In the early afternoon, a servant came to collect us. Daemons maids flitted about, dressing us in resplendent garb—Andiya in full court dress, dripping with rubies and gold and shimmering silks, and I in my replica Eon’s uniform, silver accents and rings folded into my side braid. As a maid dabbed the dot of makeup under my eye, Queen Xanthe appeared in the doorway.

“May I borrow Rozin, for a moment?”

I followed her out, but we didn’t go far. Queen Xanthe laid a hand on my chest. It was like she’d pressed a block of ice against me, the cold seeping through my coat.

“A blessing,” she said quietly. “For a servant of Death, to pass safely through the shadows.”

When she removed her hand, a sigil glowed faintly on my coat before it faded away: a swirl surrounding a spindly, four-pointed star.

Before I could ask what she’d done, Andiya and a retinue of courtiers met us at the hall. Without a word, we made for the sea cliffs.

Salty ocean splashed against the shore, a strong wind picking up. Unaffected by the rising storm, a royal escort waited, their dresses and hair unmoving against the wind that lashed at the water.

Both queens wore their best, layered in rich fabrics and heavy jewels. Queen Mathaszai matched Andiya as shimmering fire—scarlet and rubies and gold, her crown a ring of antlers rising from a bed of deep roses. Beside her, Queen Xanthe was a winter’s night; black and silver and pale blue, her glass antlers set in pearls and moonstones. At attention behind them were ten guards, Verahai at their centre. And behind those guards …

I took a step back.

“Steady,” said Andiya, her hand taking mine. “They’re not going to hurt you.”

Seated on the sea wall was a pack of hasra, waiting to take flight. They bore little resemblance to the feral, bloodthirsty creatures from my memory. These were straight backed, calm, their eyes watching us with an intelligence that seemed nearly human. But it didn’t matter what they looked like, how calm they appeared. I saw only one thing: Barje Vos as it burned, my friends and family screaming, the fangs of hasra tearing head from limb. My heart picked up speed.

“We shall fly to Mount Anfang to collect your princess,” said Queen Xanthe. “And continue on to your palace. Our scouts say the Korongorod is near a place called Zhyla, responding to some sort of internal threat.”

Andiya squeezed my hand, prompting me to respond. “The Shrike attacks,” I said. I forced my eyes from the hasra, focusing on the warmth of Andiya’s hand in mine. I had nothing to fear. She’d never let them touch me, collar or not. “Disguised as violence from the hill clans.”

“Or because of me,” said Andiya. “They might be investigating what I can do. They must know by now what I did to the Ilyins.”

“We shall fly your princess to her palace,” continued Queen Mathaszai, “and remain for a short time to discuss the terms of our alliance. Then we will return home with you, Rozin Kain.”

“Excuse me?” said Andiya. “You’re still going to hold her prisoner? But Death said—”

“Death’s will,” bit Queen Mathaszai, “was that Kaelta usurp the usurper. Or is that not what you said, Eon?”

“She’s right,” I told Andiya. “I said nothing of myself.”

“Why?” Andiya hissed.

“I vowed to free you from the bond. I will stay here and do just that. I won’t have my freedom until you have yours.”

Andiya’s eyes widened in surprise. Her lips pressed shut.

“Mount,” said Queen Mathaszai.

A Bestial nudged my hand from behind. I jumped, hand reaching for my pommel, and whirled around—only to find a familiar leonine face. “Hae,” I gasped, and he rumbled in greeting. “I wondered where they’d put you.”

“He’s been pampered with the rest of the hasra,” explained Andiya. “I’m told the stable keepers took to him very quickly—apparently he really knows how to beg an extra steak or two out of anyone.”

Andiya and I hopped onto Hae’s back. The Kaeltans had put some sort of collar on him, a pendant of heavy opal that matched the same collars all of the hasra wore.

The mounted daemons lined up on the sea wall. The queens lifted their hands in unison. The wind rose to a gale and blasted across the water. The sea before us began to churn, spin, until a maelstrom carved a hole straight to the sea floor. A tunnel of black masonry punched through the rocky bottom.

The hasra dove in. Hae leapt after them, and we fell through the darkness, the smell of the sea vanishing in favour of jasmine and orange. We landed in a high hall of black stone overgrown with roots, fruit trees, and wildflowers somehow creeping through the brick. As the last of us landed, the maelstrom faded, and the sea calmed above us—the water held back by some kind of magic, as though there was a glass window on the ceiling. The hall was musty and dead as a mausoleum, most of the painted floor tiles faded or cracked away. They’d been murals, once—tales of the gods. I caught only pieces now: Justice’s blade, Wrath’s bow, Harvest’s lush garden, the funeral pyres of the first Hell, Death’s pale scythe.

And in rows as far as the eye could see, ancient mirrors crowded the hall. Some were shattered, their glass littering the floor, others were bright as though bathed in sunlight. One was filled with a black so deep it swallowed the light around it.

“Do you know where we are, Faithless?” asked Queen Mathaszai.

Andiya seemed in a daze, her lips parted in awe. “The Loci,” she breathed.

We walked past a mirror with a frame of carved cherry trees. I didn’t see my reflection—instead, a sunset grove beside a river.

“These mirrors,” Queen Xanthe said to me, “were left by the Creators. Our histories say that these mirrors connect our world to the next: tied to the heavens, hells, and everything in between. One must only choose where they wish to go.”

“And that one?” I asked, pointing to the black-filled mirror.

Queen Xanthe shook her head. “We don’t claim to know where every mirror leads. That could be for a mile away, or a thousand.”

“But it looks different. It’s black. What could make it that way?”

Queen Xanthe frowned at the mirror. “Black?” she asked quietly. “I see only a shattered mirror—what do you mean?”

“It’s … dark. Like its taking all the light with it. As if I’d be reaching my hand into a bottle of ink.”

Queen Xanthe was silent a moment, her gaze lingering on the mirror as we passed it. “I do not have an answer for you,” she said in a lower voice, so that only I could hear. “But I would not think of that mirror again.”

I broke my gaze with the black-filled mirror, instead peering into the rest. Every mirror showed a different reflection. Towns, mountains, islands, some even below the sea. One was a reflection of fluffy clouds, another a rolling hill cut from a cliff of red clay, another a village of boats and pontoons, floating in a fjord. Our procession stopped at a mirror with a frame of crystal-cut glass.

“Telluviah,” said Queen Xanthe. “The Creator’s Eye, to you.” Beyond the glass was a familiar courtyard, a group of servants and Shrike soldiers chatting at tables under a hot summer sun.

“Draw,” said Queen Mathaszai, and the guard readied their blades.

Verahai rode first. His speckled grey hasra simply stalked through the mirror as if there were no surface at all.

The procession followed him through. When we passed through the mirror, a warm buzz rolled over my skin. The light brightened, the jasmine and orange faded, and I was breathing the fresh air of Mount Anfang.

As if I’d pulled my fingers from my ears, I heard screaming. Servants fled, guards scrambled to hold their ground. The daemons only waited on their mounts, watching the panicked humans with bored expressions. We’d simply stepped into the Creator’s Eye from thin air.

A man I recognized as the captain of the Shrike guard ran to us. He stood straight-backed before Queen Mathaszai.

“Halt, daemons!” he barked. “You are trespassing—”

“We are here for Irina Volkov,” said Queen Mathaszai calmly. “Bring her to us, and live. Hide her …” The hasra snarled in unison.

The guards raised their weapons at the threat.

“I cannot let you pass,” said the captain. “We are not afraid of you, beasts’ whore—”

Queen Mathaszai flicked her hand, and the captain dissolved into a puff of red mist.

Power rolled through the courtyard, clawing at my skin. No one moved. They stared, paralyzed, at the bloody puddle on the glass floor.

“Who will defy the queens of Kaelta next?”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The courtyard didn’t move.

Small footsteps approached. Eva Shrike came from an archway, light and airy on her feet. Her large, languid eyes searched us curiously, and fell to Andiya and I. She cocked her head. “Shall you kill us once you have your princess, Rozin K ain?”

“No,” I said. Queen Mathaszai rolled her eyes. “We shall take the princess and go. Should no harm come to her, no harm shall come to you.” I glanced at the red puddle. “No further harm.”

“Very well. Anything else?”

“Release the princess’s party, and the Canavar soldiers. Give them everything they need to return home—horses, supplies, all of it.”

“Done. I assume you’ll be wanting the other one, as well?”

“Other one?”

“Your princess’s assistant. The blonde with the handsome bonded. Yulia?”

I swallowed hard. Irina must have kept Yulia close to protect her. I would need to thank her for that. “Yes. Bring them both.”

The guards kept their blades and bows raised as we waited. The Kaeltans just looked … bored. They were so confident in their power that a legion of trained guards concerned them as much as flies. Their magic pressured the air. It felt like monstrous ghosts milling around us, sinking fangs into our hair, pressing clawed hands against our skin. With a single motion, I knew the Kaeltans could blast the Creator’s Eye straight from the mountaintop.

Eva returned with a curious Irina and a skittish Yulia in tow. I breathed a sigh of relief. They looked totally unharmed. Irina walked with her chin high, Yulia trailed warily behind. As soon as Yulia saw me, she ran for me. Andiya and I pulled her onto Hae’s back, and I held her close.

Irina stood before Queen Mathaszai, Artem behind her as a guard. She did not bow. “I am overjoyed at our meeting, malikhaten.”

Queen Mathaszai’s lip curled in amusement. “You know our tongue?”

“You have heard the extent of my knowledge, I am afraid. Perhaps, in time, I may learn more from you.” Irina raised a brow at the red puddle. “And who might this belong to?”

“The Shrike guard captain, Your Majesty,” I said. “That’s all that’s left of him.”

“For what reason?”

“He insulted the Kaeltans.”

Irina snorted. “Serves him right, then. For facing a queen without respect.”

Queen Mathaszai’s smile widened. “I like this one,” she said to Queen Xanthe.

“I shall take your compliment, malikhaten. When I find one suitable, I shall return the favour.”

Queen Xanthe whispered, and a thick furred, grey hasra approached Irina. It matched the wolves of the northern woods, those who gave the Canavar their name. The hasra bowed, its rust coloured wings spread along the ground.

“A gift,” said Queen Xanthe, “from one friend to another.”

Irina ran her hand down the hasra’s neck, a twinkle of wonder in her eye. “Does it have a name?”

“He does not. That honour falls to you.”

“Tempest,” Irina said without hesitation. “That shall be his name.”

“Then let us ride, Archon Volkov,” said Queen Xanthe. “Your throne awaits.”

“Queen Mathaszai,” I said. “Can we have a moment?”

The queen only waved in dismissal. I nudged Hae to Irina’s side as she mounted. “Your Majesty,” I said. “You should be careful in the Korongorod.”

Quickly, I told her what I knew. What the Shrikes had done, what Seylas had done, what Maxsim had wanted to happen. When I finished, Irina gave a miniscule nod. Her eyes were hard as steel.

“Thank you, my friend. It seems I have a lot to think about.”

And we were off, the hasra shooting upwards on powerful wings. Yulia shrieked as Hae leapt into the air. The pendant around his neck glowed, pulsing in unison with those of the hasra. Their magic pulled him aloft into the clear afternoon.

We raced across Novosk at an impossible speed, covering ground that had taken us hours in minutes. The mire stretched out below us, only an expanse of greyish ground and dead weeds. While we flew, I explained everything that had happened to Yulia.

“Do you believe her majesty will forgive the Shrikes once she’s on the throne?”

“I don’t think she has much choice. The Shrikes are too wealthy—if they wanted, they could separate from the Canavar. But Irina is smart. She’ll find some way to punish them without ever making it public.”

“And what about going public with her Kaeltan alliance? The other archons won’t take that lightly.”

I grimaced, remembering how Irina had paraded Andiya around the Korongorod. “She’ll make it known. The princess wants a world where daemons are friend, not foe. Most importantly, she wants a world where the power is on her side. I expect her to shout that she has an entire fleet of High Orders to every Archon on the continent.”

The mire faded to grassy hills, then to thin woods and farmland. In the distance, a hulking shape loomed over the horizon. The Korongorod, seat of the false archon.

The hasra banked, spreading out. We swirled around the Frozen Keep like shooting stars, whipping past the windows so closely I could reach out and touch them. Alarm bells clanged. Guards rushed to the parapets, raising bows. Bonded kicked up gusts and drew fireballs and formed spears of ice. Animators wrapped their power around ballistae. I wanted to warn them. Run, you idiots. Run.

Queen Mathaszai raised her hand. Flames tore from her palm, tightening into hundreds of burning dragons. They took on lives of their own, slamming into guards and wrapping around bonded, reducing them to ashes. They crunched the arms of ballistae in their jaws, set fire to the ammunition. The hasra spun and dodged around every shot the guards managed to take, blocking the rest with walls of hard air.

Queen Xanthe landed amongst the ashes. She raised her hand slowly, and the rose bushes along the wall burst outwards, their branches thickening and slithering like snakes. They snatched guards and threw them from the walls, or coiled around them in serpentine prisons, or cracked their skulls with thorny boughs. I was powerless to help. I could only watch as my fellow soldiers fell in service to a false crown.

The palace quieted. In minutes, the Kaeltan queens had crushed us. How had humans ever survived this? How had there ever been a war, and not simply a slaughter?

Irina alighted gracefully beside Queen Xanthe, and the rest of us followed suit. Irina fixed her gown and hair. “This way, your majesties,” she said with a cold smile. “I must applaud the swiftness of your victory—but as we move forward, I would appreciate it if you stopped incinerating my guard. I shall need them in the days ahead.”

We marched through the palace. Dignitaries screamed and ran, servants dropped to their knees at the sight of the princess, muttering prayers. What guards got in our way quickly found themselves pinned by thorns or ice or melted stone, Verahai’s men dispatching them with lazy flicks of their wrists. I remembered the chaos that one High Order had caused in the Korongorod. And now there were thirteen.

A cluster of Eons blocked the door to the throne room. They held blades at the ready, their bonded coiled to strike. Irina paused and smiled.

“Ivanov, Oblonsky, Abdulin, Nurbayev, Chen, Hjelstad, Falk,” she said, nodded at each in turn. “Your archon has returned, dear comrades. Step aside.”

“We serve the crown,” said Hjelstad. “You do not wear it.”

“Archon Volkov has ordered your arrest,” said Ivanov. “You are to be held as a traitor.”

“Is that what dear baby brother calls me, now?”

“It is what he calls the friends of daemons.”

Irina touched Ivanov’s forearm tenderly. “Well. We shall not call them that anymore. Step aside.”

“I apologise,” said Ivanov. “You know we cannot, even if we wanted to.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Irina agreed. “You are all loyal to the crown, and you shall remain loyal to your dying breath.” She glanced back at the Kaeltan queens. “If you would be so kind, malikhaten. See that no harm comes to them.”

The Kaeltan guards raised their hands, and a great gust of wind tore down the hallways. It passed our party without effect, but the Eons were blown from their feet, caught in a twisting gale. Their blades flew from their grips; their bonded rushed to stop their Eons from smashing against the walls. The gale sucked them all right out of the Frozen Keep, ejecting them onto the outer ward.

“Secure them,” Queen Mathaszai said, and Verahai bowed. He and his guards marched for where the Eons scrambled for order.

“After you,” Queen Xanthe said to Irina, and we swept into the throne room.

A young man sat on the Canavar throne. He was the splitting image of Irina, black-haired and pallid, his bones angled to make him look sharp and cunning. He wore the Canavar crown and a wolf’s pelt on his shoulders, as well as a look of pure horror.

Servants rushed away, flattening themselves against the walls. The few guards in the throne room took single steps before being wrapped and gagged in rose branches.

“Good afternoon, brother,” said Irina. “You do not look pleased to see me. Are you not relieved that your dear sister is alive and well?”

Maxsim straightened in his seat. “I … am indeed relieved to see you well, sister.”

“I thank you for safeguarding my people in my absence. Now, step down. You are no longer needed.”

“No,” said Maxsim quakily.

“Care to repeat that, dear brother? And bear in mind the consequences.”

“No. You have no right to be here. You are not the archon.”

Irina approached the throne. Maxsim flinched. They may have shared a face, but Maxsim did not wear it well. Irina was imperious, self-assured. She ruled because she was a ruler. Maxsim seemed like a child in boots far too big. On him, their might was a facsimile. On Irina, it was real.

“So you say. Though there does not seem to be any reason why I should not be archon.” She stepped onto the dais. “Except for you.”

“And my people,” said Maxsim. “I am the regent they deserve.”

Irina sighed. “I do not wish to harm you, Max. I can still remember when you were a babe taking his first steps. I remember when you learned to say my name. There is no malice in my heart for that boy.”

“I am no longer a boy!” shouted Maxsim. “And as my subject, you shall refer to me properly.”

“Max—”

“Your Eminence!” Maxsim stood. “You will not talk me out of my birth right. No whore of daemons will sit for the Canavar, not so long as I draw breath—”

Irina snatched Maxsim by the lapels and flung him from the dais.

Metal clinked as Maxsim’s adornments skittered on the floor. His crown rolled to Queen Xanthe’s feet.

“Arrest him,” Irina said, and sat primly on her throne. “Eon Kain—please get my brother out of my sight.”

Maxsim scrambled to his feet, fur askew. He made for Irina, but quickly found himself surrounded by Hae, Andiya, and I.

“If you are really an Eon, help your archon!” he ordered.

“I am. This way, Maxsim. We shall escort you safely to the dungeons.”

“You are serving a false regent. My sister is unfit to bear that crown—”

“She is my regent.” I gripped his arm, and Andiya gripped the other. “Don’t put up a fight.”

Queen Xanthe handed Irina the crown. Irina turned it in her hands, catching the frosted spikes in the light.

“Kain,” said Irina gently. “Return quickly. I should like my friend to share this day with me.”

I bowed my head. A smile lightened my heart. “At once, Your Eminence. I should like nothing more.”

*

We descended the tight stairwell deep into the the belly of the Korongorod, Maxsim’s protests echoing up the stone.

“You’re making a mistake,” he said. “I was crowned; I am the archon—”

“Not anymore.”

“Listen. Whatever my sister has promised you, whatever lie she sold you told, you will not get it. I could give it to you. Speak your wish, and you shall have it.”

“She didn’t promise me anything.”

Maxsim stumbled on a step. “What? Then why are you doing this?”

“Because its right.”

“Right? Do you hear yourself? Right, she says, to place a tyrant on the throne. To throw the saviour of the Canavar in the dungeons.”

Andiya shoved Maxsim down a narrow hallway. “If anyone is the saviour of the Canavar, its Rozin. She brought the Kaeltans here to help us. They can protect our people from the Drahko.”

Maxsim spluttered, his mouth flapping like a washed-up fish. “Protect us? We’re the ones the Drahko needs protection from!”

I snapped his cell door shut with a great clang. “That was what the old Volkov used to say, wasn’t it? We are wolves. Beware our fangs.”

“Huh! My father was a blubbering fool with dreams of greatness. Those were my sister’s words. All my father did was echo them.” As I tried to leave, he shot his hand through the bars and snatched my sleeve.

“You cannot trust her,” he urged. “Least of all when she has what she wants.”

I tore my arm away. Andiya’s gaze burned my back. Verahai had told me not to trust her, too.

“I will trust my friend,” I told Maxsim. “Not the word of a traitor.”

I left him there, anger clouding my head. How dare he—how dare Verahai—they were all wrong—

“You are a traitor too, Rozin Kain,” he called after me. “And I shall not forget that.”