Queens & Liars-Sequel to Three Broken Kingdoms (Completed)

Prologue Two: Kestra

She ran. She ran and ran, until her feet seemed to crumble away, across mountains and lakes and over rivers. Sometimes she ran in her other form, her snow-fox easily mistaken for a true animal. She ran, and with each moment the dying words of Queen Vera Isidore echoed through Kestra's mind:

You must. For our kingdom, Kestrel. You must save us.

She would. For her kingdom, her people. For Vera. For Viktoria. For her burning city. For her mother, probably deep with Dorgon by now.

Kestra ran and ran. Through beaches of broken rock, across sand smooth and warm as fresh-printed paper. She had run with the sun like liquid gold blazing above her. She had sprinted through a night that was a tapestry of stars. For three days and nights, Kestra had run, not daring to look back at the city that she loved with all her heart.

Azul was burning. The acrid smell of burning buildings, homes, burning people had followed the Keeper Heir-now the Keeper Queen-through the miles she had travelled.

Mountains and fields. Beaches and wastelands. She had seen them all. The constantly shifting landscape held no interest for Kestra. Throughout endless stretches of her beautiful country, she saw only three things: a burning city, the woman who had told her to run, and her mother, deep in Dorgon.

Over those three days, Kestra had only known one thing: the command Vera had given her:

You must save us.

You must save us.

You must save us.

The howling winds around the mountains whispered it to her. Every footstep she took seemed to be in beat to those four words. They were imprinted in her heart, in her brain.

You must save us.

You must save us.

You must save us.

But what could she do? Kestra had no allies, no one to rely on. The army that would have followed into battle had been slaughtered. Her people were enslaved and hopeless. The elves, who, with their developing relations, she might have called on for aid, had been conquered just like Miras. The only weapons she bore were the natural ones of her animal form-and she was untrained with those as she was with a blade. Her impossible task followed her across the leagues, echoing as always.

You must save us.

You must save us.

You must save us.

Vera had believed her capable of it. But Kestra was only twelve years old, despite the phoenix birthmark that seemed to burn into her skin with every day.She hadn't known it at the time, but she was travelling southeast, towards the Cradle. When she seen the camp of soldiers hiking those mountains on the eve of the third day, Kestra had fallen to her knees and collapsed.

She had run so far and lived so little. Was this the end, then?

When she had woken, she had been so surprised at the sight of eyes without pupils-valkyrie eyes, just like her own-that she had almost fainted again.

But the camp of soldiers she had stumbled upon hadn't been Kallians-they had been the last scattered survivors of the legendary valkyrie army, mere trainees led by a single eighteen-year-old warrior named Rose.

There-there it had been. Hope. A chance at fulfilling the command that had followed across miles.

You must save us.

You must save us.

You must save us.

Kestra would. For her people. For her kingdom. For Vera. For Viktoria. For her burnt city. For her mother, deep with Dorgon.

She would rise. And she would light up the world, a true phoenix.