnant of her beauty was her hair, cascading down into her shoulder blades in layers and volume of rich chocolate silk.

Oreus had her eyes, but that was all. His already gray hair was streaked with white, and where Arielle was slender he was broad. His face folded into lined creases that stole away his attraction in youth, for now he looked stern and world weary, not unlike his sister.

Your Majesty… Kreoule began, but King Torma held up a hand.

Wait, Kreoule. King Torma said, as his advisor prepared to barrage the Cecorrian intruders with a string of warnings. I am interested to hear why Cecorria is beseeching the Imperial King.

Kreoule gave a slight smile, and backed into his chair by King Torma’s throne. He was tall and wiry, with deep-set eyes, and a long, pointed nose. A slight curling mustache twirled above his thin, pallid lips, and his hair was greasy and pitch back. Kreoule had always been one of Torma’s closest advisors, for he despised the Tower with all his heart and served his country faithfully.

As you probably may have heard, your Majesty, Kreoule glanced at the sorcerers. The Cecorrian Tower is greatly… understaffed. Is the Overseer not feeding her country well enough? Arielle settled a cool glance on him while Roweina let out a loud laugh. Only Oreus was unmoved by the comment.

No sorcerers, you mean? The Imperial Queen, a small, prudish woman with a slight voice, murmured as she steadily beheld the uncomfortable visitors. She too had once been beautiful in her youth, but the years had not treated her kindly. King Torma still loved her with all his heart, and yet he could not help reminiscing back when she was sixteen, with her sweet smile and tiny waist.

Yes. Oreus said coldly. The Tower has fallen on hard times.

And how do you expect us to help? Paullina asked.

Perhaps it is the Church you should be beseeching. Roweina smiled wickedly. Your death can only be a punishment of the Light.

Hush. Torma quieted her irritably. Although he liked the Church better than the Tower, they were still hardly friends. When the Land was ruled by one sovereign, the Church had been at the height of its power. Eventually though the kingdom disintegrated into the four countries—Bryre, the Imperial Country, the Freelands, and Cecorria—and the Church’s influence shrunk to the province of M’lal Valthorn in the Freelands. And although Torma paid respects to the God and Goddess of Light, he knew enough history to avoid helping the embittered Archbishop.

We only wish to scout. Oreus replied carefully.

Kreoule snorted. "Forgive my mocking tone, but I find it hard to believe. He said sharply. You do remember Cecorria and the Imperial Country have not shaken hands since the Age of the Kings."

Are we at war here? Arielle answered coolly. No. The past is in the past, and our feuds are centuries gone.

The Land has a long memory. King Torma said quietly but firmly. Do you think I will send you traipsing across the Imperial Country setting our fields afire? Isn’t that why you have come… for permission? Or would money and wagons be more to your liking? Torma gave a jaded smile, harsh and forced across his weary face. Your Overseer is very decent in asking for my leave before invading my lands. Yet she must know my answer would be no, or else why just send a pair of siblings? Good Gods, if you don’t even have the support of your own country, how could you possibly expect to move your rival? He gazed at them knowingly, never letting them see what he’s thinking. But a nagging doubt tugged at the back of his mind. Either Cecorria is desperate and has nothing to lose, or these two are acting against the Overseer. What in God’s name is going on?

You do know why we are so desperate. Arielle said softly, letting the last word sink in. Kreoule’s smile widened.

Is it Bryre? He murmured. Arielle let her eyes rest on him, and her voice, etched with dislike, rang across the room. Bryre was a constant sore spot for the Tower. Though it was the smallest country of the Land, it was fast becoming the richest, selling its Silver Briar assassins and mercenaries to its neighbors. Though Cecorria and Bryre wanted nothing more than to squash one another, the two nations depended on each another. Bryre needed to sell their Blood Jewels to survive, and Cecorria needed to buy their Jewels to function.

Your Majesty, perhaps your contempt has clouded your better judgment. Cecorria, unlike Bryre, is not looking for world domination. The Tower wishes only for peace and the preservation of magic, but Bryre’s Jade Family hungers to grow from its small land. Surely you remember when M’lal Rayyal ruled Bryre in the Old Reign? M’lal Thora may be king of the New Reign, but his ambitions are still Old. It’s only a matter of time before Bryre amasses enough money to truly make its move.

Isn’t that your doing? I believe Cecorria is the greatest purchaser in the Blood Jewels. King Torma said dryly.

Arielle ignored that statement. Bryre is making you hate us, whom you have no reason to hate.

History’s grudges run deep. Is that not reason enough? Roweina interrupted. Arielle continued on, not heeding her unwelcome remark.

You are already too vulnerable, Your Majesty, and cannot afford losing willing and loyal allies. Especially if turning a stubborn lip means another’s benefit.

I strongly doubt Bryre has its warships armed and ready for the Hundred Ocean’s leagues. King Torma replied dryly.

Arielle smiled chillingly. It is not Bryre I am worried of, she thought, but did not say it. Bryre was the only common enemy that might bring the Country and the Tower together. Still, Cecorria means no harm, and like it or not, we are your neighbors in this stranded world, not your enemies.

King Torma inclined his head, pensive and troubled. He disliked Bryre greatly, although he traded with the Jade Family and was courteous to the King. At times, he wondered at the century long tradition of hating the Tower, but by now, to simply dismiss a belief the Imperial Family had held on to from its very birth would mean stirring riots and brawls.

What I can’t understand is why the Tower will simply stop purchasing Jewels. King Torma murmured quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Arielle’s next words were bitter. Believe me, we have tried.

My Husband. Queen Paullina said, looking straight into King Torma’s eyes. Do you believe… ?

King Torma bit his lip. He did not want to be so malleable to the Tower, but could not so readily dismiss the Cecorrian sorcerers and their warnings. I will allow you four people by tomorrow at sunset.

What? Roweina stood up. That’s outrageous… ! The Imperial King, drew himself upright.

Roweina, any more remarks you are planning to make must be made outside. You are not a member of the Counsel, and the only reason why you are here is to warm that pretty chair by my wife. Silence echoed across the chamber, as all the occupants but Oreus shifted uncomfortably. Roweina reddened, and Paullina gave her husband a reproachful glance. But Torma was far past caring.

I am, of course, worried of Bryre, but the threat is still small. True, it would be wise to arm myself against Bryre, but how do I know that the Overseer of the Tower doesn’t dream of such glory too? There is nothing urgent enough for me to give you an army, and by all rights of my ancestors’ blood I should be throwing you back out into the sea. But I will give you four out of pity and curiosity. You may not wander out of the Palace walls. Check the markets, but I do not want you venturing outside the gates, where the Imperial Villages and Country are. I won’t have you skipping along the plantations and houses spreading word that the King is allowing such nonsense. Suddenly, he leaned forward. But this must never get out, and on no circumstances… on no circumstances may you go near the Imperial Family. And if I see you even making eye contact with my daughter, you will be burned alive.

Queen Paullina started at Crystal’s mention, while a glimmer of surprise flashed before Arielle and Oreus’s eyes.

Thank you, Your Majesty. Arielle murmured graciously, though King Torma had given them almost nothing.

And how long do we have, your Grace? Oreus asked.

Torma considered. By sunset tomorrow. I want you out quietly. Not a word of this in the public.

We will remember that.

Sister, we go now. Torma watched them leave, weary of his crown and scepter. He hoped Crystal would be strong enough to sit the throne.

Your Majesty! Kreoule cried in outrage when they had left. I really must protest against this… this blasphemy! Perhaps Bryre has become wealthier, but they are by no means at the tip of world domination! Remember, Cecorria hates us as well.

I don’t know how four sorcerers can affect us, Kreoule. King Torma said calmly. After all, think of it like this. The Imperial City will be weeded.

You will be recognized as weak, Your Majesty.

No. King Torma scoffed. "I must acknowledge that although an ocean surrounds us, we still have hungry rivals. I lose nothing from this, because only the poorest would flock to Arielle and Oreus. And that is no fault of mine."

Queen Paullina glanced at her husband nervously.

He sighed. I know, my dear, I do not like bending to the will of the Tower, but it is harmless, and I pity the sorcerers. But, He gave a small smile. You must remember. Who says they’ll actually find anyone?

Kreoule was absolutely distraught. Climbing up the stairs two at a time, he exploded into his private room. A timid maid was dusting the emerald curtains.

Out! He cried, and the young girl gathered up her skirts and quickly left. Hastily, he went to his drawers, and pulled out a leather bag in a hidden compartment. Inside, was a crimson jewel the color of blood. He passed a bony hand over it, and the jewel shrouded and darkened.

Llaté, we have a problem.

Nobody! I’ve been scouring the streets and dirty shops for hours, and I have nobody! Arielle fumed furiously.

Calm yourself sister. Oreus rubbed his temples wearily.

Easier said than done. Arielle snapped.

We still have a few hours and a day until the deadline. Oreus said as Arielle cast a doubtful eye through a giant glass window. They were back in the Imperial Palace, convening in its capacious Great Hall.

A few hours and a day. We traveled across the Hundred Oceans for a few hours and a day. Arielle said tightly, her gray eyes flaring brightly.

Arielle, I would not have brought you if I thought you could not control your temper! Oreus hissed. We should not draw attention to ourselves! There is still hope. I doubt that the magic shops we visited are the few here…

But that’s the point, Brother. Arielle said hopelessly. "They’re magic shops. All they know are a few gimmicks for gullible audiences. Street performers! The few real sorcerers are intelligent enough to be hiding out on the outskirts of the Imperial Country! Bloody King Torma! I hope-!"

You hope what? A young girl’s voice cut in. Arielle and Oreus turned to see Crystal, the Imperial Princess in All Her Splendor, watching them with interest. Really, the Imperial City dislikes you enough, so threatening the King wouldn’t be a wise decision.

Your Highness. Oreus said coldly, much to the amusement of Crystal.

Oh, stop it. Crystal smiled. "Any fool can see through that. Given how much I’m supposed to detest you… Her smile faded, as Crystal looked at the siblings more seriously. I never did understand why we hate sorcery so much… oh, I understood the historical part, but still, the feud should be long forgotten by now, don’t you agree? I heard your little conversation with my parents. Crystal hesitated. Do you know why the King would burn you alive if you so much as made eye contact with me?"

Obviously the Highness thought it wise to keep his family away from the Tower. Arielle said, her voice cutting like ice, but there was something leading in Crystal’s tone, and the sorceress could sense she was laying out some sort of bargain… or bait.

What my dear sister means, your Majesty. Oreus said, glancing at Arielle who gazed back unflinchingly. Is that it is not well suited for Imperial Royalty, such as yourself. Associating with Cecorrian sorcerers.

Charming. But… Crystal said, dropping all pretenses. "I’ll show you around the City, bring you to people I know, and I could even show you a real sorceress, one who throws fire and everything. That is… that is what a sorceress does, right?" She asked hesitantly when Arielle and Oreus glanced at each other with raised eyebrows.

Go on. Arielle at last replied.

The princess looked indecisive. I can show you… . if you tell me what is happening right now to the Land.

What’s happening? Oreus gave a sympathetic smile. Nothing is happening, your Majesty. Nothing out of the ordinary, that is.

Arielle, on the other hand, was looking at Crystal curiously.

And what are you referring to, Your Majesty? Arielle asked, while Oreus frowned.

Crystal shrugged. I don’t know… just a bad feeling, I guess. There are some things… There are some things just not worth telling, she thought, remembering her nightmares.

What you are feeling may just be the strained relations between Cecorria and the Imperial City, Your Grace. Arielle said, her voice more kindly. Recently, the Land has become very unsettled.

Crystal sighed, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to confide in a bloody Cecorrian sorceress. "Never mind, Sister, Brother. She said with a contemptuous smile, tasting the names. Good luck." And with that, she walked away, with all the grace and scorn of a Princess.

What do you suppose she meant? Arielle murmured. Oreus waved it away.

Nothing more than you just said, Arielle. He replied. The strained relations between the four countries. Any member of the Imperial Family would notice the trouble with Bryre, and Crystal is no exception.

But Arielle wasn’t thinking about politics. She was one of the few who saw through the Blood Jewels, and into a Northern neighbor.

‘Find a real sorceress that throws fire and everything’ . . . no average sorcerer can throw fire, did she speak truth? And no fourteen year old girl would be troubled by something mundane as politics, unless the threat is at her doorstep.

Firstly, that may have been a bluff. Secondly, it’s not worth investigating. Thirdly, we are here for the Tower, for something worth fighting for.

Of course… Arielle said, not assured. Oreus looked at her sideways.

Don’t think it. Oreus said quietly. We’ve been through this before. The Dark One does not exist.

Arielle did not answer for a moment, before finally shaking her head. But whatever the reason, we still have a purpose here. She said. Oreus nodded, and together, they left the palace in silence.

Llaté was a formidable man. Tall and bulky, he had developed a habit of slouching, hunching over his back as if trying to make his body as small as possible. Scars crisscrossed his dark face, faded but still welted purple, and his beard and moustache were trimmed so close to his skin that it seemed he was constantly hidden in shadow. But though he looked stupid and quick-tempered, he was in fact clever and quiet, brooding and forever nursing his insults. He took orders well, and executed them ingeniously, making him one of his country’s greatest Silver Briars. His latest assignment was to dispose of the meddling sorcerers.

Llaté was careful, and constantly made precautions to ensure that if indeed something had gone awry, he would be able to save his own skin and fix it. To kill the Cecorrians, he had to be cautious not to reveal that Bryre was present in the Imperial Lands. If King Torma was to discover that Bryre’s Jade Family was trying to manipulate his country, all hell would break loose, and the Tower would undoubtedly gloat. And then, things would be most unpleasant for Bryre, because after all, nothing united countries together more than a common enemy. Assassinations were very rare in the Imperial City, so Llaté had to make the sorcerers’ deaths into an accident of some sort. Although it didn’t matter if they died. As long as the sorcerers did not leave with the students for the Tower, he had succeeded. Apparently, Kreoule was taking not even the smallest of chances.

Silently, Llaté slipped into their guest room. To the left was the sorcerer’s cloak and trunk, already neatly packed. He sifted through Oreus’s things, before finally opening a stone chest in his own pocket. The air around him froze. Inside were blue ice crystals, cold to the touch and smoking as it met the warm air. But at the center were what really chilled the air, a few small but prominent blood red jewels. Quickly, Llaté grasped a gem and attached it to Oreus’s breeches, hiding it carefully among the folds. He then took the remaining few and concealed it in all of Oreus’s clothes—his feathered hat, his cloak, and his tunic. When he reached his sword, he carefully removed the encrusted gem on its hilt—conveniently red. The last Blood Jewel glowed menacingly with its brief contact with human warmth, and Llaté shuddered. Men were especially susceptible to the corruption of Blood Jewels, and Llaté planned to play on that. A sorcerer or even a sorceress who possessed a Jewel always had to monitor more closely their powers, and working in close contact with one unknowingly was always fatal. Whether the death came hours later in a sudden burst of magic or years later after trials of gnawing weariness depended.

A Blood Jewel was very subtle but deadly in its work. Upon the first few days, or even weeks the Jewel’s effects were barely realized. A cold chill perhaps, but that was readily dismissed. The weaker the man, the more quickly and harshly the Jewel then began to set in. One who worked with magic, however, was more able to control the Jewel’s effects. But it was not surprising to see a sorcerer, or even a sorceress, succumb to the Jewel’s sinister allures. And if one drew too much sorcery too quickly, the Jewel’s boosting power would overreach the sorcerer’s limits. And to many of the Tower, burning out was as good as a death sentence.

Llaté then moved on to Arielle’s things. She too, was neatly packed, and her traveling cloak was laid out on the bed. Llaté took out his final Blood Jewel, and put it in the cloak pocket. With that finished, he left the room, his plan—and His plans—set in motion.

Mother? King Torma crept unsure into a well decorated but dark room. The heavy, velvet shades were drawn, and beautiful silk clothes lay strewn on the ground. In the shadows, King Torma could dimly see the outline of an aged woman.

Caspienne. She replied in a wintry voice. She shifted. Do you know we have visitors?

Of course, Mother.

Did you send them away?

Tomorrow at sunset.

That’s all? The aged woman turned her head with an annoyed glance, and King Torma started. She was much older than she appeared, her pale skin even paler against glittering blood red rubies. They looked like Blood Jewels, but those were illegal here in the Country.

None of your superstitions, mother. King Torma said tiredly.

The old woman laughed softly. After a pause, she asked cloyingly, How’s Crystal?

She’s doing fine, mother! King Torma said sharply, and instantly regretted his harsh tone. His mother was senile, embittered in the tragedy of her husband’s—Torma’s father’s—death. He said more softly, I just wanted to check on you.

I’m fine. She finished abruptly. They waited in silence for a moment.

King Torma cleared his throat. Well, I’d better go, mother. He paused, hesitating, and left.

Silence. The old woman watched her son leave, eyes dim with disappointment but hard with pride. She rose from her cushions, her bones creaking as she straightened. Mother Torma was surprisingly tall for her age, but her skin still fell in loose folds and her flesh was tight against her bones. She hated being old. She walked slowly to a brass candelabrum placed beneath a gold vanity, and calmly lit every candle. When the flames were flickering brightly and the wax was just beginning to melt, she knelt and prayed for the Land.

Chapter Two

Die, die in your parents’ blood. Their screams echo in this very room… can you hear it my darling?

Crystal gasped, jerking upright so abruptly she nearly rolled out of her bed. But she recovered quickly, taking comfort in her familiar room, the sun streaming in through the windows, and the muffled activity outside the Palace walls. She rubbed her temples, trying to shake off the last remnants of her sleepless slumber. The nightmare now came nearly every night, but last night, it had come with a vengeance. The scarred man’s face had been clearer, his threats more coherent and real, and Crystal could still feel the cold breaths of the hilted dagger’s edge against her throat. Stop it. Crystal scolded herself. My parents are well and alive. But still… Crystal shuddered. Can you hear it, my darling?

Crystal decided against calling Thorne in the adjacent room, weary of company and yearning for solace. Opening her wardrobe, she folded a comfortable dark blue gown and put it aside for later. Although her father had forbidden her to watch Arielle and Oreus’s departure, she planned to be there anyways. Their deadline would end at sunset, and Crystal wanted one last chance to comprehend the mixed feelings she had about their advent. She slipped quietly out of the room, softly closing the door.

Your Majesty! But the cry came too late. Instantly, Crystal collided again with the red haired servant. Berienna, or Brienne, or something like that.

Crystal untangled herself from the bundle of dirty laundry that had crashed with her onto the floor and prepared to snap a harsh reprimand, when suddenly, a burst of stars erupted in her head. Again the man in her dreams seeped through her mind, his leering face so close Crystal thought he was about to swallow her. She swore she could smell his breath—acrid, sour, like pungent vomit. And behind his face, she felt yet another presence, a shadowed god who watched Crystal cruelly behind those gaping scars. All Crystal could see was a dazzling array of fire, a knife with a tiny but real skull on its hilt, and blood red jewels…

Crystal stumbled back, and the servant tripped as well. She was rubbing her head, as if she too had felt something. Crystal glared at her.

It could happen once, but not twice! She snapped, and veered sharply around, her head still pounding. The servant watched her emptily, hand against forehead. Crystal sincerely wished she could throw a fireball at her.

Bloody servant. Crystal swore. She’ll make me go mad.

I trust you had a satisfactory stay here in the Palace? Kreoule asked with a smirk. It was all Arielle could do not to slap him. Instead, she stretched out a thin smile.

The Imperial City is very beautiful. She replied. Indeed, the Palace was a sight to look at, but the city itself was like any other. King Torma wheeled his horse toward her as Arielle mounted her own, uncomfortably aware of the emerald-gold guards that sternly avoided her gaze. Arielle threw a final glance back at the Palace. It was the second largest palace in all the Land, but the Tower, Arielle’s home, was the biggest, so the sorceress found no deep awe as she beheld it.

Tell the Overseer that I take great pity on Cecorria’s trials, but I see no threat to ally troops. Torma said quietly to Arielle. She nodded, and murmured an, Of course, Your Grace. Arielle squinted out toward the sun, raising her head proudly. In the distance, she thought she could see her ship’s sails, the Magician, waiting on the expansive Hundred Oceans. As Arielle’s gray trotted demurely by the King’s escorts, a ripple of hushed whispers spread across the crowd. Every man or woman, peasant or merchant, that resided within the city walls had come to see the Cecorrians off. Despite all efforts to keep the news within the palace, it had leaked out anyways. I suppose I should be honored. Arielle thought wryly. The people loitered on the sidewalks, giving a fair amount of space for the company to travel to the Harbors.

A wrinkle of movement caught Arielle’s eye, and she spied Crystal deftly weaving herself through the crowd. She was dressed in dark colors and had a hood over her eyes, but it was her nonetheless. Arielle frowned, but set her shoulders straight and followed King Torma to the docks. Instead, she slipped a cursory glance at the four women she and her brother had found. Oreus caught her troubled gaze, and spurred his horse slightly faster.

It’s the best we could ever have done, Sister. He said kindly.

Arielle sighed. But still I think we could have done more… Her thoughts strayed to Crystal, and her preposition to a real sorcerer.

Arielle slipped into her traveling cloak, and shivered.

It’s cold. She said to Oreus, and Oreus nodded, his feathered hat bobbing up and down.

Arielle turned toward the four women, all beggars of the Imperial Village. Eager to leave the poverty that welcomed them in the City, they agreed to leave behind their Imperial pride in hopes of a better home at the Cecorrian Tower. Only one showed some promise. A plain girl with large tawny eyes, and a scrawny figure from her life on the streets. Malorra. She may become some use as an Earth Sorcerer. Arielle thought, but the others . . . they only know parlor tricks. But I suppose it is better than nothing.

The clusters of buildings thinned slightly, and Arielle was able to look over the remaining few stunted apartments that hindered her path to the Ocean. King Torma, Kreoule, and his sparse guards all stopped, indicating that Arielle and the others were to make the final stretch of their departure alone. Fine by me. Arielle thought angrily, but she smothered her resentment to prompt her horse forward.

But in the distance, there was a wild neigh of terror. A frenzied horse, bleeding all over, galloped toward her crazily, its body and muscles covered with red froth. The spotted white stallion stumbled and tripped, its black eyes rolling backward, as it shredded past villagers who threw themselves out of the way.

Pity filled Arielle’s heart as the experienced sorceress enveloped herself with Spirit to heal the injured horse. But something was wrong. Suddenly she overreached, plunging herself past her familiar realm of Spirit, and into a core of fire that swallowed her whole. Instead she withdrew fire, red-hot balls that burned painfully into her skin. And then, Arielle felt to her side spills of black taint, thick as oil, coiling around her and burning through her skin. Gasping, Arielle hastily retreated, and the heat of the flames flew past her. When she resurfaced back into reality, everything was up in flames, and The Magician was blocked from her view behind a barrier of fire.

Villagers were screaming in terror as the buildings began to fall apart beneath the conflagration. The four women Arielle and Oreus had so painstakingly withdrew were scattered, and King Torma and his circle of advisors were lost as well. And then, Arielle felt her cloak suddenly smolder, the flames a white-hot needle dragging down her hip. As she tried to stamp it out, her fingers brushed against a trickle of cold, and Arielle froze when she recognized what it was.

Blood Jewel. This is Bryre’s doing. Arielle thought. Or someone much worse. She reached inside her cloak pocket, and held in her hand the deadly gem. Arielle backed away, trying to escape the rapidly approaching flames. Her cloak was singed, and her hair smelled of smoke.

Suddenly from the blaze came a figure of a young girl. Her hair was as red as the flames around her, and though her clothes were burned she seemed untouched by the conflagration. Coughing, she made her way to Arielle.

Are you hurt? The girl gasped. Arielle squinted through the blazing heat. Suddenly, a gust of wind roared past Arielle’s face, picking up with it a ball of fire the size of Arielle’s head. The girl turned, and upon realization of the danger, threw herself over Arielle.

No! Arielle screamed as the girl toppled over her to shield her from the searing fireball, its fury swallowing her protests whole. When the danger had passed and the heat had subsided, she tried to stamp out the remaining flames on the girl’s body. She grimaced in preparation for grotesque burns, but she saw that miraculously the girl’s scrapes began to heal on their own, the skin closing up rapidly around the wounds. Nobody can heal like that, Arielle thought dizzily.

It was a moment later when Arielle realized her feet were not on the ground. The girl was carrying her as they sprinted down the road and onto the dock. A splash of stinging salt water accompanied their fall, and when Arielle heard the sizzle of the last flames that clung to her body, she clambered back onto the dock. Arielle hauled herself onto the slimy surface, safe from the fire—for the moment. The Harbors was still aflame, and next to her was the red haired girl, staring at the disaster with a dazed expression.

Oreus! Arielle cried, and started back toward the flames. A searing pain shot through her back, and she winced. Although the quick fall into the water saved her from further injury, she still was badly burned. She tried to heal herself, but it was all she could do to think clearly. At her side, the Jewel was alive, its black taint stalwartly trying to creep its way into her mind. Arielle remembered her years at the Tower, all the instances when she had beheld a Jewel… When all was quieted and Arielle had gained back control, she turned her focus back onto the fire, thoroughly enervated.

Father! A figure galloped across Arielle’s field of vision, the horse bravely pushing through flames and smoke. Arielle recognized the Imperial princess, calling vainly in the wreckage that was continuing to spread.

I have to help. Arielle breathed. God knows if the Princess is, then I have to.

But then Crystal let herself fly too close to a burning building, and a gust of wind blew tendrils of flames into the horse’s path. Frightened, it reared, and Crystal was thrown off. She hauled herself up, but the fire had taken advantage of the opportunity presented. Arielle vainly shouted for the Princess to roll over, but instead, she stood stock-still. Fool. Arielle thought viciously. She will burn alive. But the thought dissipated rapidly as Arielle was nearly bowled over. Her mouth fell open as a tornado of wind gusted around the Princess as she stretched out her hands. The fire that Arielle had accidentally caused seemed to lean toward Crystal, before racing toward her in blurs of orange and red. Every single flame leapt into Crystal’s outstretched palms until all that was left of the inferno were smoky ashes. In a single stroke, all was quiet. The City’s eyes turned inward as the realization of what Crystal had done began to sink in. A whisper ran through the skies, and Arielle glanced upward.

And then Arielle turned to the red haired girl, for she made a choking sound. She had paled, and suddenly put her head in her hands and fainted. Arielle quickly went to see the girl, but could not miss what was happening to Crystal as well. The Princess swayed dangerously before falling over, unconscious. And Arielle could see that not a single mark of the fire had touched the Imperial Princess.

Arielle! Arielle! Oreus appeared, rising from the ashes in a fit of coughs. Arielle stumbled up, blindly, her head spinning more from the chain of events than her injuries.

Oreus! She whispered, grabbing his cloak. I think we’ve found the missing links!

What happened? He hissed, and Kreoule winced as he scowled. Even palled behind the opaque crimson of the Jewel, the Puppet was frightening.

Master, we had no idea… the Princess, the maid… Kreoule had feared Arielle and Oreus would find the coveted legends, but he had never suspected for them to be Crystal and an Imperial maid, people right under his nose. I assure you, if I had known that the Mage and Lioness were of the City, I would have gladly let the sorcerers leave without them. It was only out of fear that the ones they had before were indeed… the ones.

And it was, for they have rediscovered the Three! The Puppet rapped sharply. Kreoule shrank away, cringing. The Puppet’s mouth twisted in a half smirk, half smile. The Princess and Maid cannot leave to Cecorria. The Dark One is not strong enough yet… Kreoule bowed his head, trying to conceal the shudder that ran through his body at the mention of His name.

Do we… kill them? Kreoule responded weakly. Neither of them would be easy to assassin. No doubt the Palace would be monitoring them closely, especially the Princess.

Is it possible? The Puppet spat. He was silent for a while, his black eyes narrowed in thought.