PART I.

1.

To a passerby, it might have seemed that the two figures standing at the foot of the grave were ghosts. The fog was heavy that day, and their grey-cloaked forms, still and silent, were rendered nearly indistinguishable.

Then the wind swept in, and the mist thinned enough to reveal two women, too similar in facial features to not be sisters. The taller of the two cradled a bouquet of white roses. The other clutched a journal in her shaking hands. They laid their gifts atop the barren ground and murmured their prayers to their goddess Ilya, their words softer than whispers.

Joan’s words were short and earnest. She finished speaking some time before her younger sister and strode away to let Josephina finish in peace. Her stance was suggestive of one standing guard, but there was little she could see in the hazy environment. The outlines of leafless trees littered the landscape, their shadows faint in the dim dusk light. Somewhere nearby, a crow cawed its lonesome aria.

A chill breeze whistled through the graveyard. Josephina shivered and drew her grey coat tighter about herself, though she did not stop speaking. Her words were a stream of memories, of condolences for her fallen friend.

“It’s almost summer,” Josephina whispered to the smooth stone. “But we don’t have much of a harvest this year. He’s killed thousands out in the villages. So many innocents.”

She knelt and covered her face with her hands, attempting to hide the tears that were now leaking free. Her dark corkscrew curls spilled out over her shoulders to curtain her face, turning her features into a mask of shadows.

Soldiers didn’t get names on their gravestones. They were buried as equals, the same way they fought. And in this seemingly endless field, he was just one of many. But she found him, as she always did.

Josephina didn’t believe in gods or heroes, in saints or saviors. She believed in people and their willpower. But Phillip had proved her sullen ideas wrong. He was kind when no one else was, patient and encouraging. He’d befriended the ratty and wild teenager she once was and pushed her to join the United Front. Even though it had taken years to open up to him, she one day considered him an even closer companion than her siblings.

Even when he’d been assigned as Captain of the Guard, when he became the protector of the Royal Court, he’d found time for her. So much so that he got her, a human without magic, admitted into the United Academy. No Oudén had been accepted in a century.

And then he’d died. Slain by a Beast, by a monster of a man that destroyed a quarter of the castle and consumed half of its occupants, crown princess included.

“I failed,” she gasped. “They kicked me out. They won’t even let me join the Front. I don’t know what I’m going to do! I can’t… I have to help. Somehow. But what can I do?”

She wiped away her tears, aware that she was no longer alone. Someone had come along and was walking down a row just ahead of her, a fellow mourner with their own tears and words to give.

Josephina rose and turned away, approaching Joan. She raised her hood and murmured as she passed, “Let’s go. Night will fall soon.”

Joan turned her sapphire gaze to her sister and followed silently. They walked by mourners like themselves, all dressed in black and clutching gifts.

When the sisters were out of the earshot of the others. Joan spoke in a soft tone, “It’s been three years, Fi. You can grieve. It’s healthy.”

“My grief doesn’t matter,” muttered Josephina. “The people are suffering. I won’t burden others with my worries.”

They descended the hill, passed through the cemetery gates, and headed down the cobblestone path toward the edge of town. The Norden River flowed toward the bay a mile off to the north, its bustling ports at a standstill under the falling snow.

Josephina stopped halfway across the footbridge that spanned the steel-grey Norden and looked behind, her dark focus on the hundreds of graves that made up the Hill of the Fallen. So much room was given to the ports, yet the cemetery for the fallen was crowded onto a minuscule hill that was more a mound. An eternal fog seemed to hang over the spot, and even now the mist was moving in, hiding the dead and their mourners from view.

“Three years and all we’ve done is lose ground,” she said. “And people. So many people. Joan, you have to be careful when you get out there.”

Joan blinked, taken aback. Fi wasn’t prone to soft words of warning, of sympathy in general. Joan knew her sister loved her in her own distant way. But statements such as these were uncommon.

“I will,” she promised. “You know, the only reason I’m valedictorian is that you aren’t.”

It was meant to be a jest, a simple statement to perk Fi up, but Joan saw very quickly that it only served to upset her sister.

“I’m sorry, Fi, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re just—”

“It’s alright.”

Josephina glanced at her sister in her royal blue uniform, done up with medals and ribbons from not just one, but three Madjai classes– Joan was already so highly decorated even though she wasn’t set to graduate for two weeks.

“I’m over it. I’ve told you that. You deserve it. Really.” Josephina smiled. It did not reach her eyes.

Joan stepped up beside her. She turned to her sister, lips parting as if she meant to speak. After a time she closed them again and sighed.

“When I ship out,” she said, voice low, “don’t stay here, Josephina. Move on. Find somewhere in the world to call your own. Or don’t. Travel. Just don’t stay here, whatever you do.” The Beast would eventually come for them all, but if Josephina could get away, could at least see the world beyond these city walls, maybe she could die happy.

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She knew such words would only discourage her sister, however, and opted for another explanation. “You are meant for so much more than cleaning up after ungrateful Madjai.”

Josephina frowned. “You know I don’t want to stay. And I won’t. Why are you bringing it up?”

Joan gestured behind them to the hill, to the mass of fog. “Being there– like you said, we’ve lost so many. Thousands. And this war will only ever get closer.”

“The latest reports put him at the southernmost villages,” responded Josephina. “That’s years away. He can’t march across those hundreds of miles in a day.”

Joan shook her head. She wasn’t supposed to speak of things like this outside of the academy walls, especially not with her sister. Most Madjai deemed someone like Josephina– who was without magic– as second class. But what Fi didn’t know might kill her. Joan couldn’t live with that.

“Northernmost,” Joan corrected. She cast a glance around before continuing, “A few of his soldiers and spies have been arrested inside city walls. He will be here soon. A month at most, I guess. Perhaps two.”

She clutched the bridge railing, eyes closed, near to tears. “And no matter how many men and women we have, Fi, you have to remember. He’s a Fatemaker. He can stop our hearts, turn us on one another, scramble our brains. This war could end in a thousand ways without us even knowing it. There are millions of us and one of him, and he can still win. That’s why I want you to leave.”

Josephina was silent, lips pursed together. She nodded at last and smiled. “Thank you.”

Those were her only words. Flat, unaffected, quiet. No different than usual. She was less than expressive, scarcely more than mildly irritated. A smile was akin to a warm embrace from her.

Joan squeezed her shoulder and beamed. She started off toward the city once again.

As they came to the edge of town, their mannerisms changed. Josephina slowed her pace and fell into stop behind Joan. She ducked her head low and smoothed out her long grey coat, a hue only a few shades lighter than her uniform of grey dress shoes, grey stockings, long grey skirt, and murky brown undershirt.

Only Madjai were permitted to wear red, white, green, or violet hues. Physists wore red, Mentalists wore white, Naturalists wore green, and Harbingers wore violet. Oudén were welcome to wear any other colors, but that was often made difficult by guards who claimed that yellow was a shade of red, or that black was too close to deep purple. So they wore grey, the only color that was deemed acceptable by the rulers of their city.

A barker offered copies of the town circular for only a few cents. As Joan stopped to purchase one, Josephina stopped in her place and remained silent. She was not permitted to speak unless spoken to, nor was she allowed to look anyone in the eye.

‘A thousand rules. All for what? I cannot control what I am.’

In the distance, the ivory spires of the Ilramore castle rose up against the soft red and violet of sunset.

Somewhat smaller but no less imposing, the United Academy was set out in front of the castle, a sprawling grounds made up of square stone buildings, training grounds, and two equestrian stables. It served as both the entryway and protection of the castle— any visitors who hoped to get to the Ilramore had to first pass through the Academy grounds, which was a half—mile packed full of the country’s finest students.

The castle had been attacked only once in five hundred years, the sole occasion occurring from a threat that dwelled within the walls.

The fortress was their destination. Once Joan had bought the paper, she nodded to her sister and they set off again.

Looking at the two women, it was not immediately apparent that they were sisters. Joan was taller, with a short sheath of straight hair so blond that impossible hues, such as the brightest of pinks, shimmered when sunlight hit it. Her skin was fair, her face angular and sharp. She was all edges and lines.

Josephina was darker, with skin of a hue closer to her father’s dark olive, and a spray of darker freckles across the bridge of her nose and rounded cheeks. Her mahogany hair fell in tight, corkscrew curls to just below her shoulders.

They were winter and fall, light and shadow. As different as could be, and yet bound by a bond that, over recent years, had strengthened.

Joan was in her fourth and final year at the Academy, and nearly twenty-two. At the end of a long road of hardships, she’d come out on top and was scheduled to graduate in two weeks, after which she’d be shipped out to the wilderness of their beautiful country.

Josephina almost took the same path. Despite her unlucky lot in life, she had gotten into the academy three years ago. She proved to be a proficient academic, understanding and analyzing even the most esoteric of theorems and war lessons with ease. In their weekly mock battles, she oftentimes slaughtered her opponents with a wit that went unchallenged.

Physically, however, it soon became apparent that she could not keep up. She was at a natural disadvantage, and against Madjai she was no match.

She lasted for a year before she dropped out, rather than let herself be kicked out, and took up a job as a groundskeeper. She wandered the halls with a few other Oudén, cleaning up after those she once called her peers.

The fall from grace wasn’t a long one for her. She had never been in the favor of her parents or family. She enjoyed the Academy because it allowed her to become what she’d always wanted to be— a champion for the people. And it had brought herself and Joan together.

Josephina did not recall her childhood fondly. Her parents had and berated her for her lack of magic. Even worse were the looks given in silence. The pitiful stares from her mother, the shameful sighs from her father, were agonizing. A part of her died with each gesture. And even worse, still, was the systematic ignorance by her siblings. Varos often went off with his mother to the courts or to the castle. Joan made a point to join her father on her business endeavors. She had been alone more often than not.

Joan was grateful for Josephina’s failures. She had worked no harder than her sister, spent the same endless hours toiling on the fields and in the classroom because she knew one thing— that war was hell, and it was coming for them all.

The Beast did not discriminate between child, adult, man, or woman. He left behind two hundred corpses in his wake following his great escape, two hundred souls from all walks of life.

Had Josephina made it to graduation, Joan knew that she would die on the battlefield. Within hours, maybe minutes. She’d be but a number.

Joan had enough confidence in herself to know that she could make it to the end. She could make this world a safer place for those like her sister. She may not like her, but she could protect her. Perhaps that would make up for the years of emotional dismay.

So she was grateful. She cheered up her sister as best she could, but she did not pity her. She merely prayed that when the war finally reached their city walls, Josephina would be far away.