As Jordan stared down at the unassuming cloth in her hands, a croak of denial escaped her. She forced her gaze to rise, to meet the unnerved, accusatory stare of her friend.

“You said you were not from Andoherra," Norae whispered, reproach heavy in her tone, “That you knew nothing of magic… You… lied to me?”

Jordan tossed the offending evidence away from her as if it burned. “No! I swear to God, the last time I saw my blood, it was red – normal! First the visions, now this…” She sank down with a groan. “What the hell is happening to me…?”

The anguish in the slump of her injured shoulders, the tremor of fear in her voice, softened Norae’s suspicions. She came to sit cross-legged opposite Jordan, her expression thoughtful.

“You did not know.”

It was a statement, not a question. Jordan shook her head, pushing tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“What’s wrong with me, Norae?” Her voice was hoarse, afraid of the answers.

Norae regarded her steadily. “Nothing is wrong with you. But you have magic in your blood – that is undeniable.”

“How?!” Jordan almost shouted it. “I am from Earth! I have never heard of Andoherra!”

Norae shook her head, at a loss. Then, so quiet Jordan almost didn’t hear, she said, “I know who to ask, though.”

Jordan looked up, a wave of curiosity dampening her fear. “D’you… d’you think that was really her?”

“I have never seen another with power like that, who could hold at bay a dragon. She has been gone for two decades, but… Jordan, I am sure that was Calyx Dur’Losarl we saw today. I do not know where she has been, or why she is returned now, but I fear her appearance at the same time as yours is no coincidence.”

“How will we find her?” Jordan asked, thinking of the vastness of the desert beyond the valley, and the world beyond that – for the desert could not be all there was.

“A Lat’Nemele is difficult to track down,” Norae mused. “But, if I were her, I know where I would go. To Eoscan, the World Queen’s Palace, for revenge.”

She lifted the pot of andothyst in query. Jordan nodded acceptance, happy that they were on the same side once more, and Norae moved around to finish treating her wounds.

“How d’you know she would do something like that?” Jordan asked, steeling herself against the pressure of the Callkin’s fingers working at her tender shoulders.

Norae barked a sharp laugh, making her wince. “Because. A Lat’Nemele is a predator. A weapon by her very nature. Calyx served Asbeth. She will not rest while a false Queen sits on the Throne.”

Jordan swallowed, remembering the immense power of the Lat’Nemele. “Will… will she hurt us, though…?”

“Hope not,” Norae snorted.

She finished affixing the last dressing and came round to face Jordan again. The look on her face sobered her jesting.

“Do not worry, Jordan,” she reassured. “She knew my father very well. Were fast allies in the protection of Asbeth. And though I was young when Calyx disappeared, am confident she will remember me.”

Jordan huffed assent, rolling her shoulders against their dressings. The pain was less beneath the cool balm of the andothyst ointment. “What about your gryphon?”

“We will have to pass through Nova Azuros on the way to Eoscan,” Norae said, determination set hard in her features. “If we free Thallo, it will aid our travels. She can fly faster than we could walk. It is a long way from here to the Capital.”

“How far to this Nova Azuros place?”

“If we leave now, we can make it by dusk. It lies at the head of this valley.”

Jordan pushed to her feet, wincing a little as she lifted her pack. “Well, what are we waiting for? I don’t fancy spending another night in a tree, to be honest with you.”

Norae smirked. “Not so bad – if you do not fall out.”

Jordan rolled her eyes, and Norae scooped up the cooking skin to douse the fire. She retrieved her two anerradite crystals and stowed them in her pack, and then affixed her glaive in its baldrick. She checked the daggers in her boots, slung her bow over her shoulder, and loosened her short sword in its scabbard at her hip.

“D’you… want me to carry something for you?” Jordan asked, watching her.

Norae looked her over, raised an eyebrow, and drew the longer of her two daggers. She offered it hilt first. “If it make you feel safer, take this one.”

“Thanks,” Jordan smiled, sheepish. The Callkin had seen straight through her.

“Use the sharp side on your enemy,” Norae smirked.

Jordan graced her a doleful expression, slipped the blade through the belt on her jeans. Norae's eyebrow tipped higher.

“First thing we do in Nova Azuros is get you some new clothes.”

Jordan looked down at herself, at her shirt, tattered by harpy talons, her worn sneakers, and the dagger hanging precariously from a belt not designed to holster weapons. She giggled. “All right, but they’ll have to be on you, though. I have no money.”

“Deal,” Norae said, tossing her head. Her braids danced; the colourful, interwoven beads catching in a ray of sunlight that quested through the entrance. “Do not lose my dagger in the meantime.”

Jordan gave her shoulder a playful shove, and, grinning, the Callkin led the way out of the cave.

Out beneath the cool cloak of the forest, they settled into a swinging walk that ate up the miles. They hugged the edge of the valley, keeping to the cover of the trees, stopping now and then to sip water from Norae’s flask. When it was empty, she refilled it with the waterstone – too many beasts in the river, she said.

They pressed on as the sun began to descend to the edge of the valley rim, and finally, dropped behind it. The valley plunged into an odd, muted twilight, the shadow of the desert above, and Norae quickened their pace.

“Almost there,” she said. “Last stretch of forest before we reach the city.”

Jordan looked about, finding it hard to believe there was a city hidden down in this vast, wild wilderness. But she took Norae’s word for it and they hurried on, racing the falling darkness. Ahead, stars twinkled into view as the forest thinned, and then Jordan realised that they were not stars at all. They were lights, but not of a kind she had ever seen before. The small deer track they had been following widened into a rough path, and then into a cobbled road that split small, prolific fields. The walls of the city loomed into view. The gates were open, and though two soldiers manned the guard towers on either side, no one stopped them. The buildings, a charming mixture of wood and sandstone, crowded close along the main road as they followed its sinuous bends deeper into the city. Tall streetlamps glowed with warm yellow light, illuminating the way as darkness descended. Jordan looked up at one as she passed, realised that it had no bulb. Instead, a large yellow crystal was affixed with ornamental chains – an orb of anerradite, put to yet another use. Norae drew ahead, and she scurried to catch up, wending her way between citizens hurrying home after a long day of business.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

She baulked as they rounded a bend and almost collided with a cart coming the other way – though it wasn’t the near collision that alarmed her. Rather, it was the massive, two-headed, boar-like creature snorting down at her in consternation that made her retreat. Norae laughed and pulled her aside, apologising to the driver as he carried on his way. The cart trundled on, and Jordan stared after it.

“What is the matter?” Norae chortled. “Never seen a marmoda before?”

“A mar-what?” Jordan said, only half listening. “What the hell is that thing?”

“Mar-mo-da,” Norae repeated, grinning at her surprise. “Common beast of burden in the Third Kingdom. Equally at home above and below ground. Useful, for the mines.”

“It had two heads…”

“Observant,” Norae nodded sagely. “Must be your magical blood.”

Jordan elbowed her, and they carried on, keeping a more careful eye for carts going in either direction.

At last, they stopped outside a tall, narrow inn. A large wooden sign proclaimed it The Merry Marmoda, and Norae sniggered as she led the way inside.

“Appropriate, no?” she smirked. Jordan huffed derisively.

She let the Callkin do the talking, and did not protest when she procured one room for the two of them – she had no inclination to be alone in this strange land. The landlord handed them a key, and Norae followed his directions up three flights of stairs to find their room. They entered, doffed their packs, and Jordan rolled her sore shoulders.

“Would you like first use of the washroom?” Norae asked, noting her discomfort. Jordan nodded, grateful, and Norae crossed the room to her. “Let me remove the dressings, and then go ahead.”

When she was free of her bindings, Jordan entered the small adjacent room, but shortly reappeared with a look of consternation pasted on her face.

“I don’t know how anything works,” she admitted, sheepish.

Norae smiled understanding, and led the way back in. She showed Jordan how to activate the two stones set into the inner side of the brass tub, one a waterstone and the other a firestone, linked together to provide warm water. They required no words, only a simple twist of each, and Norae told her that twisting the firestone further provided hotter water. She adjusted it until she was satisfied with the temperature, and Jordan watched as water seeped from the twin stones, quietly filling the tub. It took far less time than she expected, and soon Norae twisted the two stones back again to stem the flow. She pointed out the shelf on the wall, which held several small vials of thick, coloured liquids, and recommended two of them. Jordan retrieved them, and then, blushing, asked about the sanitation.

“That is my favourite part about staying indoors,” Norae smiled, “No need to crouch in the woods.” She slid open a wooden panel on the far side of the room. “Here, the latrine. Quite simple, do your business, press this crystal, and it clears itself. See, in the bowl, beneath the spell-liquid, the inner coat of crystals? Imbued with a conjuring charm. Transports whatever is inside down into the sewers when activated.”

Jordan marvelled, never in her life expecting to be impressed by a toilet. She thanked Norae, and the Callkin left her to it, shutting the door behind her. Jordan doffed her tattered clothing and sank into the hot tub with a contented sigh.

When she had finished, she returned to the room wrapped in a large cotton towel. Norae offered her the simple shirt and loose trousers she had been out to acquire while Jordan was in the washroom.

“These are not proper clothes,” the Callkin sniffed, “But they are all that the small store next door had to offer. We will find a proper store tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Norae,” Jordan said, moved by her thoughtfulness. She retreated back to the washroom to don them, and then vacated it for Norae.

Whilst the Callkin was busy, Jordan reclined on one of the two feather-stuffed beds, revelling in its softness, and pulled her papers out of her pack. She settled on another dream she had written down, and reread it to pass the time, hoping she might stumble upon some answers along the way. Her dreams never seemed to have any order to them, but she guessed this one fitted in shortly before the death of the Queen…

“Enter,” Asbeth commanded, unable to keep the broodiness from her voice.

The Queen stared moodily at the fire as soft footsteps approached, the familiar magical signature of the Lat’Nemele washing over her like a balm. She felt better immediately in the presence of her life-long friend, felt herself relaxing despite her wish to stay irritable. She heard the sound of wine poured from the decanter, and the hint of a smile crept across her lips. She held out her hand to accept the heavy crystal goblet, but didn’t look up from observing the fire. She wanted Calyx to know she was displeased at being kept waiting.

At the same time that her fingers closed around the stem of the jewelled vessel, a pearly manacle closed around her outstretched wrist. The abrupt dimming of her magic caught her off-guard, and she inhaled sharply in surprise. With the damper curbing her power, she felt as though she had been blinded. It was not a sensation she had ever experienced before, and it was not one she ever wished to experience again. But before she could react, the other bracelet of the Shackles of Soul clicked closed around her opposite wrist, and then she was staring into a pair of beautiful eyes – eyes which most certainly did not belong to Calyx.

“You!” she gasped. White-knuckled, she clutched at her goblet.

Nerys studied her for a long moment, her curious gaze framed by a cascade of ebony hair. She withdrew, sat down in the chair opposite, and sipped at her own goblet of wine. In the whole exchange, not a droplet had been spilled.

“Impossible…” Asbeth tried to still her whirling mind, to make sense of the abrupt turn of events. “Your magic – you are a Lat’Nemele!”

“I am,” Nerys agreed. She rolled the wine across her tongue. “What vintage is this? It’s excellent.”

“But… you cannot be! Calyx is the Lat’Nemele.”

Nerys tilted her goblet to criticise the summer hues glinting within, unperturbed by Asbeth’s incredulous stare.

“This must be from the Southern Coast,” she mused, “I can taste the sunshine... Is it?”

Asbeth did not respond. She stared in disbelief at the second Lat’Nemele, her thoughts racing. Such a Sorceress had not existed since the creation of the world – in thousands of years, there had only ever been one Sorceress of the Elements at any given time. Their lifespans did not overlap, and there were never two born at once. This woman looked to be similar in age to Calyx – which made the possibility all the more implausible.

“Where did you come from?” Asbeth asked, intrigued, and terrified at once.

“I’ll not answer any more of your questions until you tell me about the wine, dear,” Nerys admonished. Her velvet lips quirked with a suppressed smile.

“Summer vintage from Khaeross,” Asbeth answered. She continued to stare at the handsome woman as if seeing magic for the first time.

“Southern Coast, indeed. Will you not have some, dear?”

“What do you want?” Asbeth snapped, gathering her thoughts.

Pointedly, she set her goblet down on the table. The pearlescent shackles jingled as she did so, a stark reminder of her predicament. As a Worldkin, she was mostly immune to the magic of others, but with her own magic impeded she was vulnerable. The thought did not sit well with her. She remembered a conversation, long ago, one that she’d thought she’d forgotten. The Grand Dreamkin, a powerful seer, had offered her an obscure prediction about the end of her magic, and the chaos that would ensue as a result. The Vision had been cryptic at best, and she had long since dismissed it. Now, however, its possible meaning loomed without sympathy. She eyed the Lat’Nemele with a mixture of fear and fury. Nerys held her gaze, a strange softness in the set of her jaw.

“I wished to meet you,” she said, “Before your demise.”

“Is that a threat?” Asbeth exploded, fear and fury growing in volatility.

“No, dear,” Nerys sighed, and her enigmatic eyes clouded with sadness, “It is a fact. And I will be sorry to see you go.”

Her unexpected answer gave Asbeth pause. The World Queen snatched up her goblet and drained half of it. She slumped back in her chair, took a moment to gather her emotions. Giving in to temper was not the way to get out of this mess. She schooled her features, reminded herself that she was a Queen.

“At least tell me why,” she said at last, buoyed by the softness she saw in the Lat’Nemele’s strange, beautiful gaze. “Why have you killed so many Witchkin? What did you hope to gain?”

Nerys toyed with her goblet. “I did not hope to gain anything, I am merely the weapon. The business of killing is not my choice, but it is my duty.”

“You are trying to tell me that the trail of mutilated corpses scattered across my Kingdoms wasn’t your idea? That you are not to blame for it?”

Nerys’ gaze hardened. The softness fled; buried once more. “Believe what you will, dear. My presence and my motives both appear to exist in the same fictitious conundrum.”

Asbeth regarded her, seeking answers in that cold, haughty face. She almost felt like she was bearing witness to some strange, unspoken confession; this dark, troubled creature asking for understanding without quite saying so.

“If not you,” she sighed, “Then who?”

Nerys’ mellow voice coloured with the barest hint of regret. “I believe you will easily guess the answer, dear.”

Footsteps echoed gaily down the hallway beyond, and Nerys fell silent. She watched Asbeth over the rim of her crystal goblet as Fayne Gri’Svear swept through the unlocked door. The Queen’s face blanched in horrified realisation as she remembered – death by fire, the Dreamkin had said.

“Asbeth, darling!” the Firekin gushed, spreading her hands wide as if ecstatic to see her. Her whole form was vibrant, shimmering with excitement. She tossed her scarlet ringlets with a tinkling laugh and reached for the goblet of wine that Nerys was already holding out for her.

“Nerys, my love,” Fayne simpered as she took it, “You do know me so well! Now tell me, what horrible threats have you been offering the Queen in my absence…?”

Jordan sucked at her teeth, rereading it again. That dark witch, the one who had helped murder Asbeth, hadn’t truly seemed like she’d wanted to. It was odd, and Jordan wondered why. But she shook her head to clear unanswerable conundrums and laid her papers aside as Norae reappeared, fresh and comfortable in loose clothing, not a weapon in sight. She flopped onto the other bed, reaching up to dim the glowing stone above it.

“Get some rest, Jordan,” she advised. “Tomorrow will be a testing day.” She smiled, an expression of uninhibited delight. “Tomorrow... we will rescue Thallo.”