When she stood in her quarters hours later, she stood alone. Andrew had not yet gone to bed. There was business to be cared for, supposedly.
Amelia's head dropped between her shoulders, her arms held out on the vanity. Her black hair hung straight down before her until it kissed the cushioned seat. She felt nauseous from that rush of magic. Or maybe it was the adrenaline that threatened to release her stomach.
Since leaving Feren, the designs on her skin burned ice cold. If given parchment, she would not even be able to draw out the sways and switchbacks that she'd long memorized on her skin; they felt like they had overtaken every inch of her flesh.
Only once had she allowed herself to look upon the beast that marked her back. It had been at least a year since then. She hadn't let herself look for a long time, though she knew what shape it was. It would have been too painful to remember the details, so every day she had tried harder to forget about it, the same way she tried to forget about the rest of her magic. Andrew had seen it, though.
"What is this?" he had asked, one day late in the afternoon after entering their rooms. He must have caught its reflection in the mirror, because Amelia had always tried very hard to keep herself covered above the shoulders, or to at least keep her back facing away from him. After the glimpse, he had roughly forced her to turn away from him and pushed the hair from her neck and shoulders. The mark had never been fully exposed to him before; who would have seen her naked back except Feren?
Andrew's finger had swiped firmly over the skin of her upper back to be sure it wouldn't wipe away, then after seeing that it stretched down past the seams of her dress, he tore the fabric down the middle, forever ruining that gown.
Amelia's hands had immediately been thrown against her chest before the dress could fall. The King's cold, hard stare pressed into the skin of her back.
He'd demanded to know what it was and when it had gotten there: the dragon, wings spread and claws bared, that stretched across her pale skin in sharp, black contrast. Amelia had only seen it once, but she knew exactly what it looked like without having to use a mirror. The back of the creature was a row of sharp spikes. The long reptilian neck was lifted; mouth open in soundless cry of pointed teeth and forked tongue. The wingtips stretched so far to her sides, they curved barely up the slopes of each breast. It was detailed in quick lines rather than shades; it mimicked the wisps of the spirit animal that would form if she were to call its name.
Andrew had been furious for days, and refused to touch her. Maybe he knew how Voerr only revealed their marks after connecting with a mate. Maybe he had seen her naked back before and she just couldn't remember. He must have known how she had come to develop the tattoo that spread across half her body. Why would he have been so upset otherwise?
But then, Amelia never remembered an exact time in which Andrew would've seen her back exposed and bare. How could he know the drawing did not exist before? Unless he had actually payed attention to her the same day in Leera that they'd signed their marriage documents. If he did know that Feren had released it for her, he never gave her any indication.
Amelia stared down at a comb on the vanity. The ties of her corset had been loosened, not tied properly again, and loosened once more the moment she was alone in the chambers so that she could fill her lungs — really fill them for the first time in ages, as she panted from the use of magic.
Her eyes closed. Every inch of her felt alive and renewed. Breath actually felt substantial. Her grip felt real. The world was alive again.
Whatever part of Feren that had been weakened before by the effects of the poison, had surely become stronger by the time she'd slipped from the room. Though he had not moved or said a thing.
Verdonal was a silent poison. That was why so many people confused it with the poison of the Voerr; hetinal. Verdonal was an elven extraction, reduced by a small number of skilled alchemists and illegally snuggled throughout Firica. Or at least, that was how it used to be.
The blood became thinned by verdonal, causing the victims to become light headed, unbalanced, easily fatigued, and short of breath. The worst effects were massive bruising and uncontrollable blood loss if wounded. They wouldn't die from verdonal; at least not in small doses. The blood simply turned to red water, and so long as the victim was not slit open, the effects would eventually wear off without harm. The poison may not have been torture, but it was –
The door opened. Amelia jerked around and pressed her back to the nearest, safest object. Two faces entered.
The first payed her no mind, but the second did hesitate until he was ushered forward.
"You have speculations. I invite you to investigate," Andrew said, gesturing with his hand in the girl's direction. "Go on."
The unfamiliar face blinked with a dumb expression. Amelia must've had a similar one. She glanced between the young man and the King. "What is this?" She clutched her corset to her chest in a desperate attempt to cover her breasts.
Andrew turned, nonchalant. He supplied himself with a drink. "This man claims he is of your country. Supposedly they doubt you're still alive."
"My country?" she asked, searching this man up and down. There was nothing special about him. No distinctive features, no obvious lines on his hide. The eyes were brown and boring, and his hair a flat gray. Something about it worried her. She looked to Andrew, trying not to show the stress the strange stare caused her. "Surely this can wait. It is near past mid-night."
Andrew's drink was set down. "Of course. Guard!"
The man was escorted out, and once his presence had disappeared, Amelia forgot about it. Instead, she stared at the King and saw only the face of the other Voerr behind her eyes.
Andrew seemed indifferent on a drunken level. He wasn't busy ruling a country if he had time to bring a stranger in his own personal quarters – just to see the girl that was his wife.
So what else did Andrew do with all his free time?
"You poisoned him."
Over the glass, his eyebrows raised. "Whom?"
"How many people do you poison in a day?" she hissed.
Her tone did not please him.
"Why?"
"He was becoming too... lethal. It made the councilmen uneasy."
"The councilmen!" She scoffed.
"Feren lives under my good graces," Andrew scorned. "I'd think you would have an interest in keeping him there."
"He lives every day to serve you! What else must you take away from him?"
"The only thing I need from Feren is his obedience. And I have yet to gain it."
"Earn. You earn obedience. Loyalties. Honesty. You acquire nothing by underhanded jobs and shaded pricks of verdonal!"
"Do not raise your voice with me!" Andrew boomed. "This is a condition of his presence in the castle. If you disagree, you may escort him out yourself."
"He's served you his–"
A crisp slap sent her face flinging toward the vanity. Her cheek stung.
"Enough! I'll not hear more. Go to bed."
Her lip raised in defiance. "That Voerr stood to protect your father, saved my life, and now you question his loyalties."
The King whipped around with balled fists.
"Are you so weak-limbed that you believe he'll turn on you now? Shouldn't you have more faith in your rule?"
"I said that's enough."
The marks on her arms burned. "You need him. He's your friend. You have so few of those left. Maybe you see the same flaws in your power the entire province sees."
The hand that hit her face moved much too quickly for her to duck from reach. Suddenly she was holding to the bedpost so she wouldn't fall. Her jaw stung with heart-stopping pain and shock.
"Guards!"
The doors flung open.
"Take her to her room."
At the very least, she found peace in knowing Feren was not quite so far away.
Only when she was sure there were no sounds coming from the halls, Amelia summoned a small, insignificant spirit, and directed it in Feren's direction — then faltered. He may have been asleep already. Amelia wasn't sure. Was it worth risking Jed's discovery? She had already angered them all — Jed, Andrew, Feren... who was left for her to talk to?
She turned to the bath that had been drawn for her and settled into the warm water, sinking her head under so that the warmth could soothe the aching in her face and neck. She stayed under; the feel of her hair drifting around her scalp was calming. She was vaguely reminded of the wraiths that stalked Constentine; their hair floated wildly in the wind as if the air were water. Only when her head spun did she emerge again. A green spirit was sitting there, watching her, poised as if it would have pulled her out itself if she forgot to sit up in the tub. Her eyes rolled in annoyance, but its presence was also comforting. She closed her eyes, and fell asleep in the warm water, more calmly than she would have in the chambers of the king.
***
The gardens were misty and dreary. Fog covered the walls; so much so that she wondered if the flat, grey structure was really stone or simply the illusion of it splayed by dark cover.
She stepped carefully through the area. Ahead of her, a spirit darted in and out of the mist, blending with the color to appear only as if a breeze had picked the low-hanging clouds and lifted them. Only she could see that the breeze had definite form in the shape of a dog.
The spirit bounded forward, turned, and slipped its head just under her hand to walk with her. It was Grey, though not in Feren's color. The spirit was light, and its eyes purple, as Amelia's. He mirrored the original spirit so strikingly, however, that Amelia felt closer to Feren for it.
In a way, the fog seemed to protect her. The others were not near, but even if they were, they would not be able to tell she had a spirit hanging by her side. Days such as these, she decided, had to be seized with all possible vigor.
A darker shadow made its way in her direction. Again it appeared only as shadow splayed over the mist by other swirls and tempers. The new spirit was Feren's.
She looked around for the caster but saw no one. Perhaps that was best.
The darker, green-eyed spirit faced them. There stood the original form of Grey. Amelia knew that spirit was always out, running and searching until called to return by the summoner. Hers must have attracted this one.
"Go on," she encouraged the lighter dog. The two forms then bounded off into the mist to be enveloped, just as the isolated currents of a pond.
Whispers broke through the fog as soon as the forms had disappeared. Sound hissed, and called, and cried. She looked around for the noise.
"Kiari."
Her name was called repeatedly. She turned around, but saw nothing. Her name was called again, that time closer. Her head whipped around to face it.
The stranger stood there, so close to her his features were sharp – the flat brown eyes she'd seen before suddenly seemed more alive. The grayed hair lifted against the earth as grass might from the ground. Amelia was surprised to see him, but she was not frightened. She blinked.
"Is there something you need?"
"Kiari." The name was simply repeated. His stare seemed hollow, but then the irises seemed to flicker a different shade entirely. Amelia cocked her head. Something told her to retreat a step.
After a second, the stranger followed. Amelia stepped back again and again, until she felt the cold that came from the stone wall, another step behind her.
"You need to leave here, Kiari."
Her look fluttered between his eyes. Was that fog that floated off of him, or something darker? She swore black mist rose in tendrils from his shoulders.
"You're in danger here. You must escape before they find you."
The cold stone touched her back, and she was trapped. Already her arms were burning; she was ready to strike if he came any nearer. "Who?"
"The ones who follow your scent!"
One moment Amelia blinked, and the next there was another figure – a burst of movement pulled them both to the ground. The bulk of one figure tore over the other, and tumbled in a mass of struggle – until the throat was ripped from one body, and it crumpled to the ground. Amelia stared, open-mouthed, dreaming, hallucinating, surely; unable to draw breath.
Feren lie gasping under the dead body. It was shoved off, but the blood that covered Feren's hands, chest, and face remained. Amelia pushed herself as far back as the wall would allow.
The movements of their breath further cleared the air. Amelia looked between the two bodies until Feren rolled painfully into a sitting position. He groaned, and a hand wiped at his face, but all that succeeded in was smearing the blood. At the smell, he seemed to gag and need a moment to compose himself again.
"Was it necessary to k–?"
He strained himself to stand. "I've been chasing that bastard for hours."
"And?!"
A snarl flashed over his features and disappeared just as quickly in reaction to her tone. "What do you think, Aria?"
They both looked up to see someone walking in their direction. They could not yet see who it was.
Feren grabbed the girl's wrist and hurried with her down the line of the wall. She'd objected until he motioned for her to be silent. The skirts were wadded in her fist; it wasn't like before, when she could hold a simple gown all at once. There she was corseted; she couldn't breathe deep enough to run, and there were many layers of skirts she had to struggle to hold up just to clear her legs enough to move. By the edge of the wall, where the yard opened to the city and so the outside world, Feren let her go. He froze there, caught between staying with her and continuing to flee. Like a horse seeing freedom and a loving master standing apart from each other. Then his look narrowed.
"What is this?" he asked, his hand lifting to the sensitive bruise just at her cheekbone. She tried to turn, but his thumb remained to stroke at the spot only slightly darker than the rest of her skin.
"He was wearing a ring. That is all."
"Andrew did this?"
"Feren," she pleaded, turning away again. "Stop."
Feren's eyes searched hers. His curled fingers twitched, caught in some emotion. They moved from her cheek to her arms. He looked as sad as she felt.
"We could run, you know. Right now. Summon our spirits and make it all the way to Constentine before they find us missing."
She searched his eyes open-mouthed, with nothing to say, but surely if her lips were parted, words would come easier.
Feren's look snapped to the side and when he turned back, his head shook. "I must go."
"Feren--"
He was gone before she could snatch him again.
***
Andrew was outraged. As were his guards. Who had killed the newcomer? Why would a stranger be found dead in the courtyard in the new morning, when the fog had shifted and the sun arose?
Did he work for Andrew's sister?
Was she coming for her?
Feren was nowhere to be seen. His room was empty. The halls held no trace of his magic. For three days, Amelia worried. Surely Andrew would not – could not – have had him killed. They knew not who'd killed the man. They knew not why. It could have been connected to the other bodies, except for the fact that it clearly wasn't poison that had killed him. His throat had been quite literally ripped out. Andrew sought to blame the same creature that had killed his guards, or the kitchen maid, or the child. She could swear with confidence that Feren was responsible only for the last corpse. Though she would not, in a thousand years, admit it to the King.
He'd wanted to run. Feren. He'd wanted her to run away with him. He was right; it would've been easy. The gates were open. Amelia never would have dared it alone. But with Feren... the possibility of escape seemed ever greater, and ever more blissful.
After another day of his absence, she became worried. Late at night, alone in her quarters, she summoned a spirit to find him. It would be a quiet and indirect search. The animal would simply be attracted to its partner, or the summoner of its partner. The animal was given simple instruction and sent away. It did return less than an hour later, so she knew Feren was alive and well. And he would've known she was looking for him.
It made sense to her that Feren could have been staying far away in order to avoid being tainted with verdonal. Amelia didn't think herself worth accepting poison just to keep proximity. She didn't want that for him, either, so if staying away helped him keep his functions, she would be okay with that. Just knowing he was alive... that was enough for her.
She was in the King's chambers when she saw him again; he'd slipped in somehow, likely through the servants passages. Of the two of them, he was surely more familiar with the twists and turns of this place.
All she knew was that she was alone in bed one minute, and then next, a hands reached toward her in the darkness. It swept away a strand of hair on her forehead.
Without speaking a word, the shadow figure knelt beside her place in bed. Every night she would scoot further and further away from the side on which Andrew occasionally slept, always ensuring there was at least one full length of space between their bodies at night. It helped discourage him from... touching her. As a result, Amelia slept every night nearly clutching the bed frame on the opposite side, only one half-sleeping turn away from ending up on the cold stone ground. In this case, it was convenient. It put her closer to the man that was slowly tracing circles on her cheek. When she reached for him, he crawled up into the bed with her.
Andrew she would go to such great lengths to avoid even brushing against in bed. But Feren.... He'd held her. For a long time, she thought it might have been her imagination. Sometimes it was hard to differentiate between reality and the dreams that she had created for herself, so real that they kept her sane. Because as terrified as she was to be touched again, she longed for it. For the right touch. So it made sense to her somewhat, that since physical connection was what she needed most, she would conjure it in her dreams. This was different, though. This warmth from another body... she felt it deep within, and she sank into the creature's chest until she was convicted that he was real this time.
"I can't be without you, aria," Feren's voice whispered to her, so soft it sounded as if his voice would break. "Don't make me live without you."
Did he think she had that power?
It took a moment to muster her power, but eventually she responded, "I do not think that is up to me."
"We'll be quiet about it. The public will never know. Andrew has been thus far oblivious. Please."
Her eyes clenched shut for a moment before she whispered back, "I'm scared."
"... Of him?" She felt his body tense.
"No... I'm scared... to believe you're real." To believe it, and to have him taken away again in an instant. Her only anchor to a real life worth living. As his arm wrapped and pulled her close, she clenched it to her chest to remind herself.
He wanted her; he'd just told her that. She nodded. Of course she nodded. What other choice did she have? To leave him forever? Lose him forever? To lose her only friend?
"We will be strongest together; you know this."
Her cheek moved in a nod again. "I know."
"Then it is decided."
"We stay together," she whispered. "Outcasts in unity."
For the first time in years, Amelia comfortable fell asleep.
***
She saw Feren in brief spurts. He would stay at sometimes for a week, and others for only an hour. Andrew used him when he needed him, and when Feren was not needed, he was with Amelia. Or, if asked by Andrew, Feren was away in the forests again, for no one knew he was hiding near the castle. They did not feed Feren. Scavenging for himself was a believable excuse. At least to Andrew.
Though he was there, Amelia did not summon. Not once had even the name of her own spirits escaped her lips since the calling of Grey that foggy morning, except to reach out for her friend. The need to summon then felt like a dull thought in the back of her head, as if the instinct of summoning for survival had been pushed aside and replaced. She felt unnervingly normal, but could not seem to find the will to return to her spirits. Occasionally something would happen; she would see Feren returning, or catch glimpse of a burning candle, and a familiar twist started in her belly that reminded her she still knew the essence of a spirit. Still, though, they remained mostly dormant.
Rumors of civil unrest started among the servants. There had always been stories but many hadn't reached Amelia. Andrew would speak of it now and again, or reference what other matters he had to deal with when speaking of Amelia. She knew the people of Firica were unhappy. So was she. Was Andrew trying to do anything to calm the masses? No. It should have worried her, but what did she care for the Firicans? They were of no help to her. Why, then, should she care if they fought amongst each other in word against the monarchy?
After the death of King Caleb, the country had grown weak. They had no strong leader. Maverick, Caleb's successor, did not move a toe without the vote of every councilman. And when the councilmen were as corrupt as the rats in the sewers, how much good could be done for the country?
Andrew, Maverick's successor, was beginning to seem much the same. His appointment was premature. What power he could have had had long been cut down and beaten by the likes of Lucia or Jed or the councilmen. They feared a strong king. They were enjoying the power they'd been allowed to have. And Andrew was too timid to speak against them, for there was no one to take his side. At least, that was how his wife preferred to think, rather than to believe she was forced into a marriage with a spineless, mindless king who lie servant to his advisors.
Perhaps she should have pitied him, but Andrew had left her no room for pity. He'd gone right along with her treatment. Not supported it, but not spoken against it, either. Amelia liked to think it was the fault of the other bugs around his ears that Andrew had turned more violent with her; more short-tempered. If only she had the grounds to fight back. If only she could show them all what she was capable of. Was it possible that there would be no fear? Was it possible to be accepted? She could be the first – she could act as the voice for all Constentinians who had been forced to hide themselves in Firica. Surely they were out there. And surely there was no better place to act as their spokesperson than the side of the king. The only barrier left was the one between her and Andrew.... And that seemed hardly salvageable.
"Aria," someone called, pulling her from her reverie.
It was the only voice whose action she could forgive so quickly.
"You've retuned."
His darkly-lined eyes watched her from the door. He'd been gone for many days that time, off somewhere far enough that he could not send her a spirit at night.
There was a guard at the door, so her voice had to be kept low; her level of excitement contained. Neither moved.
"How fared your trip? You were not delayed, were you?"
"No...." The flinch of his brows marked confusion. She blinked in question. Feren's lips parted to speak, and closed again. His brow furrowed. "Have you not seen them?" he asked, words passing in careful progression.
"Whom?"
Again he flashed confusion. He approached, his boots silent upon the stone. Amelia glanced to the door to be sure no one saw. He was so close.
"The Constentinians. They arrived this morning, just before I." His voice lowered. "Aria, they are here; within the walls."
A laugh escaped her. She turned back to the window. "I never took you as a dreamer, Feren."
He seemed lost for words, at first. Outside, the sun was orange and hot against the horizon. No one moved below the window; only the breeze through the courtyard. Her chest seized when finally his fingertips brushed against her shoulder, clearing the raven hair from her skin. A single word passed from his lips to her ear, and it was enough, even through her hazy thoughts, to stop her heart.
"Voerr."
She turned, blinking. "Voerr? Here? From... where do they come?"
"East, across the mountains – Amelia."
She couldn't hear her name then. She wouldn't. Was there time to speak longer? Hours had passed already, if Feren's word was true. Her fist closed around her skirt and the door was opened. She turned to the guard.
"Where is the King?"
"The throne room, I believe –"
She started her pace and Feren followed lengths behind. "Your Highness –"
The pace caused her skirts to billow. Tired spirits wriggled within her belly at the thought of like kin. Who were they? Where did the come from? Why were they here? He said they were Constentinian – could they bring news? Could she know them? What did they bring from their home? Why would they have come to the Capital?
Andrew had just risen when she entered. He and his advisor glanced in her direction at the sound of the door. The sight of him cleared her thoughts with sharp emotion.
She paused before them to say, "I ask for counsel, Your Highness."
Andrew looked down at her sudden approach. His advisor turned away.
"Alone, Highness," she stressed.
There was hesitation. Andrew's eyes turned skeptically. Amelia's nerve was dampened at the look he gave. "Erm... of course. Leave us."
The advisor looked between them, calculating, before eventually stepping out. The door was shut behind him. Was Feren out there still?
"There are Constentinians within the castle?" Amelia asked, excited and partly angered at the same time. "And I was not told?"
The last part was ignored. "Aye, there are."
"Where?"
"Their location is not of importance," Andrew tried, stepping down the dais. "They will be leaving soon."
"Are they from my country? Who are they? Andrew, I bid you – these could be my people."
"And what was the last man to come, claiming he was Constentinian as well?"
She said nothing, waiting for him to really answer her.
"They are no more your people than the kitchen servants. They sought haven and consulate, neither of which we were prepared to offer. There are no men of their kind in this country."
"Then allow me act as consul! Andrew, please. I beg you – allow me to speak to them. They may know of my home." My family.
His eyes narrowed. "For you to speak as consul would be to allow you to leave, and so I can pass neither. You are Firican, and so unable."
"Ambassador. Emissary. Call it anything." She was desperate, and whether or not she could gain his permission, Amelia would find them. It was safer, however, for all of them, to have his blessing. "Please allow me to speak with them."
Every second he took in silence was a second that her mind raced. How long did he have to think on the matter?
"... I shall then have them drawn up so that you may question before the council."
Council? No.
"Andrew, I must say.... My people are quick to defense. To be questioned before rows of foreigners may cause... distress." Her voice lowered. "They must know trust, first. You of all men should know this...."
"Fine. But I must limit your conversation, and I must have you escorted – Ah!" His eyes met someone's behind her. "Feren! Your timing, as always, is impeccable." His hand lifted to invite to figure forward. Amelia tried hard not to glance between them, for fear of releasing more information than Andrew needed in that moment. "Take her down to the Constentinian visitors. I trust you will guard their conversation well."
"Of course," Feren nodded. Amelia forced herself to frown at the irony.
"Must I have an esc–"
"Yes," the King interrupted. "Now go. No more than a half hour pass you there. Be quick about it."
Feren's chin jerked in order. "By your graces."
"Consider yourself lucky, Amelia, that not more guards be at my immediate disposal. Now. Be gone."
She wasted no time in obeying.
Feren then kept pace at her side. He directed her back into the private entrances that he must have memorized and kept her covered as she crossed a small, hidden courtyard. Across the stone pathways were halls she'd never ventured into – they were near the servants' quarters, tucked away for visiting stablehands or messengers of the nobles. The area was dark; unwelcoming. Amelia turned around.
"They may as well have been placed in the stables," she whispered, carefully looking around for guards. She gained no reply when a door was opened, and stairs descended. A guard did, in fact, stand on the platform in the middle of the staircase, between the lower quarters and the hall above. He saw Amelia and jerked into his stance.
"To serve thee."
What word commanded them down? At rest?
Feren quickly supplied their orders from Andrew. To visit these people, but only for half an hour.
She turned to him. "By whose order do you stand here?"
"The King, Highness."
He felt the need to guard them, too? Should the dungeons not have been more suitable?
But... he only placed one guard? Andrew must have been more ignorant than she'd imagined.
"Then stand."
She quickly descended the rest of the steps and hesitated only to be sure Feren was at her heels. Around the corner, he took her wrist in his hand.
"Slow yourself. They're here, I swear it. Take a breath."
They approached a door, behind which no sound escaped. Feren stood back. He allowed Amelia to take lead. He'd already seen them, though, she thought.
Her knuckles lifted. They hit twice.
The door opened expectantly.
Voerr.
Finally, another. Total in composition; whole in complexion. Unmistakably, uncontrollably, Voerr.
A smile grew on the girl's face.
Amelia looked to the Voerr male who'd opened the door. He must have been expecting another figure, for he said nothing. His dark blue eyes blinked twice.
"Speak, Teeknan! Who is it?"
As the second figure rose behind him, the first moved in the slightest bow at the waist. Two fingers touched the joining between his collar bones. His eyes lifted back to Amelia's.
"Finally," he whispered. "We have found you." There was a rustling in the room, and the youthful, gray-haired, blue-eyed Voerr, with streaks as ivy across his neck, turned to his partner. "Come, Varkner."
The second seemed just the same, older than Amelia, but still with bright eyes and flawless markings across his face and cheeks. The second had black streaks across his nose and jaw. His eyes were blue, and shockingly so, and hair a darker gray, with streaks as silver in the forms of braids across one side. Their images excited Amelia thoroughly. She couldn't keep her eyes from swaying up and down their forms, from the gray shades of hair, to the vibrant eyes, to the lashes and sways of their natural marks, to the wrapped style of their clothing – their forearms seemed to be bandaged in white cloth up from their wrists until the style disappeared beneath linen shirts of the humans.
"Kiari," greeted the second, darker Voerr.
At the sudden sound of his voice, Amelia looked them over again. They were dirtied – tired. Worn from travel, maybe? Their hair, loose at different lengths, was a mess of windswept braids and knots – the skin of their hands bruised, one with a fresh pink scar across his cheek. Dark bags lie beneath their eyes. Blood stained the wrappings beneath their shirts. Amelia scowled.
"How came you by these abrasions?"
"A mix of things, I fear. But we are well – how fare thee?" asked the younger, stepping back, sharply pulling on his partner's sleeve. Amelia followed them inside the room, slowly followed by Feren.
Amelia turned to the lighter-haired. Teeknan. "Where do you come from?"
"Vëran – from the north."
"Of Constentine?" Her heart raced at the sound of a familiar name.
"Yes. And Varkner from Tinoch."
"The south."
"Yes."
"How fare your homes? Our people? We have little time to speak. Pray, say it all."
The two glanced at each other. She hadn't been foolish enough to expect good news. Amelia knew from the beginning that nothing good would come from Constentine unless they received aid. She wanted her images to be corrected, though. She wanted her fantasies to be proven wrong, or at least lessened. Anything.
"Excuse our tongues... this language is odd after months of traveling alone. Of our homes, Kiari...." Varkner whispered, only working his eyes up to hers with great care. "All that remains are wandering spirits. Dust sits to create new wanderers, as breeze lifts the ashes – there is no one."
"Of our people.... They have gathered together where possible. We live in small groups – it is dangerous to stay together, and more so to wander far apart. We move often; we must find energy where it is available. Our homes have been stripped of it, and replenishing is a slow process. But few shadows remain. They took life and removed themselves when the resource was exhausted." Teeknan looked back to the other as if to check his words. They nodded at each other.
"How many remain? Have you not fled?"
"Others have, yes. Have you heard nothing, Kiari?"
"In years you have heard nothing? We've sent messages – spirits and written word when energy fails. It never reached you?"
"No–"
"It is your uncle," Feren whispered, so low the others may not have heard, but they saw his motion at her neck. Amelia blinked at the wall in processing his statement. Could Jed be intercepting all n–
"Oh!" Teeknan and Varkner both jerked back, as if noticing the person behind her for the first time. "You have another?"
Varkner shook his head. "You are Elven, no?"
"His marks say otherwise –"
"He is both," Amelia interrupted, holding her hand behind her back where the others could not see. Feren took her hand in his and squeezed. "I have received nothing. Go on. Tell me what I need to know."
"A group of Voerr moved into Firica last season in search for more of us. We've been trying to find as many Voerr as possible to come back home, now that the threat has left us. When they returned, they brought word of your situation within this country. Word was mentioned of the Emities Pact...?"
"The Emities Pact has failed us. I've done all I can."
"They mentioned your union. However human, could that not help us? It does have Firican strength, does it not?"
"Not at this time."
Neither seemed to have a response to her statement. Did they think the fault was hers? Panic began to well in her throat. And guilt.
"The enacting of treaties such as the Emities Pact requires at least one of the powers to have a strong government, and neither do." Her words may have bordered on treason, but she continued anyway. "Firica has not the resource nor the skill to help us at this time. Their power is precarious, and I would not want their hands in our country, in any case." There were many harsher words she could have used, but she tried to keep her voice neutral.
The Voerr both looked to the ground, silent.
"What is the purpose of your visit?" Amelia asked, her tone suddenly sharper than before. She scowled at them. She felt her arms heating in anger, and knew the familiar light that began to emerged from beneath her sleeves. Did they doubt her? Did they think she had failed them? Did they see how poorly she represented her own country?
The two men hesitated. They looked worriedly between her glowing arms and the dagger eyes of the bestial mix behind her. One's mouth opened without words, then the other cut in, as if to avoid admitting the truth would only prolong their suffering awkwardness.
"We came to find truth in the stories. We could not know if you were alive or not. Rumors spread so thin in the east – especially in our desperation. You must understand, Kiari –"
"Who sent you? Do you stand alone?"
"No. It was Abett."
Her brow furrowed. "Abett? I know not the name."
"Surely you do, Highness. He was student of the Family Court."
"And he leads you?"
"As best we can be led. He names the head of state in Remalda."
State? Was there a state? A solid enough location and people? She'd never thought of Constentine as any more than dust after leaving.
And Remalda. She knew friends of her family who had lived in Remalda.
They all expected the visitor before knocks banged on the door, though still no one moved. Perhaps that was her signal to leave; she needed time to process, anyway – to think about what she wanted to say and hear before making a fool of herself in front of these Voerr, the likes of which she hadn't seen in years.
"I will return," Amelia promised before turning to leave.
"Kiari, we must leave soon. Please – do not allow us to be held as captives."
"You are no such things. I assure it."
She turned for the door, which Feren opened for her. Andrew's advisor stood there.
"Ah, Highness. I was asked to assist you in conversation. The King was... rather unsure as to their intentions."
His eyes said otherwise. Amelia stepped out, pushing the tall, thin human man back with her. "No need, counselor. I've heard all I care to hear."
His lips parted to speak, but no words escaped as he fought objection; Amelia had walked past him, closely followed by Feren. Her heart was racing as if her dismissal had been a thousand times more daring than it should have been. As if she'd just brushed off the king himself.
As the door closed to the room of the two Voerr, and the advisor turned his head to give instruction to the guard, Amelia whispered, "Larsa," sending the large form of her wolf through the solid door before the humans could see. Her next step was a stumble as her knees felt suddenly weak. Feren grabbed her arm and hooked his elbow to hers, attempting to make her wobble seem casual. Amelia steadied her breath, and left her spirit as a promise. She would return for them. When they didn't have an audience.
And she would find a way to represent her Kiari family.