Drothiker
34.

The day of Feast of Melodies arrived.

Faolin’s heart was thudding out of her ribcage when she awoke today, Levsenn was practically shrieking with excitement, Faolin thought the siren might burst out of her skin. No fear in her eyes, so confident that today will be successful.

That they will be out of this fortress by tomorrow.

Vur slipped in their chamber, casted a mirage when sentries arrived with xist, like every other day.

Slaves in the crypt had the similar gleam in their eyes, all stealing a glance in her direction and throwing her a thankful smile, looked away before any sentry could see.

Faolin had spoken with them these past two days, informing them about the escape today. She’d told them about the glamoured society—where they will be living for at least two months, until the chaos in the city calmed—just not that it was glamoured. Those tests Aazem had devised for each one needed the slaves to remain clueless of the safety.

The test was: Vur would cast mirages of the situations that could tempt them into attempting crimes, according to their files from Jegvr. Those who would pass the test, will be free—and those who wouldn’t, will be returned to Jegvr. Not back here, no, they could tattle about information that could have everyone involved in this plan killed.

Many soldiers had indeed gone to spend their holiday—a few went to visit families, others went to attend the ball at the Glass Palace in Olkfield. The ones who weren’t allowed a holiday, had duties here, Faolin’s heart grieved for them.

Faolin was cleaning a table in far corner when Vur found her in infirmary during afternoon, his face grim. He concealed himself from the outside view under is mejest and told Faolin to act neutral—something she was already doing. The miragist said, “Aazem sent his men to Prince Azryle’s apartment down in the city.”

Her heart agitated a bit more. If the men had returned safely, not caught by the ripper … this couldn’t be good.

“His Highness has gone to attend the ball.”

Faolin almost sagged in relief—if the prince wasn’t there, slipping Syrene out of there couldn’t be much difficult. But then Vurian continued.

“Syrene has gone with him.”

She swore inwardly. Why would a slave be invited to the Masquerade Ball—“There is a good news,” he said. “A few more soldiers will be leaving for Olkfield today by evening. Apparently the Pensnial Duel is happening a week earlier this year. They’re leaving to watch it—Her Majesty has hinted it will be interesting this year.” He added, “The opponents will be announced and introduced during the ball.” There was a glint in his eyes.

“I didn’t know these violent sports hold your interest?” muttered Faolin under her breath, her gaze on the table she continued cleaning, even as there was not a speck of dirt left.

“You’ve learnt my name only two days ago, Lin,” he drawled. “You hardly know anything about me.” She opened her mouth to reply, but Vurian went on. “Besides, there are rumors Prince Azryle Wintershade himself will be dueling this year. I’d be a fool to not be interested.”

Faolin gaped at him. “You’re a fanatic.”

“Have you seen him fight?” There was a strange joy on his face—an admiration. If only he knew how the prince treated his cousin, so brutally that Syrene returned broken after her training with him. “He fights monsters that haunt people’s dreams. Otsatyas help anyone who is up against him.”

Training. The word clanged through Faolin. Vur continued speaking, but Faolin didn’t hear him—her heart beat faster and faster, louder and louder. Especially as her conversation with Syrene rung in her ears, from the night the Pojekk had attacked them.

I think I have better things to worry about.

Like what? Faolin had mocked. Scullery duty?

Syrene had shaken her head. Like taking the ripper’s life and live my own—

That was when the Pojekk had attacked.

Faolin’s hand reached for her throat, and she staggered a step.

Holy burning bloody Saqa.

Vur shook her shoulder. “Faolin.”

She snapped to attention. “We need to leave for Olkfield,” she said. “I need to leave for Olkfield now.”

Vurian’s brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“Take me to Aazem.”

➣

Faolin wasn’t sure Vur was breathing when she finished talking.

They were in the backyard, and thanks to Vurian’s mejest, concealed from other soldiers training here. All of them drenched in sweat—they were chatting and sparring and swimming. Undesin was being trained in swimming, the boy remained drowning—struggling to keep his arms and legs moving.

Aazem, Vur and Faolin stood in a corner, trying everything to keep their voices low. Aazem was leaning against the stone wall beside Faolin and Vur, arms crossed as he eyed the backyard, face unreadable to keep other soldiers from suspecting he was engaged in a conversation with anyone.

“He will kill her,” Faolin whispered. “I need to get to Syrene before the duel—she’s the Duce of Tribes. If something happens to her, we will be stuck with Deisn, who is very well capable of waging a war.” She added, “I’m leaving now.”

That had Aazem stiffening.

Vur said, “I’ll go with you.”

Faolin didn’t argue with that. Without Vur and his skillset, she wouldn’t reach the duce at all. So she nodded.

Aazem rubbed at his face. “You should go, I’ll get the others out at night.” His lips barely moved as he spoke.

Faolin said, “You can trust Levsenn to usher out the—”

The ground beneath them shook.

Aazem straightened off the wall—Faolin clutched Vur’s arm before he could fall.

Soldiers around the backyard stilled wholly, each one waiting for another earthquake. But this was no earthquake, Faolin knew. Her heart climbed to her throat, and when she whipped her gaze in Vur’s direction, he shrugged. This was ought to happen, he seemed to say.

Rifts from the cliff and that temple nearby had reached the fortress. It won’t last till night.

As the ground shook again, more violently, soldiers began rushing everywhere, screams crowded the whole fortress. Alarms began ringing. Aazem’s gaze whipped in Vur’s and Faolin’s direction. “Now. It needs to be now.”

That had her heart hammering but Vur was already rushing to the fortress, his mirage falling around them. But no soldier noticed, they were busy evacuating the building. Faolin moved too, but Aazem gripped her wrist. “Faolin.”

She turned.

Amidst the chaos, Aazem’s lips pressed against hers, his broad hands came to cup her face. She could feel his heart hammering beneath her touch on his chest. There was pain in that kiss—so much of it.

It was a parting kiss.

This was the last she will see of him.

Her heart curled inwardly, her throat tightened to the point of pain.

Aazem withdrew, his forehead still pressed atop hers. “I want to go around the world with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “What?”

But another shake of the ground beneath their feet had them parting. She hadn’t realized when their fingers had laced until he squeezed her hand. “Come back to me.” That was all he said before racing to the other soldiers, throwing orders as he went.

He accepted, she realized, what she’d said on the rooftop to him—to come with her, going around the world, hunting all those ordered by the duce.

Together.

Faolin’s heart bloomed, and she thought it might combust, as she rushed to the crypt, wide smile dawning at her lips as she went.

Hallways inside the fortress were even more crowdy, every soldier was running around, vacating every chamber. But no one seemed to care for the slaves. A rush of irritation went through her, she ignored it.

Debris and dust had begun falling when Faolin reached the crypt.

It was empty. For a moment, she thought it might be Vur’s mirage, but he rushed out from the hallway of chambers with Levsenn. “Where is everyone?” The miragist’s voice echoed in the crypt. “Chambers are all empty.”

Anxiety washed over Faolin. “Did the soldiers stop by?” Maybe they’d indeed ushered the slaves first—

“No,” Levsenn answered, ducking a rock that fell for her head.

Then they were racing out of the crypt.

The hallways were still heaving with people, but they were all scrambling out now—not a slave in sight.

“We should—”

Whatever Vur was about to say was cut off by the rift that cleaved the ground, it approached so swiftly that Faolin thought it would swallow them wholly.

But then lilac fog erupted from Faolin like a gigantic wave.

She didn’t think and hurled it towards the rift—the song of her mejest replaced the bleeding screams of everyone.

The fog coiled around the perimeter of the crack like a snake.

The rift paused, and a mountain seemed to have been dumped on Faolin’s arms. The edges of the rift began grumbling, tiny fissures bursting—looking like growing thorns.

“RUN!” she shouted to Vur and Levsenn, who were both wide-eyed and breathless.

Neither of them argued and rushed to the door on the end of the hallway leading to the courtyard. Soldiers around her gaped at the revealed mejest, at her power to have stopped that ridiculously dangerous rift.

Faolin snapped, “Either stay and admire or run and live.”

The veins in her arms threated to snap, but at least the soldiers listened.

Everything in her soon agonized. Her legs, her back, her arms mostly.

When the hallway emptied, sounds from this ward of fortress dispelled and only these distant murmurs from outside remained, Faolin took a struggling step back—towards the door.

The rift grumbled slightly, like a creature willing its prey to remain glued to one place.

She took another step.

Then another.

Faolin felt warm blood trickling down her nose, the vein at her temple had begun throbbing. She was practically carrying the whole fortress on her shoulders—using her mejest this much after having it frozen in her veins for years had its consequences.

This close to the door, this close to life, Faolin released the rift and hurled for the door. The ground shook so violently that she staggered a few steps as she darted away, heard the fortress behind her crumpling down when Faolin felt the air and sunlight around herself.

She ran and ran and ran until she reached the soldiers teemed outside in the courtyard.

All the slaves had fled as soon as the ground had begun shaking.

Good.

But the soldiers … these fools were watching the fall of fortress.

“RUN!” Faolin bellowed to them, wiping the blood from her nose. “THESE RIFTS WILL NOT STOP AFTER TAKING DOWN THE FORTESS! GO VACANT THE CITY BELOW!”

All the soldiers seemed to have snapped to attention, hesitated only for a second before rushing out. Weapons in their hands. As they went, they revealed Vur and Levsenn, looking over an injured soldier with a healer.

Faolin limped over to them, her breaths seared in her throat.

“Where’s Aazem?” she asked urgently. He hadn’t been in the crowd with the others.

Vur rubbed at his forehead before pointing to east wing of the fortress. “He went to the servants. Many were terrified to even move.”

Faolin’s gaze followed to where he pointed. There were indeed soldiers crammed there, servants flowing out from the gate. The building was crumpling, approaching to the east wing in a wild tide. Heart hammering, Faolin took a step towards it, but—

Vur seized her wrist. “We need to leave right this moment, before the soldiers come to their senses. Aazem can take care of himself.”

The fortress paused its downfall.

Faolin could feel Aazem’s mejest venturing its limits in her own, holding the whole building from laying waste.

“GO!” she heard the soldier’s yell at the servants.

More cracks exploded from beneath the fortress, it rumbled deafeningly.

Ground ripped into myriad growing cracks, approaching to where Vur, Faolin and Levsenn loomed. The building thundered again, quivering against Aazem’s grip, but Faolin’s mejest was already there. Lilac fog squeezed into the cracks in the ground, coiling the fortress until it was swathed in it. Until the whole building’s weight began weighing down on her shoulders.

Until her mejest linked with Aazem’s invisible power, aiding him.

Her legs buckled.

Faster, Faolin willed the message to seep its way to Aazem. It won’t hold.

There was no reply for moments and moments, the only sound in her ears was her thundering veins, the agonized screeches roaring in her. Pain seized Faolin. She shut her burning eyes and let the tears of pain slip.

Aazem’s reply came, and it had her eyes flying open.

I wanted to travel the world with you.

For a moment, everything went silent. Even her heart was a vague whisper.

Then there was a rip in the mejest she was linked with.

Excruciating pain began in her throat as her gaze slid to the east wing. All the servants were out, running to the main gates with the soldiers.

Aazem wasn’t there.

“No,” she whispered. But Aazem’s loosening grip on the fortress had her shouting. “NO!” Tears streamed down her face, voices and rumbling and screams grew vague all around her.

All she heard was the begging of her heart.

She took a struggling step. If she released her mejest, if she—

Aazem’s grip vanished, his mejest slid from her link.

The tidal wave resumed, the gap beneath the fortress began swallowing the river of rocks, tearing past her drained mejest. No, no, no, no—

Then she was running towards the east wing, uncaring of the trembling ground beneath her, of the cracks that began swallowing the ground after she released her mejest—

An arm seized her from behind. “Faolin.”

She hardly heard Vur’s voice in her ear and began thrashing against him, trying everything to get out of his grip. Let me go! She didn’t hear her own voice, wasn’t entirely certain it was there.

“We need to leave,” someone muttered. Levsenn. “Now.”

Faolin ripped Vur’s arm with her nails, but his grip did not loosen. A sob tore past her throat. “Please, please save him.”

But then the whole fortress came down.

“AAZEM!”

His mejest vanished wholly from her touch.