Knight of the Princess

[Techlet]

Exactly! We have common interests!

[Arashi_Leonhart]

I'm posting these five chapters at a time because the draft has 25 chapters, so this'll be second to last.

I've got some artwork that ties into it all, including a character that might as well be the Shiki Ryougi of my world, as she was the first one in the gate. So you know, I drew that image back in 2003, so the whole star-in-eyes-thing like the MEoDP is TOTALLY unintentional, though hilariously she's got a similar sort of story to Ryougi in that she's an anthropomorphized deity...kind of. She's also got a fairly Saber-esque personality. Her name is Alisia and she's been briefly referenced earlier on. Yes, her look is very much like the Tifa/Rinoa/Garnet/Yuna look of FF designer Tetsuya Nomura.

No, don't ever ask me to draw. Those took forever after tracing images like five times to get muscle memory in. I consider myself a full time writer that doodles for the sake of writing.

And then there's images I linked to in Escaping Fate, now relevant, the dagger referenced in these chapters and Nuit's sword referenced a lot earlier. Maybe this time they'll work.



Chapter 16
The Last Freedom


Astra groaned, leaning back on her hands and rolling her head around. There was an unnatural popping noise that told her how long she had been stationary. “I hate being so good at my job,” she said aloud.

Nobody responded, as she was alone in the room. Right, I told Cyrus to go do something because it must have been incredibly boring to watch me stare at a dagger for hours. Astra was well aware that her knight was significantly more patient than she was and capable of simply waiting for the next issue to crop up, but she hated keeping him in when she herself would rather be out and about. She had long ago learned to delegate her knight to doing the very things she wanted to do, somewhat experiencing the world vicariously through him. If only we could switch skills once in a while.

The dagger they had recovered from the assassin had retained its magical signature since it had not been used. They had also found an enchanted scabbard on the attacker’s body that Astra had quickly been able to deconstruct: a masking glamour that kept the presence of the dagger sealed away until it was drawn. Astra was skilled enough with recognizing magical signatures on items that she should have been able to spot the attacker’s weapon long before he had drawn it, so the scabbard’s purpose had quickly become apparent.

But the dagger itself still remained difficult to discern. Astra knew for certain now that it did act as the catalyst to drive the victim of the stabbing into the realm of nightmares, but tracing the origins of the weapon back to its creator was proving significantly more difficult than she had assumed. Everything becomes foggy like any other dream or nightmare, vivid at the source but increasingly vague and shadowy the further one is from it after waking.

Astra stood and stretched, then searched the room for her purse and cloak. Though they were staying in a villa owned by the Lighleirs, the place was not staffed and food would have to be retrieved from elsewhere in town. It had been an amusing moment to watch Cyrus, as he had never been to the location and had not known what to expect. Astra thought her knight might have been surprised to find that it was even furnished. His father only ever stayed here a half-dozen times in his own lifetime, all prior to Cyrus being born. I imagine Cyrus thought the place was nothing more than a dusty inner-city apartment. While not exactly large by the standards Astra had been raised by, it did have some impressive furnishings and a large garden space that even after years of neglect still had flowers and blossom trees that had yet to be choked off by weeds.

A nice place to raise a family. Astra shook her head, pushed the thought from her mind.

Chamile was a quiet city despite being larger in population than Temptress Cliff. One of three remaining Dukedoms in Aerowlyn, it had, two generations prior, been run by Cyrus’ family and would have continued to do so had Cyrus’ father not ceded control to distant relatives of which Cyrus had no blood relation. Somehow, though, Astra thought it was an appropriate hometown for Cyrus’ father as it held a kind of whimsical feel that stood in sharp contrast to the militaristic starkness of Temptress Cliff and Milasa Car or the architectural perfection of Mount Aerowlyn. Tyrest Lighleir was quite an earthly man.

Though divided off from the crowded end of the city, the villa was still within easy distance of a major thoroughfare, separated by a walk around a hill that was more vegetation than village. Astra did not have a way to detect Cyrus’ presence, though she knew he would not have ventured too far from her location and could detect that she was on the move. Assuming he was not following up on leads regarding the ship that had left behind cursed victims or the attackers they had encountered on the ferry, he would catch up with her in due time.

The princess found a small bakery that served in-house and provided extremely sweet pastries. After devouring one and starting on the second, she spotted Cyrus down the street along with the most interesting of companions: a woman Astra had never seen. While not a raving beauty that bards would sing about, the woman was attractive and quite possibly older than Astra or Cyrus by the way she carried herself. She was following after the knight and engaging him in talk, smiling and brushing at her hair in a way that Astra easily recognized as invitations.

Astra could tell Cyrus was not unaware. He does oversee some rather womanizing knights back home, she thought; though her knight continued to politely keep his distance. She could not make out what he said, but he waved his hand in negative to one thing, nodded in agreement to something else, then bowed to a third thing. The woman’s smile faltered and Astra found discovered she felt angry. She could not decide, however, whether she was angry at the woman giving Cyrus that kind of attention, angry at Cyrus for what she made out was happening, or angry at herself for feeling angry about the first two issues.

They paused in front of a flower vendor and Cyrus presented the woman with a bouquet, then excused himself and trotted in Astra’s direction. Astra watched the woman take a forlorn look after Cyrus, then cradle the flowers carefully and return back up the road.

“Nice looking woman,” Astra commented as her knight settled in next to her.

He rolled his eyes and took an offered pastry. “She’s a dockmaster out at the skyport that helped me ask around about people that disembarked from the seaport and might have taken a flier. It was only polite.”

“I wasn’t criticizing,” Astra said. “Did she know you or something?”

“No,” he shrugged, “I never gave my name and you know I don’t wear identifying markers when we’re out. She was just being helpful.”

Men, Astra sighed, either their egos are too far beyond themselves, or they are completely oblivious. She briefly wondered if Cyrus was playing coy, considering how he could literally see emotions, but discarded that thought. He’s honest with me. “She was probably taken by the dashing knight, love.”

Cyrus grinned, though there was a look in his eyes that gave Astra a sudden feeling of loneliness. “All the more reason to avoid the entanglement.” He shrugged again.

Astra let the subject fall, though his expression still bothered her. Before she could brood over it further, however, he finished the last pastry she had purchased and they decided they should gather some other food to take back to the villa.

“Where are the others?” Astra asked as they wandered a nearby vegetable vendor.

“Contacting the other Midnight Eyes,” Cyrus said. “Getting updates from their fellows and further orders. They seem just as concerned about the whole dagger thing as we are, on top of the whole cult thing and raider issues at the border.” He frowned. “I sent a message along with Elreia about Tassoran. I wanted Alisia to know what was going on with him.”

Astra paid one of the vendors for some radishes, which she then wrapped in a cloth, then motioned further down the street where there were meat butchers and fishermen. “Anything more since murdering a captive and disappearing for hours on end with no accounting for what he has been doing?”

“Nothing as of yet. I still want to know more about him though. I’m not sure I trust him.”

Although Cyrus often offered commentary on the various people she and her family dealt with on a daily basis, this was the first time Astra had heard him sound unsure of his own opinion. He was usually very clear on what he perceived. “So you want Alisia’s opinion?”

He nodded and was distracted by one of the fishermen that was loudly cutting up one of his products. Or maybe it is just convenient to look at. Whenever the Midnight Eyes’ leader came up in conversation, Cyrus often looked off in random directions as if he could possibly find his former lover’s presence. Astra considered the woman earlier and thought of how infrequently she had seen her knight engage in any kind of interaction with young, single women. Difficult to have any time to yourself when you have another woman demand all your time. She thought of Nuit, and the time they had spent at Milasa Car. Who even abandons her own plans to frolic around with her own lover.

Perhaps that is why I feel so angry. If he only had someone, I would not feel so guilty. Sighing, Astra accepted the steak that Cyrus decided on for food, and they turned back for the villa. “We should just threaten not to feed Tassoran until he explains everything to us.”

Cyrus grinned, and Astra could not help but smile in return. “Fiendish idea. No wonder everyone wants to get you, villainess.”

“Keep up with that tone and I’ll cut you out, too. Perhaps imprison you as well.”

“Then I will just have to escape and defeat you.”

Her hand came up to poke at the small of his back like a clawed creature. “You will never escape my grasp, my little hero. You’re doomed.”

Cyrus’ grin widened and the skin around his eyes tightened, as if in challenge. “Then I’ll just take you with me, evil witch.”

She ran out of clichés to say and had to refrain from making a face and sticking her tongue out. Cyrus gave a hum of triumph and returned to glancing about, as if suddenly remembering it was his job to detect potential dangers to her life.

One thought continued through her mind, though, despite the struggle to keep her spirits up with their banter. You should escape while you can, Cy. Before I take everything else from you too.




Tassoran glanced around one last time, more out of habit than actual concern. Emulating those around him had earned him some physical ticks he never remembered having before. He was certain, however, that Elrodan , who had been watching him carefully since the ferry attack, was still back near the city gates. While Elreia spoke with the Midnight Eyes runner that would relay messages back to the network—since there were no Eyes stationed in Chamile—he had slipped out and made sure to draw sure-to-follow Elrodan to an isolated area before using a spell to briefly stun the elf, long enough to slip out of view.

The docks were fairly busy and enough ships were in that it did not seem out of the ordinary for a traveler to come and make some kind of transaction with one of the shipmasters. Tassoran found Tree Requiem and caught the eye of the captain, who immediately disembarked to approach the ranger.

“It is going to be fairly soon, from what I can tell,” Tassoran said without preamble. He handed a gleaming white gem to the captain, who quickly pocketed it. “Move people into position as soon as possible.”

The captain motioned toward the city. “You think they suspect?”

Tassoran made a huff somewhere between a laugh and a bark. “They are rather preoccupied. I’m sure it is at the edges of their consciousness, but the boy’s immersion in Solamali’s embrace blinds him fairly well. The Nightmare King is a little too cunning in his use of surface intentions for them to notice.”

“And if they continue on the same path?”

“Then we take them off that path by force,” Tassoran said, grasping the hilt of his sword. “Just be ready for either situation.”

“Yes, my lord.”




Chapter 17
Knightfall


The Twelve Days was the only transport ship that was heading in the right direction and had accommodations that would separate Astra from other travelers and crew. Despite the boisterous personality of Captain Mihr—who made sure that Cyrus understood how fast his ship was—the crew felt affable enough to the knight to book passage, and he quickly discovered the obnoxious posturing from the captain was little more than an ice-breaking tool. Once on-board and settled in, Cyrus found the captain to be fairly relaxed and solemn while at the helm, a reflection of the pleasant waters they encountered.

“Damn the gutter-sucking bitch that made this!”

Astra’s voice carried well beyond the doorway to her cabin, and Cyrus had to pause and add up the words in his head before fully comprehending them. Did she cast a mind-bend spell over the crew and hasn’t told me? It might account for the cursing...combinations I’ve never heard before! He wondered what the ships’ crew would think if they knew the young woman they heard as they passed by was actually royalty. Actually, that might endear her even more.

The princess still struggled to figure out how to trace the origins of the cursed dagger they had. The only progress made was on her temper, which grew with the passage of time and her inability to work past the warding that surrounded the weapon. Added to the lack of information on the assassins that had attacked them—the one body they had recovered giving no identification—and no news on the ship that had left unconscious and cursed citizens in its wake, Astra had been irritable for days.

So they had boarded a ship that would skirt the eastern coast and eventually bring them to the border of Cordelyn, where they would then circle back to Mount Aerowlyn.

Where Astra will be getting married in a few months. It was actually an exciting thought, compared to the tedium of their travel and the danger it presented, to think of a happy occasion back home where things were familiar and comfortable. Things would become hectic, as both of their lives would change forever, but Cyrus had long ago become accustomed to radical changes in life. From a life of reading books to sixteen hour archery and sword training. I might have had an entire week to adjust.

Elrodan appeared at the stairs leading up to the main deck and motioned in a hurried fashion. Cyrus sighed. Of course, changes in the middle of travel are less welcome. He opened the door to Astra’s cabin and said, “Something is going on. I’ll be back shortly.”

The princess gave no reply, bent over the dagger with a look of intense concentration. Cyrus shook his head, closed the door, and followed after the silent elf.

Though large enough to carry a fair number of passengers, the ship was small enough to traverse the below-deck stairs to the bow of the ship’s deck in a few hurried paces. Tassoran and three of the crew were already there, the latter of which were throwing grappling hooks over the rail. “What’s going on?”

Tassoran motioned out to where they were heading: a ship of comparable size to them was adrift and they were pulling up close to it for an inspection. The ship’s center mast had broken off and was nowhere to be found and it looked completely dead of movement besides the oscillation caused by the sea’s waves. “Elrodan spotted it and the captain decided to take a look to see if they could help.”

Cyrus blinked and had to pause and gather himself. Usually, he would have been aware of the approach of another ship, as the stars of the crew’s life force would be like a shining beacon while out at sea, but he had not felt such a surge of presence in a while. Staring out at the ship, Cyrus realized that there were in fact people...

“I have to tell...Angel,” Cyrus said carefully, remembering the crew nearby.

Taking the stairs almost completely in a single bound, Cyrus knocked on the door again and this time approached the princess and put his hand on her shoulder to grab her attention. “We have a problem,” he said.



I suppose the extra money for this ship was worth it, Cyrus thought. As the Twelve Days had not originally intended to leave port half-empty of passengers as it was, they had paid a significant amount more than usual to book passage, basically renting out four of the six rooms they reserved for passengers despite only needing two. Now it meant that the unconscious crew from the drifting ship had a place to be laid until they made port. Of course, nine people in two rooms are a tight fit.

So Cyrus sat with his back to the wall of the cabin, Astra asleep on his shoulder as two of the men lay on the small bed that had been serving Astra earlier in the week. The princess, frustrated with her progress on tracking the dagger had felt it was only fair that her inability to solve their cursed dagger problem would be balanced somewhat by giving these people some level of comfort, even if they were completely unaware in their nightmarish state.

Though he could not make out Astra’s expression with her propped against him as she was, he could tell even in her sleep she was troubled. Whether that meant she was having a vision he did not know; unlike the nightmare state of these curse victims, Astra’s visions were connected directly to the flow of magic in the world and were not nightmares per se, even if they were upsetting to the princess. Her visions don’t look anything like the mist of lights I see in these cursed people.

He reached up to touch her arm and check to see if she was cold when the princess startled as if bitten, jerking upright and glancing about as she did when disoriented from waking. Cyrus put his hand on her back as he often did to help calm her, but the princess turned to him and looked frantic. “Are the others okay?”

Cyrus nodded. “Haven’t stirred since you fell asleep. Whether that qualifies for ‘okay’ or not is up to—” he paused and realized that the presences of additional people were beginning to creep into his awareness. Another ship, this one with healthy people?

The moment Cyrus felt them fully in his awareness, he felt the deep stab of malicious, killing intent. “Is it?” Astra asked, catching his expression.

“More problems,” Cyrus said, pulling himself up. He grabbed his weapons harness and started strapping it on. “Can I convince you to stay in here?”

Astra smiled, standing and kissing him on the cheek before whispering in his ear, “Not a chance.”

“Next time I will refrain from asking.” Cyrus tightened the buckle on his belt, then cocked and loaded his crossbow. “Next time I’ll just smack you over the head with a stick and leave you tied up.”

“Promises.”

They found Elreia and Tassoran already on deck, staring out over the water toward where Cyrus felt the approaching presences. While the stars were out and bright, the new moon was too dim to see very far. “Can you see them?” Cyrus asked.

Tassoran nodded. “They sent up torch flares to signal for help a few moments ago. Captain says their main mast tore from what he could see.”

“Get everyone ready for an attack. They aren’t hapless sailors.”

Cyrus left Astra to give an explanation to them while he caught the captain’s attention at the helm. “That ship is full of people that are going to attack us like the other ship we found,” Cyrus said.

“And just how do you know that, young man?” Captain Mihr demanded.

Cyrus growled low in his throat; explaining things would take too long and never guarantee the captain’s cooperation. He glanced back toward the others and saw that Elreia and Tassoran at least were drawing weapons. Beyond them he could make out the silhouette of the ship as they pulled up closer. “Do you want to risk being wrong?”

The captain gave him a glare over the ship’s wheel. “Do you want to risk that those people may really need desperate help?”

How to explain that I know they don’t need help at all. He was kept from responding when one of the crew up in the Twelve Days’ crows nest calling out distances to the ship, followed by a sound of confusion. “No markings on the hull, though it looks like it’s from the fishing guild.”

“Any response from the deck crews?” the captain shouted up.

“There are at least a dozen on deck,” the crewman called out, “but they aren’t signing back to me.”

Cyrus felt his hand go for the hilt of Aleraynic before he registered what exactly was going on. Blade freed of the scabbard; he made an arc in the air toward the bow as if striking an invisible opponent. “Dawn before me!” he cried, then grabbed the lapels of Captain Mihr’s tunic and pulled him flat to the deck.

The flash of light flared between the Twelve Days and the unmarked ship just as arrows began flying in. The incongruity of arrow fire did not go unnoticed to Cyrus. No signs of arrow damage on the ship we found earlier. The center mast of the ship looked like it was broken by strong winds and no signs of a struggle on board besides the stabbings. Are these the same people? Or do they know Astra is on board and just want to eliminate her now?

The arrows came to an immediate halt as the flare Cyrus had created between them was blinding the archers from any kind of significant attack. The man in the crow’s nest was also shouting in pain from the flash of light, though thankfully he could sense that Astra had warned the others toward the bow.

“Astra!” he shouted, “With the flare, they’re going to try and board!”

“Too late,” Captain Mihr groaned, grabbing Cyrus’ shoulder with one hand and motioning with the other.

Cyrus followed the captain’s finger and found a group of figures that had not been there before standing at the very back of the ship. One bore the robes of an aeonic priest with the same spiral-star shaped sigil hanging from a pendant on his neck, and the others all wore identical cloaks in the same fashion as the cultists that had attacked Astra earlier in their journey. The Nightmare King’s magic at work, then. “Stay here,” he said to the captain.

Standing, Cyrus had to fully focus his attention toward the group to clearly see their stars. The Nightmare King's mark left him struggling to truly see what the priest and his followers were feeling, their stars distant in Cyrus' perception.

The cleric also drew a long dagger that made Aleraynic shudder briefly in Cyrus' hand. A holy weapon, then, probably of the same make as the other curse weapons.

The two men with the priest had turned their full attention to Cyrus, both armed with cutlass and crossbow. Both fired at Cyrus before charging in with weapon in hand, dropping their ranged weapons instead of reloading the windlass devices.

Cyrus deflected one bolt with his blade, shattering the shaft before it struck him, while throwing himself aside to avoid the other. He hit the starboard railing of the ship and braced himself for the charge.

One came in with an overhead strike that the knight partially deflected aside. He heard it thunk against the railing past his right shoulder, and blocked the second that came low toward his left hip. Cyrus thrust the second attacker away and quickly shifted to slam the first cultist with his elbow hard enough that while Cyrus hit the railing again, he put enough force into his attacker that it sent the cultist flying completely over and into the nighttime sea.

The remaining cultist resumed the attack and Cyrus could see the Nightmare cleric now approaching. Two more blocked attacks and Cyrus gave a swift riposte that cut across his attacker's abdomen, bringing him to his knees.

A dagger was thrust at his face so fast that Cyrus had to throw himself back or be skewered. He fell to his haunches and had to hook an arm around the railing of the ship not to send himself off the deck.

Not good! Cyrus nearly panicked as the cleric started swatting at Cyrus' arm with his dagger. But Cyrus let the stars guide him and just at the last moment, he let go of the ship railing right at the opportune moment. The priest’s dagger dug into the wood and stuck there and Cyrus boot caught the man right in the throat as the knight tumbled over the edge of the ship.

Twisting like a cat as he fell, Cyrus swept his blade into the side of the ship with a horizontal slash. The weapon caught into the ship’s hull and halted, allowing Cyrus to use it as a handhold and quickly pull back up onto the deck.

He managed to recover faster than the priest, who fell flat onto the deck gripping his throat. Cyrus ran up and kicked the man hard across the face, knocking the man silly, and then turned his attention back to the bow where Astra and the others were engaging another group of intruders.

While Tassoran engaged two with a sword and some of the ship’s crew engaged another pair of cultists, Astra stood opposing another person, this one a tall woman, also wearing the pendant of a cleric but also with a longer dagger and buckler shield on their free arm. Astra stood between the priestess and Elreia , who was lain out against the ship’s railings. The elf's star was dazed and Cyrus thought she might have been struck by the flat of the priestess’ dagger or the buckler and was fighting to keep conscious.

The priestess raised her shield arm and her lips moved. Cyrus took the banister separating the helm from the main deck in a leap and watched as Astra simply threw her staff right in the face of the priestess, who looked stunned to be attacked in such a fashion.

Cyrus covered the distance and swept at the woman with his blade, but was met with the buckler, deflecting his strike aside as the priestess raised her dagger.

Blue lightning filled the air and passed close enough that Cyrus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The crackle of energy struck the woman in the shoulder and sent her into violent convulsions; wasting no time, Cyrus took another swing with his weapon. The unfortunate expression on the priestess’ face became permanent as her head fell from her shoulders.

Cyrus cursed as he felt the approach of the ship; though the attackers could no longer see the deck and rain arrows down on everyone, they were still able to pull up next to them and board in the regular fashion. Though it seemed that Tassoran had taken out his opponents and had moved to back up the Days’ crew, Cyrus heard the clanking of grappling hooks along the port side of the ship as the enemy vessel pulled up parallel to them. The knight swiped at the nearest rope fixtures with his blade, but four more attackers clamored aboard, and Astra called out another Weaving Step-transported priest behind Cyrus.

“Morning invigoration!” Cyrus shouted, releasing the spell that gave him a quick burst of extreme strength and stamina. Cyrus thrust his free arm right into the priest that had spell-teleported between the knight and Astra, dug his elbow into the man’s sternum, and before he could react, lifted the cleric right off of the deck and sent him flying straight up into the air.

The priest twisted awkwardly in the air to land on his feet, staggering a few steps from the impact. He staggered again when one of the cultists—thrust into the cleric by a gale-force wind spell thrown by Astra—crashed into him from the side. Cyrus recovered and came down on the cleric with a charging overhead swing.

Hitting a target, but not his target.

The Nightmare King’s priest grabbed the cultist by the back of his neck and thrust him out between himself and Cyrus, using him as a shield.

Cyrus' blow cut through the cultist's skull and into the cleric's shield hand, splitting it in two—

I can’t—

—and was unable to avoid the sudden thrust of a dagger into his side.

Knight and priest staggered back, the dead cultist falling limply between them. Cyrus only managed a breathless cough, pulled the dagger from his side, then had to immediately drop that when the holy weapon bit at his hand with some kind of spell.

The Nightmare cleric grasped at where Aleraynic cut his hand, having severed all four fingers and most of the hand, leaving only the protruding thumb. He managed a scream fueled more by anger than pain, but Cyrus belatedly realized he could not make out any words due to a buzzing in his ears. He risked a glance over his shoulder.

Cultists lay dead along the deck. A handful of sailors looked in similar shape. Tassoran and one of the crewmen finished off the last of the cultists, while Elreia was back up and aiming her bow at the cleric.

Astra had eyes only for Cyrus, horrified to see the blood streaming down his side and leg onto the deck.

Raising a finger from his uninjured hand, the cleric uttered a final spell and threw it at the princess.

A beam of light shot out from his finger, but stopped mere centimeters from Astra when Cyrus threw Aleraynic in its path. The light-commanding blade dissipated the spell with a flash before clattering to the ground at Astra’s feet.

Elreia 's return shot pierced the cleric through the throat, finally silencing him.

He was followed a heartbeat later by Cyrus' body hitting the deck.




Chapter 18
The Nightmare Dagger


Astra barely remembered even after a split second that she had taken a Weaving Step through the miniscule space between her and Cyrus in an attempt to catch him, though it did no good. She felt Cyrus’ shoulders fall back into her thighs before he collapsed to the deck and Astra fell over him, her hands staining red as she grabbed at his side to stop the blood flowing out of it.

There was a general commotion about her, though nothing specific registered. All she could think of was how warm Cyrus’ blood was and how much the thought of something so warm pouring out of him made her shake.

She heard shouting and felt someone shake her by the shoulder. Wincing at the distraction, Astra took another step through the arcanum and they were below deck, away from the noise. When she looked down at the wound again, she saw how blood now crept up the sleeves of her dress, blue turning purple along her wrists. A conscious thought managed to penetrate and she let go long enough to drag a dagger from Cyrus’ belt out, swipe the sleeves right off at the elbow, and then press the fabric hard against his side.

Glancing to his face, Astra was surprised to see him still conscious, his eyes still blinking up at her and he was swallowing back on blood that was trickling out of the corner of his mouth. She leaned down and her hair, having come unbound at some point, spilled over his face. “Stay,” she whispered, unsure if the blood on her own lips was her own—she wondered if this was not some hallucination and that she had been the one to be cut. “Stay awake, my knight.”

The light in his eyes took on a disturbing hue, paling from the silvery color she often saw reflected in his eyes—the life forces he saw at work—and turned a duller gray color. She thought he might have shuddered violently, but she was shaking bad enough herself it might have been her imagination. She pressed her forehead to his, though her voice fell to pleas. “Stay here, Cy, just stay, please...”

Astra heard the door open to the room and felt strong hands push hers aside. She found herself too weak to resist, looking over to find Elrodan now applying a fresh cloth to Cyrus’ wound.

When she looked back to Cyrus, she felt blood rushing to her head.

The dark blue of his irises were gone. Pinwheels encircled his pupils.



Astra was not sure how long had passed when they made it to port, or what had happened after the Twelve Days had feinted off the attackers. Elreia had mentioned something about the other boat, but what specifically had been drowned out by the daze Astra felt. About the only thing she could concentrate on was the dagger Cyrus had been struck by, recovered and now dormant of any active spellwork. When it was clear Cyrus would not die from blood lost or infection, Astra could only tear herself away from her knight’s side to stare at the dagger, hoping some long-lost memory or stray idea would give her some clue to tracing the weapon’s origin.

She had managed nothing more by the time they came to offload all of the comatose from the ship. Captain Mihr offered to personally help her carry Cyrus while constantly bowing—Astra did not know when he had been told who she was—and the princess did nothing but nod when Tassoran offered his help, telling her they would be going to the local temple of Astaraia. Where maybe my usefulness will reach a peak in begging my namesake to not let Cyrus die.

They took the knight in first, settling him in an isolated room while one of the senior priestesses looked him over. Tassoran kept her out of the room while a priestess went over him and made sure his injuries had not worsened.

So Astra sat outside, waiting, distractedly watching the other victims being carried into the temple. They settled into a large hall within the temple and acolytes moved about them arranging towels and water and other things to see to the comfort of their new subjects. Astra wondered how they were kept fed and physically healthy, but when her thoughts turned back to Cyrus, she shuddered. I can’t let him wither away like that.

One of the acolytes motioned to others and there was a short flurry of activity over one—Astra thought one of the victims might have suffered a pressure wound—and two started applying some kind of salve while another held the person up and a fourth made prayers. Astra watched, and felt a dull sickness in her stomach start to build up. Perhaps there’s one good thing about Cyrus not being here. Her knight was very easily upset by suffering of any kind, partially due to his abilities, but partially due to how he simply was as a person.

She glanced up at Tassoran, who stood guard over the doorway to where they had taken Cyrus. His platinum hair and sharp features only heightened the dispassionate expression on his face, and Astra could not help but briefly question whether she looked as severe when watching the other victims. Easy to be good and work for an ideal...I must be real shallow to drop all that concern in light of my friend becoming a victim.

The doorway behind the ranger slid open and the priestess inside said, “You can come inside now.”

Astra bolted up and pushed past, but paused upon seeing Cyrus. They had placed him on a bed and stripped his armor and tunic to replace the temporary bandage job Elrodan had made for his wound. The placement of the bandages reminded her of the last time she had seen him wounded, though he had been hale and active that time. The easy way his chest breathed in and out and the comfortable position they had placed him in made it feel even more disturbing to the princess.

“How is he?” Tassoran asked, breaking Astra’s reverie.

The priestess moved to the opposite side of the bed and pressed her hand to Cyrus’ forehead. “The wound was dressed well and needs less mending than I thought it would. I assume that would be Solamali taking care of her paladin.” She frowned. “But even after you explained the curse to me, I am surprised that he has not woken. I would have believed his patron would protect him from such an invasion of the soul.”

Astra frowned, and even Tassoran’s response sounded surprised. “The Nightmare King is a greater power than Solamali, is she not?”

The priestess gave a slight smile. “He still has limited influence over one directly empowered by another angelic. And I would guess that Astaraia is not far from his prayers either,” she said, nodding to Astra.

“He is a Sorceress’ Knight,” Astra said. She thought of her namesake, who certainly was not a lesser power compared to the Nightmare King—a goddess of the stars, unfortunate sister to the nightmare.

“Then I do not know what holds him. Unless something else can be found, he is beyond my help as well.”



Over the days that followed, Astra took over a desk next to Cyrus’ bed and returned to researching the dagger. With the resources of the temple and its lead priestess, Nirathe, Astra managed to find some information that was relevant. Though the temple was not the largest in the country, Nirathe was something of a patron of history and had gathered a sizable library regarding the history of her patron spirit.

“So before it was a large-scale ritual spell,” Astra said, rereading the main passage they had discovered on the subject. “I’m not sure why they would scale it down to a single-use weapon.”

Nirathe gathered up a pile of the books they were not using and placed them aside, then went to check on Cyrus. Astra had noted that the priestess did so more out of habit then any sensed change in Cyrus’ condition; the princess thought Nirathe might feel almost as helpless to heal their common charge. “It might have something to do with time or resources, if the spell took a long time or required a lot of materials. If we had greater resources to research, it might prove that there was a way to counteract the spell that they did not want to face. I wish we had the archive at Temptress Cliff.”

Astra rubbed at her temples as a sudden headache threatened to lance through her head. “We were there not too long ago. When we first discovered this problem, I should have decided to return there.”

“Even royalty does not have absolute prescience.”

Wrong way around. Perhaps if I did not have prescience, we would not be in this mess. Astra watched as the priestess inspected Cyrus’ wound, which acolytes had since removed the bandages from. And here I am without you and your own sight. How useless.

While they had found precedence to what had happened, there were no clear directions to save the victims of the curse. The most recent historical example they had found—some two hundred years old—the curse had been large scale and spell-cast. The few victims that had been saved were due to disruption of the spell. None of the stories, however, cited how the spell was disrupted.

If Cyrus could help, he might find a link we overlooked. The irony was not lost on her. “Maybe I should just use a spell to dive into his head and block the curse myself,” Astra said.

“No,” Nirathe said firmly. “That is more likely to pull you into the curse as well.”

“I know,” Astra said, glancing over at Cyrus. Not like that would stop him.



Days and nights passed, and Astra lost track of time.

She slept when her body demanded it, and worked when it did not. They tried all kinds of spells to disrupt the area of influence the Nightmare King had over the victims: spells to shield the temple from outside affects, spells to draw consciousness back into a near-death subject, spells to destroy the connection using the discarded daggers as a beginning source of exchange. Nothing worked, and nothing helped.

And Astra felt like withering herself.

It still mystified them that Cyrus would be affected. While it seemed like the effect was less on him than the other victims—the others often had clenched muscles and fearful expressions where Cyrus seemed at peace—it confused all of the clerics and even the number of local magicians they consulted why he would still be comatose. Astra did what she could to probe the outer fringes of Cyrus’ mind, but found everything completely transparent, almost as if Cyrus was not even there to begin with. Which might explain why spells do nothing to counter the effects, Astra thought, if the curse works to rip their souls out and torment them elsewhere. It also makes sense, from what Cyrus said he sees in victims’ stars when they are like this. If a soul is like fire and were transplanted elsewhere, smoke might be the remnant left in the body.

She glanced over at Cyrus, finding Nirathe casting a spell to infuse his body with nutrients since he could not eat or drink. And it makes it all the more similar to my vision.

“At least he feels vital,” Nirathe said, checking Cyrus’ pulse.

Astra nodded. “Whatever may be happening, I’m sure he’s fighting against it.”

Nirathe then brushed her hand along Cyrus’ arm and Astra had to watch her with curiosity. I wonder how much of his power works in reverse, if people can intuit how empathetic he is. She had spoken a lot to Nirathe about Cyrus, noting how the priestess shared a love of reading to her knight, and was not surprised to see a subtle shift to admiration.

A long way from everyone hating you, Astra thought, swallowing back the anger she felt whenever her thoughts turned to the atmosphere in the palace at home. Cyrus commanded his subordinates well, but his peers thought little of him, and had since they were children. But not far enough.

She would be married soon, crowned Queen, and the distance between them would widen. Scowling, she turned back to the dagger before her on the desk. Assuming I can even find a way to reverse this.

There was a knock on the door, and an acolyte entered, bowing and not meeting Astra’s eyes. “You have guests, Lady Aerowlyn.”

Astra sighed, but acquiesced from her station and followed after the acolyte. She was led out into the main hall of the temple where the regular religious gatherings occurred and found a cluster of soldiers standing around one man that caused her pace to quicken.

She caught Nuit in the process of pulling off a travel cloak and tossing it to one of his men. The Cordelyn prince caught her in an embrace, then pulled back and placed his hands on her shoulders, catching her eye. “Your sister sent word to me. She understood why you could not tell your father or the other knights, so she thought it best that I come and make sure of your safety.”

Astra nodded, though inwardly she felt herself cringing. Not really what I was going to ask. If it took a week for a message to get to Mount Aerowlyn, it was probably another few days from there to where Nuit was traveling along the Aerowlyn-Cordelyn border, and then another week or so from his location to Astra. The princess thought about how many nights had passed since making landfall and shuddered. We’re long past two weeks.

“How are you doing?” Nuit asked, his eyes dropping somewhat.

“Fine,” Astra replied automatically. She sighed, shaking her head. “Since I can’t do anything to help Cyrus and the others directly, I’ve been trying to trace the spell origins on what cursed them.” She leaned forward into Nuit’s embrace and felt his arms curl up around her. “We found information, but nothing on how to reverse it.”

Nuit sighed into her hair and then tilt his head to address the guards. “Take turns setting up watch outside of Knight Lighleir’s room, just in case. Otherwise, help the brothers and sisters of Astaraia with anything they could use an extra hand on.”

The soldiers accompanying Nuit snapped to attention, bowed, and then one started issuing out orders as they followed the acolyte that had led Astra out back further into the temple. Astra thought like she should thank them for their help, but realized as knights they were quite possibly not as casual with Nuit as Astra and Cyrus were with each other.

“I’m no magus,” Nuit said, “But I can read with the best of them. Anything I can do to help, tell me.”

Astra allowed herself a faint smile. “Just being here helps. But I will hold you to that.”



It took the remainder of the day to explain the situation, explain the earlier victims and the fight on the ship. Astra still held back from describing her dream, though she felt like it would be too much on top of it all to add her visions. She showed Nuit the daggers they had recovered and let him examine one of the victims, and in the end they had retired to the room the clerics had arranged for the princess. They continued to speak well into the night about the curse and possible ways to counter it, though Nuit as well refused that she should try to directly block it herself.

“I know how you feel, Astra, but you have greater responsibilities than that. I do not know Cyrus as well as you do, but I would imagine he would not want you risking your own life on a mere chance to help him,” he said.

Astra felt a cold sort of anger build up in the pit of her stomach at that. Responsibilities...yes, and once again, if I were someone else, I would not be restrained by people I do not know.

They turned into bed after that, Nuit tired from his travels, though he wanted to stay by Astra’s side. Astra, however, dwelled on that last thought, laying awake long after she heard Nuit’s breath steady in slumber. She thought of sitting on the throne back in Mount Aerowlyn, thought of Cyrus uncomfortably standing guard over her, thought of their travel together as he suffered from insomnia while worrying over Astra’s safety. And now he cannot help but sleep.

She remembered watching, helpless, as that cultist had stabbed Cyrus. Stabbed him when Cyrus had been fulfilling his responsibilities as her knight.

Greater responsibilities...like those people in the common room, all suffering the same curse. Astra hated that she was required to weigh their lives with Cyrus’. My knight, who made me the responsibility more important than his own life. Though she accepted his devotion, she never fully understood it. She thought of the image of Cyrus holding a child, thought of the woman in Chamile, even of the priestess Niranthe here. She thought of Alisia, the one lover Cyrus had taken some years prior. All thrown away to get stabbed in the name of someone else’s fiancée.

Carefully pulling herself out of Nuit’s embrace, she crept out of the room and into the hall. She took the candelabrum and wandered back out into the common space where the others were kept, finding it quiet and dark but for a candle or two. Watching them for a while, Astra thought about what she would feel if they died. She tried to imagine their families, friends, people they worked with and loved. And it only left her feeling a little worn, wishing Cyrus were next to her to describe what he could sense of their lives.

She had pity and sympathy, but compared to Cyrus lacked empathy. She knew how, even though he never let on, how much it upset him, both to see suffering in people like this, and how much it weighed on him the few people he had killed himself. Sometimes, I think I only cared to look for the source of my visions because of how much it concerned Cyrus. Compared to the pleasure she derived from making people like Diranel humble themselves, even protecting the village from attackers had felt less fulfilling.

“Sorry, everyone,” Astra said, moving past to the room they had taken Cyrus to. One of the knights accompanying Nuit was standing guard and bowed slightly as she passed.

Putting the candelabrum on the table next to his bed, Astra absently reached up to stroke the outline of the pendant she wore. Mother, I hope this was your own form of foresight...because otherwise, this might be very stupid. Careful to circle the bed, the princess climbed up over the knight, placing her knees next to the side that was not injured. She leaned over him and placed her forehead against his, then carefully pecked his lips with her own.

“You’ve never hesitated to help me,” she whispered. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

She bit her lip until it bled. “Malai wo nah, rhis rin aia sarana.”

In this night, come forth and show your star.




Chapter 19
Lost Dreams


Astra startled awake.

Early-morning sunlight beamed down on her.

It took her a moment to gather her bearings, her thoughts hazy from the spell. Her surroundings were completely different from Cyrus’ room in the temple. The bed under her was similar to the one she had in the palace, though now adorned with four posts as opposed to the naked frame she remembered. The room around her was also similar, though it took her a moment to take everything in and note the differences. There were the portraits and artwork she kept in her room hanging from one wall, but another was decorated with a dark red tapestry she had never seen and a bookshelf that was steadily overflowing onto the floor. Astra glanced around, but Cyrus was nowhere to be found, and she had to wonder for a moment if her spell had even succeeded.

Astra crawled out of the bed and padded over toward what looked like the closet, but paused when she glanced at the mirror on the nearby vanity. There was nothing terribly shocking or surprising when she looked at herself—she was almost expecting to see someone else reflected there—but the vision it presented was so...mundane in appearance that she felt eerie.

If this is a nightmare, it is certainly an innocuous one. Before she knew what she was doing, Astra found herself seated at the vanity, regarding the perfumes and cosmetics there. A thought occurred, and she checked the positioning of the sun outside the window: it barely hung clear from the horizon and was distantly blocked by a few buildings. No, that makes sense. Perhaps Solamali is blocking the Nightmare King’s influence. He didn’t seem upset like the other victims, so a calm dream might be working counter to the curse.

When she turned back to look at her reflection in the vanity, it gave her pause. While nothing was out of the ordinary, it had taken her closer inspection to realize her hair now retained the healthier golden coloration it had in her youth. No veins of unnatural gray marred her scalp and that alone made her feel considerably unnerved. Or it is not Solamali at all. She could not recall his exact words, but Cyrus had said something about his nightmare test, about what he personally had seen. A nightmare that was normal, but terrifying at the same time.

She desperately hoped the terrifying part would not rear its head anytime soon.

Belatedly realizing she was only in her undergarments, Astra reached for the robe hanging near the vanity only to pause once again. One finger was adorned with a ring she had never seen before.

It was customary for nobility and royalty in Aerowlyn to be wed with such an item, but the design was different than the one she and Nuit had decided upon. The gem was faintly rose-colored pink while the band itself was a white metal that twisted around the gem in a pattern she thought looked familiar. It was in stark contrast to the aquamarine ring she would wear on her wedding day.

Strange that I would—the thought leapt into Astra’s mind and she whirled to face the bookshelf. Though it was not in her room at the palace, she did recognize it. She moved up to it and brushed her hand along the spines of intermixed leather-bound books of Arcanum and books of a more mundane kind. It had not looked terribly out of place in this room simply for the fact that Astra was used to seeing it; not in her bedroom, but in an alcove between the balcony of her tower and her sister Luna’s tower. As kids, it was where she and Cyrus had hidden away from the palace adults and had planned their next prank on one of the courtiers or their high-nosed peers.

Her hand stopped on one of the storybooks, simply bound though with a decorative wing motif along the spine. Astra recalled it the best of them all, her favorite story and one she demanded Cyrus read to her when they were younger. Certain words within Astra still to this day stumbled over, though a barely-ten year old Cyrus had read with confidence. She remembered the first time he had finished it and she had crawled around him to pull his shirt up and check if he, like the character in the story, hid wings on his shoulders.

The story came back to her now, all too easily: a young orphan named Telan who had a princess named Celestia fall in love with him. She knew the story by heart now, as it was based around ancestors of Astra far in the past, and Celestia’s name had come up when researching her dreaming visions.

Her hand went up to her collar but found it bereft of the pendant she always wore there, one that had wings not unlike the etchings on the book.

There was a gentle creaking noise that accompanied the door opening to admit the person she had come for. Cyrus entered bearing a tray of food, though he pouted upon seeing her out of bed. “You were supposed to stay asleep for at least a few more minutes,” he said.

Yet again, before she could string together a complete thought, she found herself stepping up to him and placing the tray aside before curling her arms around his waist. Pulling him into a tight embrace, she felt the pendant that no longer adorned her neck graze her shoulder from where it sat around Cyrus’ neck instead.

“Good morning to you too,” Cyrus said as he embraced her in return.

When he drew back to look her in the eyes, Astra was confronted, finally, with the part of this nightmare that was to be terrifying. No unearthly glow lit his eyes, no unnatural lights hung in his irises. They were the simple blue she remembered from their childhood, and that, more than anything, frightened her.

A hand came up and fingers brushed against her lips, and when he leaned closer to kiss her, she could think of nothing to stop him. Only one thought floated about her head, one that felt both infinitely pleased and immensely sad at the same time.

Why would I want to stop you now?



Astra woke again, sometime later, though she could not tell if it was minutes or days. The sun still hung low in the sky, though she wondered if she would sense the passage of time in a dream. The princess took a moment to gather her thoughts; she could not even tell if she had woken from her spell and had tried again, or if she had been here for any amount of time at all.

Cyrus was next to her this time, his breath tickling her neck. His expression of contentment was something Astra had never quite seen in his sleep, as the few times she was awake that he was not was due to absolute exhaustion. When they had been younger, that had differed greatly, though he hardly resembled that boy any longer. At least in physical appearance. Astra thought of all the training, all of the lectures and practice in etiquette, all of the meetings with various nobles she had endured and how frustrated they made her. Meanwhile, he just lets it all pass on, accepting the oath he made as a child as something he has to maintain as an adult.

She scowled and almost leapt out of the bed, briefly forgetting that she might wake Cyrus, though he did not stir. Retrieving the robe next to the vanity, she wrapped it tightly around her and sat down, feeling ready to blow something up and laughed aloud at the irony. I could wreck many things in this fake room...and I will no matter what I do, spells of fire or no!

“And now you know,” she said.

Astra startled. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, a reflection that stared back. The reflection was beautiful; hair messy from lying in the bed, her skin lightly freckled by sunlight. The princess knew that she was good looking, but did not stop to think of it objectively, from the perspective of others. Now she did; now, it was all she could do.

“You asked him what his nightmare was, and now you see it,” Astra’s own lips said. She knew she was the one to speak, though it felt like someone else was in control.

“You will take him from this place, from everything he desires,” she continued. “You will steal from him so you may be safe.”

At that, Astra felt the other side of the terror, of that which made this nightmare dangerous. She had thought it was the desire to sink into it and never go back. She had thought it was the ability to see great things, feel wonderful emotions, to experience all of those ephemeral desires she knew Cyrus had.

She had thought.

Yes, you great idiot, this is why you let Cyrus do all the thinking and planning.

The nightmare was not to sink into eternal bliss, but to be pulled from it after tasting it. The nightmare was now complete with her here, conscious of her plan to save him from the curse.

Astra bit her tongue in anger. The princess in her felt rage at the Nightmare King for doing this to her.

Astra felt rage at the princess.

The thought of leaving him in his dream passed as quickly as it came; she was not even sure she could leave this place consciously without fulfilling the purpose of the spell she cast, part of the danger Nuit and Niranthe the priestess had warned her about. And even if I did, could I actually sit by and watch him rot from the outside, watch him die in a fake bliss? The answer, of course, was no, and once more she felt rage.

“And so you will take him,” the she in the mirror said, as if accusing her. “You will deny him this peace and use him up instead.”

Her hand came up and Astra could not help but look at the ring that adorned it. She did not know the significance of its shape or color, though it was obviously deliberate and precious to Cyrus. She thought it must be to her as well, and the fact that she knew nothing of this her, this Astra, forced her to blink back tears. Who am I, the person he sees in his dreams? Am I the same? The shift in appearance, still the same age as they were now but with features resembling their youth made her shake uncontrollably. Do you hate me now, my magic forcing hardship on you, your magic an important tool for me to use?

“Yet you must take him,” her visage in the mirror said. “His soul is his own, but his life was promised to you.”

A promise he made when he was still a child.

Her reflection matched her feelings of anger and guilt, but finally, it was not like she spoke at someone else’s behest. It looked upon Astra with a separate kind of emotion, a separate resentment and jealousy. “You get to take him to where you have everything, leaving me behind.”

Astra had not cried when he fell, nor in the days since, and for a while, she wondered if she would ever manage to do so, even if Cyrus died.

She did now, and it hurt all the more, because she was not really crying.

She was only dreaming of it.



A hand brushed against the back of her neck, and Astra woke from her dazed state.

Cyrus’ reflection stared back at her in the vanity mirror. His concerned expression was familiar to her, as was the way he brushed his fingers through her hair. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Even with the distance posed by the reflection, Astra could not see any stars in Cyrus’ eyes.

“Nothing,” she lied.

Her hand reached for the mirror, and it touched against where she could make out his hand on her shoulders.

The mirror shattered.




Chapter 20
So Close


Astra was not sure when exactly she managed to remove herself from the dream. She slowly became aware that her eyes were closed and her body was twisted unnaturally before opening her eyes.

She was back in the temple of Astaraia, back to the waking world. Cyrus stirred beneath her, and she lifted herself up off of her knight in time to see his eyes crack open.

Stars lit up once more within his irises.

There was confusion in his expression, the kind of disoriented look that said he too was unsure if he was awake or still asleep. His right hand came up to her side and his left reached for the arm she had bracing her over his body. Though she had never shied away from his touch before, the sudden intimacy of it made her self-conscious. She wondered what he saw, if he could even make out the differences from his dream.

“Are you alright?” Astra whispered.

She was sure to never forget his expression when it finally dawned on him what was going on. Astra had no way of actually reading his thoughts or feelings, but could make everything out in the way the corners of his eyes fell and his mouth parted. Devastated did not begin to explain his look, though it quickly gave way to a brief moment of panic. The discipline he had been trained to maintain quickly covered it all up, leaving the princess to feel the same sense of guilt she always had, now so much greater in intensity with the knowledge she held. You like to think you can keep it from me, Cy, but I know it’s still there. She considered answering the anxiety he fought past—whether she had seen his nightmare—but decided against it. She thought that perhaps she understood why he had never openly voiced his thoughts: it’s not like it makes any difference in the world we live in now.

“You were injured by one of those cursed daggers,” Astra continued. “We’re in a temple now.”

He stretched out beneath her and cringed, nodding. “My side? It hurts a little to breathe.”

“It was a pretty deep wound,” Astra said. She withdrew, but placed a hand on his chest when he went to sit up. “Stay still. I will find one of the acolytes.”

“Astra,” he called after her before she could reach the door, “how did you undo the curse?”
The princess focused on what priestess Nirathe or Nuit would say once they found out. “I think what you said before, about the soul being taken and only echoes remaining in the victims is true. I used a spell to track your spirit and pulled it back myself.”

She fled the room before he could form a reply. Astra hoped her thoughts and feelings were out of his direct perception when what she had seen in his dream started to truly sink in.

You will steal from him...



Though still very early in the morning, the acolyte Astra found wasted no time in waking Sister Nirathe. The priestess was checking Cyrus’ condition within moments, barring Astra entry—not that Astra particularly felt like speaking with her knight for the moment.

She left the temple for the first time since arriving, hardly aware of the possible danger or even the cold that stung at her through the cloak she had taken from Cyrus’ things before Nirathe had expelled her. Changing had been far from her mind, as it would require venturing into the room with Nuit, and she did not feel like facing anybody, even her betrothed.

It was still pre-dawn; light only faint in the skies, shading everything blue in her sight. The princess was not even sure where her feet took her as she had not been shown around the town and discernable landmarks were still cloaked by the night. Few townspeople were awake at this hour, and those that were would be hard at work inside preparing for the day. She passed by the smell of a bakery, but found nothing appetizing in the thought of fresh food.

Astra walked, and lost herself, both in the town and in her mind. She mulled over and scrutinized everything from Cyrus’ dream she could remember. She considered how they had reached that place, what events had happened to change it all, why Cyrus felt the way he did. Before she knew it, she was grasping her empty ring finger, missing the phantom presence that should adorn it.

In so many ways, it is not at all different from now. And yet...everything was different. She glanced back toward where she thought the temple was. Except us. She rubbed at her eyes, unsure whether she felt like laughing or crying. I wonder whose nightmare that really was...whose this really is.

When her eyes turned back to the road, Astra paused at the sight of a figure further along. Her walk had taken her toward the docks, where lamps hanging along the waterside allowed for ship’s crew to move cargo on or off vessels no matter the time, though Astra did not see any others about. Tassoran, she thought, as the man was rather unique looking. She sidled up behind a building. Why would you be out so early?

Astra was not even sure why she hid herself, though she and Cyrus both had decided to be cautious around the man. Tassoran did not seem to notice, glancing down one side-street as he marched toward one of the wharfs. The purposefulness in his gait made Astra curious. Following up on a lead? Searching for some kind of news on the ship that attacked us? Astra felt confident that it was not to communicate with the other Midnight Eyes, as she thought it logical that the elves would be with him. Cyrus had also suggested the Eyes had other, clandestine forms of communication that went beyond direct meetings.

Glancing down, Astra realized she was not ready to try and tail someone like Tassoran. Hunt a man trained to track and watch others in a cloak over a gown. Once more, she thought to Cyrus’ dream and considered why her knight had not been envisioning Alisia. Not only everything I’m not in looks and personality, but completely capable of taking care of herself as well. She considered spelling a trace or clairvoyance spell after Tassoran, but decided against it. Cyrus’ description of Tassoran's abilities sounded like this one knows his spellwork. Briefly, the princess wished she had paid attention to Tassoran’s actions during the ship attack.

Instead, she watched Tassoran from behind the same building until he was out of sight, rounding past a stack of crates. She gave up on hearing anything from such a far distance; the sound of a couple of men from a nearby ship at work dashed any hopes for eavesdropping. When it was clear the ranger would not be making a return trip anytime soon, Astra turned back for the temple, musing on the reasons behind Tassoran’s trip and the uneasy feeling surrounding him.

Astra wished she had the skills necessary to go unnoticed and track her quarry. She thought it might actually get her mind off of other problems for more than a moment or two.



The dust, and the darkness. A single candle snuffed out, and a beast that burns everything to darkness.

The single candle does not burn to ashes.

The dragon’s firelight creates greater darkness still.

Dust of candlelight, ashen darkness of dragonfire.



The brush of fingers through her hair woke Astra.

“That position can’t be good for your back,” Cyrus said.

Astra pulled herself upright. Once again she found herself in the temple, though now her knight was awake to greet her. She remembered returning and finding out that Cyrus had fallen into a temporary sleep brought on by a dose of medicine. Astra figured she had fallen asleep waiting for him to wake. Cringing at the thought of the talk she knew awaited them, the princess hesitated at meeting Cyrus’ gaze.

And the unguarded smile on his face gave her pause when she did look up.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, before she could help herself.

“Better,” Cyrus said. He brushed a hand along the site of his injury. “I really don’t feel anything after that medicine.”

Astra nodded, though she was not exactly sure what she was agreeing with or acknowledging. “About the dream—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cyrus interrupted. Though the corners of his eyes tightened and Astra could see the pupils of his eyes dilate beyond the pinpricks of light there, his smile did not change. In fact, it seemed to grow, like he was amused by his own embarrassment. “I, well, I did mention that my vision test was different. I suppose I’m terrified by marriage.”

Under different circumstances she might have found the joke funny, but the way he smiled at the memory made her feel sick inside. “It was more than that,” Astra whispered.

Cyrus rolled his eyes. “I know what you’re thinking, and seriously, you need to drop it. I’m embarrassed that you saw it, but it wasn’t anything that should be shocking.”

Astra wondered if the parts of his dream, if the parts she experienced when he was not present or “conscious” were something he had seen or if they had been completely her own. “We were married and you think I shouldn’t be surprised?”

“Is it really a surprise?” he asked, though his frank stare suggested a rhetorical question. “We’ve grown up together. You can’t honestly tell me it has not crossed your mind at least once.”

There was something in the way he said it that gave Astra a moment like she had just lost all of the air in her lungs. Cy, that just...you sound so historic when you say that, like you’re reading some recorded facts. Odd it seemed, Astra thought it might hurt less if he sounded more bitter or sad at the prospect. That he stated it as accepted fact—even if it truly was accepted fact—seemed almost inhuman. “Well...of course it has. I thought for sure when we were younger that we would be married someday.”

He seemed content with her answer, as if it provided her with the answers to everything else. “You were dreaming again,” he pointed out.

Astra shivered slightly in remembrance. “The same, though it emphasized the destructiveness of the flames and darkness. I have to wonder if it means we’re closer to the answer…or the problem.”

Cyrus’ smile finally faded to a scowl as he stretched and apparently pulled one of his injured muscles. “So I need to fix this as fast as possible and get caught up. Elreia was here and told me Nuit and some of his people are here. Perhaps you could impose on them while I try and heal this.”

She nodded slowly. “Nuit was already helping me read up on the dagger’s curse anyway.”

Cyrus’ head snapped around at her. “Could you...well, not tell him? I really don’t think he would appreciate what would sound very—”

“I know,” Astra said. “If it comes up and he asks directly, I will tell him, but I don’t plan on bringing it up myself.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus wilted at that, curling away from her faintly even as the self-deprecating smile returned. “All I could hope for, all things considered. I’ll just pray he doesn’t ask then.”

Astra nodded. “Get some rest, Cy. Nuit and his men are quick at reading, but they’re not as educated on this as you are. And I’d really like to start going out again without supervision from one of those knights.”

It was not until she was out of Cyrus’ room and his immediate vicinity that Astra allowed herself the thought that had sprang to mind:

I never tell Nuit anything about us, even when he asks. Cy...did you even notice the lie, or were you really that preoccupied with your own embarrassment?

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Last chapters of this draft, though I stopped about 15 chapters short of the actual end of the story.

This introduces Luna, who is probably more like Rin than Astra is. If I had to summarize them to people familiar with FSN, I'd say something like Astra is casual Rin, and Luna is magus Rin. And Cyrus is a weird in between UBW and HF Shirou but anyway.


Chapter 21
Return Home


“Stop!” Cyrus shouted, flinching all the while.

Elrodan paused mid-strike, the cudgel in his hand freezing a few centimeters from Cyrus' left shoulder. The elven warrior stared at Cyrus, eyebrows raised in question.

Cyrus shook his head, dropping his own staff aside and wrapping an arm around his side. “I felt something almost tear. I think that’s all I can do today.”

The elf nodded and motioned to the entry hall where the acolytes were currently gathered for prayer. He then pointed to Cyrus’ side.

“No, I don’t need anyone. Just rest for now.”

As Elrodan returned the staves to the temple’s storage—one of the few weapons any of the acolytes trained with—Cyrus collapsed onto the bench set aside on the wall. He sure doesn’t look like it, but Elrodan sure is a ruthless sparring partner. As the elf was taller, longer-armed, and used to polearm fighting and Cyrus was recovering from a wound, the results had been fairly obvious. Even anticipating everything, I can’t keep up.

Glancing to the door leading to the temple’s main hall, the knight considered the various possibilities. Assassins, cultists, political dissidents...and a lame knight to protect her from it all. Although the wound had been healed fine and the permanent damage was minimal, Cyrus still felt more sluggish than before. The priestess had informed him the attack on his spirit would cause side-effects, and Cyrus thought it probable that the feeling was more due to that. My side aches like after a long run and my body is slow to respond, like every moment is the same as when I first woke.

He sighed. Lord Nuit and his knights will be here. I need to stop worrying.

Elrodan stuck his head through the doorway and waved Cyrus over. He then mimed holding something and putting it in his mouth.

Lips twitching, Cyrus nodded. “On my way.”

The temple helped soothe his thoughts as he followed the elven man toward the kitchens. As Cyrus’ duties as a Sorceress Knight were sacred to Astaraia and her followers, there was always a sense of peace and warmth whenever he ventured into such an establishment. Not unlike Astra, the temple felt airy and somewhat whimsical in decorations of golden faeries dancing among silver stars. Though still a solemn place of worship and reverence toward magic, all of Astaraia’s temples shared a quality of liveliness reflecting their views of the world: that the night was not to be feared, but delighted in its mysteries and beauty.

It almost made him forget his failures, and his guilt.

You let her see, you idiot. You put her through all the trouble of taking care of your wounded cask and then double the problem by dreaming again. It was not a problem that Astra knew of it—in fact, it surprised him more that she seemed at all surprised herself. A little boy’s fantasy, but one I’ve lived with for nearly a decade now. The problem, though, was that he knew every guilt and frustration it put upon her to know.

She’ll run around in circles, a windmill in motion. ‘He was hurt! And his nightmare is of us! But it wasn’t a nightmare, it was more like a fantasy! Why would that be his nightmare? Does he despise me so? No, the other way around, he’s in love. But in love with a fantasy! Is this why he gave up everything for me? But all I can do is drive him hard to work while I get married! Will he despise me for that? Shouldn’t he? I took everything from him for what little I can give back! And what I give back is nothing when he takes a sword meant for me!’

Cyrus absently rubbed at his side. And nothing I could ever say would keep her from any of that.

Prince Nuit and his knights’ presence did keep Astra’s thoughts from wandering too much, however, and as Cyrus entered the temple’s eatery he was glad to see that unchanged. While the knights formed a tight circle around their prince and his betrothed, their presence seemed to give Astra energy to converse and make play, something she probably had not done at all when Cyrus had been injured. Nuit would then do something—perhaps steal from Astra’s plate—and make a game out of it to see how long before she noticed. From what Cyrus could see, the Cordelyn prince had been at it for some time now.

Cyrus took a seat next to Tassoran and across from where Elrodan sat next to his sister. While Nuit’s royal guard had approved of Cyrus shielding his charge from harm, there was a kind of resentment in them that Cyrus could see: what kind of knight are you, laying down on the job? Professional enough to keep it to themselves, Cyrus still felt like giving them a wide berth.

“So I had a question,” Cyrus said, after downing a draft of water. “I know the Midnight Eyes are a rather loosely-organized group and you can all act independently, but is it really fine for you to all be together this length of time, and without leaving?” While he was unaware of what exactly Tassoran’s duties entitled, the elves seemed to be fairly localized in action, sticking close to their home territory.

“We relayed what happened,” Elreia said. “With the attacks, and with your injury. Nighteye gave us free-reign to take it as it came and see what happens. And when we spoke with Nuit, he invited us to the wedding, stating he had no other way of showing appreciation for what we’ve done for you and the princess.”

Cyrus took pause, though not from the words themselves. Elreia had a teasing tone, like she thought she might get a rise out of Cyrus from the mention of the wedding, and that was nothing new. But usually Tassoran also seemed to be very interested in Cyrus’ actions, but no flare from his star suggested any kind of interest. In fact, for the first time since meeting the man, Cyrus could detect only preoccupation and some form of frustration.

“Anyway, we thought we could keep with you for a few more months, see if anything further can be found in shadowing people who are so adept at attracting trouble.” Elreia grinned, and Cyrus wondered what the woman would look like if she were not in such a superior stance verbally. He thought he might never know.

“Any help would be appreciated,” Cyrus said honestly. He felt the eyes of one of the Cordelyn knights on him and could tell the man had overheard at least part of the conversation; his star was quite disapproving. Just like home, Cyrus thought.

It was mere moments later—Cyrus had just started on a rather nice casserole the acolytes had baked for the meal—when the spike of intent stabbed into the room. Cyrus stood from the table and grabbed one of the bread knives just in time to hear the doors to the hall open behind him.

Soft pattering hit the ground near his feet and elsewhere in the hall, followed by the sudden fumigation of gas throughout the dining area. Cyrus ignored it—his eloa blessing made him less susceptible to poison and disease—and threw the knife in his hand as hard as possible.

Not weighted as a weapon, the knife merely glanced off the first of three people entering the hall. Wearing commoner street clothing, they advanced with the same kind of weapons that had lain Cyrus up before; with firsthand experience and on temple grounds, feeling the curse emanating from them was easy.

The others coughed and sputtered around him; Nuit’s knights reached for weapons but were swaying in place. Nuit himself had drawn his weapon and looked focused on the attackers, and Cyrus remembered something about Nuit’s sword diffusing other scents around it, possibly protecting the prince from the gas. Of Astra, Cyrus could not see, though he could sense her presence further in the room, looking for something.

With no other option presenting itself, Cyrus closed in on the intruders, stopping when he sensed one’s move to attack.

A lunge; the lead figure—a blond woman dressed in brown and red—thrust with the dagger with the precision of an expert swordbeing.

An expert that could not help but announce her attacks to Cyrus in ways she would never know.

Cyrus crouched low, crossed his arms above his head, and caught the attacker’s knife arm at the wrist with the back of his fists. As hard as he could, Cyrus swept one leg up into the side of the woman’s knee and was rewarded to see her shins crash together and topple her over. Keeping his lock on the woman’s arm, Cyrus waited until her arm dislocated from her shoulder, then took the dagger from nerveless fingers.

The other two assassins were facing down Nuit. The prince’s eyes darted back and forth between them and Cyrus could sense Nuit’s decision to feint one and thrust at the other. When Nuit’s foot stepped in toward the feint, Cyrus flung the dagger at the space he knew the assassin would step into in response and was rewarded with the weapon nicking the attacker in the arm simultaneously with Nuit’s step-and-thrust at the other assassin. The one Cyrus hit fell to the floor, suffering from the same nightmare curse as the other victims, while Nuit skewered the last intruder.

Biting his lip to keep the pained groan from escaping his throat, Cyrus glanced back to Astra and caught Aleraynic as she sent it flying in his direction. The knight drew the blade and pressed the flat against the cheek of the woman at his feet as she attempted to stand. “You be as still as ice.”

The other knights were now looking somewhat cowed, though they had stopped coughing from the fumes. Tassoran and Elrodan were already checking the attacker that had been cursed, mouths and noses in their elbows to try and block out the smoke. Cyrus heard Astra chant the lines of story verse to evoke a wind and the room started to clear. “Anyone hurt?” she asked when the last wisp of smoke fled the hall window.

Although she asked that aloud, her eyes caught Cyrus’ and he shook his head. They somehow made it past the acolytes and Lord Nuit’s on-duty sentry in the main hall, but nobody was injured there. Everyone here looks fine, if uncomfortable. Oblivious to Astra’s awareness, the Cordelyn knights sounded off with readiness.

Acolytes started flowing into the room in ones and twos, checking on the health of their visitors and one reporting to Astra and Nuit when the former asked if anyone else had been attacked. Two of Nuit’s men bound the attacker Cyrus had subdued while one more helped the acolytes with the dead body of the second. Priestess Niranthe came to examine the last one when Tassoran and Elrodan were finished, and Elreia followed her in. “Nobody else outside,” the elven woman said. “Nor even signs that anyone outside noticed. I think these were committed to a suicide attack.”

“If you are correct,” Nuit said, his hand in Astra’s as they stared down at the cursed attacker, “then the one Lord Cyrus captured is unlikely to say anything.” The skin around the prince’s eyes tightened, though he kept everything else professionally controlled. “Not that I doubt your conclusions, but I would rather we could learn something more from them.”

“We have learned much,” Tassoran said. He ran a hand over his platinum hair in a peculiarly specific spot. “These ones were distinctly of Cordelyn descent.”

The prince and his remaining knights blinked in unison, and even Cyrus had to pause at that. The only distinguishing trait of those from Cordelyn was their relatively uniform fair skin and region-specific accents, which did somewhat stand out in Aerowlyn, a country of mixed skin tones and particular accents. But as fair skin was common in Aerowlyn as well and none of the attackers had said a word, he was perplexed by Tassoran’s assessment.

One of the knights seemed to take offense. “I hope, ranger of Midnight, you are not implying something of our honor.”

Tassoran finally grinned in that know-it-all fashion that still made Cyrus’ eyebrows cringe. “I was implying nothing. I believe these attackers were meant for Lord Cordel, not Lady Aerowlyn.”

Cyrus ignored the ranger and what looked to be a building argument with the Cordelyn knights and caught Elrodan’s eye. The elven ranger tilted his head toward Tassoran and nodded. Elrodan agrees with Tassoran’s assessment, however it was made. Reading Elrodan’s star also gave him a sense of the logistics, that there were things that at least the elves could see in the different peoples of human-kind that were distinctive enough to warrant such a judgment. Another time, I’m going to have to ask about that.

Astra piped in as some acolytes came in to move the comatose attacker. “Alright, while we regroup on this whole situation, can we maybe do so by going into town and getting fresh food? They came and smoked the food before I could have any.”



As Tassoran predicted, the captured woman had spoken not a word, though the Astaraian temple kept at it in the hopes of not only helping Astra and Nuit gain information, but also in an attempt to show sympathy; the cursed victims included one of the believers of the Nightmare King now. Still, the woman refused.

Four days later, she had starved herself to death.

Astra and Nuit had moved some of their research material on the curse to the room Cyrus had been using to train and recover, tossing out ideas for the knight to reflect on. Astra had long ago explained to the prince how Cyrus had been schooled and now the prince seemed to take it as a challenge to push Cyrus mentally.

“What do you mean, similar at the same time as different? Do historians like paradoxes?” Nuit asked.

“The Shard City occurrences are similar in effect but entirely different in execution,” Cyrus explained. “No weapons involved, merely a large-scale curse that struck hundreds.”

“And you did not draw this conclusion earlier?”

The knight shrugged. “I never knew the historical information. I know the story very well—Mountain-Cleaved Shard is one of my favorites from a child—but nobody in Mount Aerowlyn or even Temptress Cliff had any historical information on the region. It is very far from here. Priestess Niranthe, however, has family from the region and has some books on the historical accounts we didn’t have access to.

“The story only goes on about an affliction, using prose to explain the horror and darkness in the land at the time. The historical accounts explain more about what each individual case was like, and it bears strong resemblance to the curse we see now. Like a perpetual nightmare the victim cannot escape from.” Cyrus’ eyes strayed from where Nuit and Astra sat when he said this, thinking of his own experience. How the other victims must curse me, with how shallow my problems are.

Nuit had been reading the very passage they brought to Cyrus’ attention, frowning all the while. “I am not familiar with the area at all, nor your story.”

Astra smiled faintly at that. “We should lend you the book upon returning home. You would like it. Starts with a dragon fighting his father and cutting the top right off a mountainside. Ends with a knight facing off with said dragon’s father, attempting to finish the job.”

“That does sound interesting,” Nuit said, as one of his knights entered the room and whispered something into his ear. The prince nodded, taking a letter from the knight’s hands and passing it to Astra. “A courier just delivered this to the temple.”

Astra’s eyes went wide at the seal on the back. “Oh...well, this can’t be good.”

Cyrus cringed at the sense he felt from Astra’s star as she plucked the letter open and read. “What does it say?” Cyrus asked, though he could already see for himself. Astra’s star flickered in the same fashion it always did when she was discontent, and Cyrus knew only one person that exasperated her so.

“One of the acolytes here sent word to my father,” Astra said, handing the letter over to Nuit. “He’s demanding we return to Mount Aerowlyn.”




Chapter 22
Lunar Eclipse


The sight of home did little to lift Astra’s spirits.

Though a place of lights to the world, Mount Aerowlyn always made the princess think of how Cyrus described his world and his vision. A large city of white stone gently crawling up the shallowest side of the continent’s largest mountain, from outside the walls at night it seemed as if the stars in the sky descended to the earth in a sprinkle. It was early evening when Astra crested the last hill and the valley between her and the mount was darkening to match the sky in hue while lights were already glowing from the city proper. It made the land look like a vast sea of faded blue and the city a tress of the night goddess’ painting.

Astra could only describe the view as lonely.

Nuit’s knights made chatter about the city view and the prince himself seemed content to take in the sight in silence. Astra glanced to Cyrus, but her knight was poignantly looking away from her, probably having sensed her mood.

“I’ve never actually seen the city before,” Elreia said, her voice for once subdued in reverence. “It looks quite unique at night, does it not?”

Astra nodded but said nothing, instead urging Sungold ahead. “We should hurry up. Get in for dinner.”

“Always food with you, isn’t it?” Elreia said.

Well, it was nice while it lasted, Astra thought.

Passing the main gate would activate the alert wards of the city, alerting the palace that Astra had returned home. It did not take long for the people in the city to take notice; as it was time for many workers to close up shop, there were a fair number of people on the streets returning home for the night and many stopped to stare, greet, or try and catch the attention of their princess or her betrothed.

It took them a good hour to pass through the city, by which full darkness descended. Astra glanced up to try and spot the moon, a habit she had after a long absence from her sister in an attempt to gauge Luna’s mood. Though there was no direct connection between the two besides Luna’s name, Astra had found there to be an eerie coincidence in the moon’s phases and her sister’s emotional state. She could not see any celestial body beyond the glare from lamps and torches, however, and instead caught Cyrus grinning at her. You shut it. Anything to give me an edge. Cyrus had always found her superstitions amusing given his hyper-awareness to people’s actions and the lack of direct connections to any of those beliefs.

The palace gates offered no further clues as the lights from inside overwhelmed even more than the city lights. Astra sighed at the monolithic towers as the others arranged the care of the horses with the stablehands, her thoughts turning inside. I promised father that there would be no trouble and Cyrus alone would provide adequate protection. So the question is: will he be angrier with me for arguing the point or angrier with Cyrus for failing to live up to perfection?

She had noticed the break in Cyrus’ regularly unflappable manner already, as he had decidedly avoided talking with the Cordelyn knights since waking, either embarrassed by his perceived shortcomings or put off by their standoffish expressions. Astra knew well the kind of treatment he was likely to receive from the authorities in Mount Aerowlyn to be similar.

Nuit slipped up next to her and took her hand in his, which she squeezed in return. He gave a smile. “I’m here for you,” he said, nodding toward the main entry.

“You ought to abandon ship.”

His smile broke into a full grin. “Our navy believes in captains going down with their ship.”

“Good thing you will be joining our navy then, so we can dissuade you of such ideas,” Astra said. “Until then, I suppose I’ll just drag you to the depths with me.”

Porters guided them to the main hall before taking everyone’s gear to their quarters. Astra bit her lip but refused to glance back to Cyrus now. Bad for you, since he would rather scold me in private. I hope you’re prepared. She shoved the guilt she felt to the back of her head and took a deep breath before pushing open the hall doors. I just wish talking with father these past few years felt less like battles I have to armor up for.

The hall was relatively empty, though a handful of courtiers were present in advance of the dinner the hall would eventually host. Tables had not yet been set up, though Astra could smell something being roasted in the nearby kitchens signifying that the room would be filled soon enough. At the other end, Virel Aerowlyn stood on the throne platform addressing men dressed in palace guard livery. It was Astra’s sister Luna who actually reclined on the main throne in a pose Astra knew to be concerned while attempting to look disinterested.

Luna spotted them first, though she barely acknowledged it and Astra received the distinctive feeling that her sister was now watching their father with interest. Astra could not help but smile a little; while her sister was amiable in nature, she watched the social makeup within the palace like raptors watched for mice. When the king finally took notice of his guests, Astra could see Luna’s eyes follow after him. “Welcome home, Astra,” Virel said.

Astra could hear everyone behind her bow or kneel, and she saw Nuit give a quick bow himself. Astra waited for the soldiers her father had been addressing to bow to her before nodding and dismissing them. “Father. Why the call-back? I promised to return by the first of December.”

Virel, all smiles before, dropped the pretense and his lips settled into a frown. Astra could not help but cringe at the beard her father had, as he only started growing one after her mother had been killed. Now all she could do is associate his bearded face with the displeasure he seemed to always look at her with. “You also promised you would be safe. Obviously, that is no longer true.”

“I would beg the opposite,” Nuit piped in, bowing again. “Between Lighleir and my own men, I would like to think the lady is extremely safe.”

Astra could make out the faint sigh Cyrus gave behind her, like he had been about to speak. She squeezed Nuit’s hand in thanks. Cy, you’ll hear no end of it from my father eventually, I’m sure. No need to walk headlong into it. “At no point in our journey did I fear for my life. My protection has been completely acceptable.”

“Even when escorting a village under attack?” Virel scowled.

“Especially then,” Astra said, glaring back. “I was much more concerned for the safety of hundreds over my own safety, like a good ruler should.”

“A good ruler also understands they must still be alive to protect their people.” Virel glanced to where the palace soldiers had exited the room. “It would have been simple enough to have sent word for soldiers in Temptress Cliff to deal with that.”

Astra huffed. “Only if Diranel would have sent any. Perhaps you should put different people in charge, or accept the Twilight Knights’ offer to patrol the northern borders for us.”

Virel’s frown deepened and Astra saw Luna purse her lips. Well, I apparently lost this one. The king motioned for Luna and then nodded toward the doorway leading to the eastern wing of the palace. “We will discuss that matter after dinner. You should catch up with your sister and get cleaned up before dining. I will send for you when it is time.”

Clenching her teeth, Astra followed after Luna silently. They left the hall and Astra glanced back to see her father cross his arms and make Cyrus approach the throne. Nuit then caught her eye and the prince gave her a reassuring smile.

“Lady Astra,” came the voice of Luna’s knight. Astra turned back almost to run headlong into Troyen Orlia’s sternum. Though ranking lower than Cyrus within the Heithai Valis order, the man looked every bit the quintessential knight with chiseled features and muscle almost bulging out from behind his mail. Most men did not even have the arm length to carry Troyen’s sword around their waist and be able to draw it; Troyen could near wield the huge weapon one-handed.

“Orlia,” Astra nodded. “Sorry, you can take us to my room.”

The knight nodded and led the way, his square shoulders slumping as he turned away. Astra shook her head. I’m not blind, sir giant. You’ve always had eyes for me and hated Nuit from day one. She kept those thoughts to herself and instead finally turned her full attention to her sister, who asked, “So how did it go?”

“Complete standstill. I think I have more questions than ever now,” Astra said.

Luna nodded, glancing around to check for eavesdroppers. Taller than Astra and equaling Cyrus’ height, she looked everything Astra herself did not feel: athletic, down-to-earth, and even less severe in appearance. While good looking, Luna had always come across as less aloof and more approachable as if her status had little effect on how people perceived her. While Astra enjoyed company and thrived among her peers, she was always aware that people perceived her as to be praised and elevated or desired and wanted. Astra thought Luna had fewer problems simply spending time among those she considered friends.

“How did father react to Cyrus’ injury?” Astra asked.

Luna gave a helpless shrug. “Afraid. I’m not sure your name can come up anymore without him looking worried. Hearing Nuit was with you while Cyrus recovered placated him a little, but he’s seen Cyrus in a scrap. Anything that can hurt an Eloa can hurt his daughter.”

They started ascending the stairs leading to Astra’s room. Astra put her hand on the runic key that signaled the doors to unlock. The sigil chimed faintly before fading away. “And if the queen of a country can be assassinated in broad daylight on the palace grounds, there really is no truly safe location for me to be. I feel no more in danger out there than I do here.”

“Least here you can sleep in your own bed,” Troyen piped in.

Luna grinned. “He makes a good argument.”

“You may be right,” Astra said as Troyen opened the door at the top of the stairs.

The knight’s point, however, was somewhat lost on Astra. Though comfortable and decorated to Astra’s tastes, her room felt no more her room than anywhere else she had stayed. Her secret space was in fact the only place she felt more comfortable in anymore, though she would never voice that fact before Troyen. Coupled with the fact that in a couple of months she would be in a different wing of the palace altogether in a room with Nuit left her own bedroom rather impersonal.

Dismissing Troyen until dinner—he would simply wait outside the door anyway, but Astra wanted to be alone with her sister—the two princesses flopped onto the foot of Astra’s bed, large enough that ample space still separated their sprawled limbs. Astra spotted the items she had purchased in Temptress Cliff across the room opposite the bed, beneath the sketch portraits of her friends and family residing on the wall. She noted the sword purchased for Luna was not present. “Get your birthday present?”

“Already on my wall,” Luna said with her head turned toward the balcony opposite the bedroom’s entry. Luna’s own magic was, similar to Cyrus’, constantly active and Astra supposed she was avoiding looking at her up close now to avoid what she might see. “So why don’t you tell me what is going on. Your messages did not give me any clue.”

“I’m not sure I have a clue,” Astra said.



Dinner had Cyrus noticeably absent; Astra thought that as Troyen and the other Heithai Valis, Sildan, not in evidence meant that Cyrus was catching up on current events and issuing orders to accommodate Nuit and his people. As angry and disappointed Virel Aerowlyn may be with the lead knight of the order, it was strict religious belief that Cyrus was the best for the job of maintaining the royal family’s safety. Although Astra herself only nominally believed in the tradition of sorcery heirs and their divine protection, she was glad in this instance that her father was significantly dogmatic in his views.

Unfortunately, it left Astra the only viable target of the king’s frustration. Though Nuit attempted to deflect focus onto him, Astra could still sense her father’s eyes on her when she was not looking. While Virel Aerowlyn never demonstrated any kind of magical talent, Astra was certain he had mastered the parental talent of silent disapproving glares detectable from fifty paces. The princess did everything she could to stray from the topic of her safety when Nuit was not; she introduced the elves and Tassoran to both her father and Luna, asked about local occurrences while she had been away, brought up the upcoming solstice and her marriage soon after. Though the last point succeeded in lightening her father’s mood for a short while, it was not long before he was once more voicing anger: if she were truly excited about the wedding, she should have come home much sooner to help with preparations.

If I’m going to actually do what you want me to do, you need to stop talking down at me. I can’t bend to your every whim and grow into the seat at the same time. To Astra’s disappointment, the elves and Tassoran only lasted a single meal course before excusing themselves, and Luna remained as silent and watchful as ever. Astra was elated when a messenger entered the room and took up her father’s attention with a matter apparently more important than scolding her for the fifty-seventh time in an hour.

Astra glanced across the table at Nuit and smiled, mouthing “thank you” for his support.

The prince shrugged and leaned forward, his voice dropping. “I am quite certain to have all of his attention after dinner is finished; he was eager to talk living arrangements earlier. I think I can spare you the rest of the night, so be sure you have your defenses lined out by morning.”

“I had days to prepare before, what makes you think another night will help?”

He smiled in the way that usually preceded her legs wobbling; thankfully she was seated this time around. “I believe in you.”

When Virel’s attention returned to the table, Nuit then brought up the same matter and the king agreed to accompany Nuit to quarters and make arrangements for the knights that would be moving to Aerowlyn with the prince. “I feel like I should get to know you, of course,” Virel told Nuit. “You will also be taking up the room that Astra’s mother once used as a study, and I thought you might be interested in hearing about what remains there.”

“Very much so,” Nuit said. “Astra speaks much of how she adored and admired her mother.”

The two left; escorted by the knights Nuit had on-duty, while the other two—Astra would have to start remembering their names—begged retirement to their own provided quarters. Just as the servants removed the Cordelyn knights’ plates and wares from the table, Cyrus and the other Heithai Valis entered, all looking a little surly. Her knight appeared pained more than angry, like he had been forced to walk a mile more than his feet could sustain; Troyen, over a head taller, looked like what Astra imagined an angry god appeared as; of Sildan, a middle ground between the two as he was taller than Cyrus by centimeters but had a comparable slender build, she could only see in the way his eyebrows furrowed and the stiff way he walked.

“Lord Aerowlyn and Prince Cordelyn have already left?” Sildan asked.

Astra nodded.

Cyrus was wincing faintly even before Sildan said anything. “It is good that I had a large meal in the midday, then,” he huffed. “Excuse me, I shall return to my duties.”

Astra watched the knight make his exit as Cyrus and Troyen took empty places next to the princesses at the table. She glanced at Troyen’s glowering face, then risked, “What was that about? He is completely free to have his meal before returning to duty.”

Troyen simply stuffed an entire slice of bread into his mouth; though considering his size, it was not an exaggerated action on his part. The fact that he did not answer Astra immediately like he often did before was more telling.

“It...has been difficult for Sildan while we have been away,” Cyrus said. He left his words to hang, though Astra thought it had less to do with a lack of organized thought and more with Troyen’s presence that he stopped.

“Well, now you’re here, and everyone can heap all the difficult things onto you again,” Astra said. She wondered if she kept the sarcasm out of her voice.

From the way Luna’s eyes fell shut and breath hissed, Astra rather doubted it.




Chapter 23
The Secret Hideout


Astra’s room, Cyrus thought, reflected a lot of the person residing in it.

The princess’ room was in direct contrast to his own: while spacious and well-kept, as befitting a person of Cyrus’ status, his room’s only real reflection of his personality was the large bookshelf that was propped on one wall. Otherwise, the place was bereft of clutter or even decoration, merely a storage space for clothing and war devices in addition to a bed to sleep in.

Astra’s room had no bare walls and plenty of furniture. A large rosewood bed still dwarfed by the size of the room was certainly the centerpiece. The bed’s headboard was against a wall lined with paintings depicting both dresses and nightwear, but it was not the pictures themselves that reflected Astra. You do love what is fashionable, but I think you overemphasize that aspect to force an impression on people. You have the pictures on the wall, but your closet is pretty spare of excesses. Opposite of that wall was both the entry to the washroom, closet, and then a large space part-vanity part-desk from where Astra both prepared herself for the day and studied if prompted to. That wall was decorated with sketches of the various people important in Astra’s life sans Nuit, who had yet to be added. Although she will be moving her room soon, and who knows if she’ll keep the artwork.

Weaving past the empty lounge chairs, Cyrus did not have any business with this room, however. Pausing only to pick up an oft-used bowstringer Astra had left on one chair and replacing it on a shelf, the knight pushed open the doors to the balcony and glanced about.

While the city could be seen from one corner of the balcony, the real focus from Astra’s tower was the waterfall. Feeding the palace grounds, it was light enough not to crowd the night air with a rushing noise, but was still enough to cast a shallow pool that eventually meandered toward the city. The wash eventually fed into the Aero River that bisected the rest of the city, the river itself also fed from other waterfalls nearby. Like the view of the city at night appearing like a cascade of stars falling to the earth, the river was held sacred as a flow from Astaraia herself, as no glacial runoff from the mountain itself could be found feeding the river.

Cyrus stopped to watch the palace-lit falls and listen to the spill. He thought of the days that were to come where he would no longer regularly bask in the falls. Astra and Nuit’s quarters were to be on the other side of the palace and Cyrus’ own room was well-insulated from the fountain sound. Really, the time for nostalgia is over. I can come see the falls at any time. He sighed, then sought the rightmost end of the balcony.

There was a small open space between the railing-edge and what at first glance appeared to be a wide ledge that ran the length of the palace walls between Astra’s tower and Luna’s. Though the towers themselves spanned many more stories above the palace beyond the connective structure of the palace, both princesses had taken rooms only halfway up the towers so as not to be further separated from each other or easy access to the common areas. Still, it was a far way from the balcony to the ground, and as Cyrus hopped over the railing and onto the ledge, he could not help the nostalgic feeling that always rose up to accompany that action. I know we created a cushioning ward below us before we did this, but, honestly, how brilliant were we to think spellwork made by children would hold up if tested?

Though the ledge appeared to connect directly to a wall, Cyrus stepped right into the face of the stonework and pushed through. The wall soaked up his body and he passed through what felt like a bubble that, instead of breaking, molded around his body and then sealed behind him when he was inside.

As a child, Cyrus had discovered this architectural oddity in the palace structure when reading through some old notes about the building’s construction. There was a gap between the top floor of the palace and the slanted roof that could be accessed by way of the balconies from Luna or Astra’s rooms; a mirroring gap could also be found on the western wing of the palace in the same position. As the palace had been partially rebuilt centuries prior, Cyrus had not been able to find out why such an area existed, as it served no architectural purpose nor was there some royal secret to its design, as the space led nowhere and had no simple access from elsewhere in the palace.

Now it served as a getaway.

With some labor, spellwork, and a lie here and there, Astra had slowly discarded furniture in her room and moved it to this space. By the time Cyrus had turned eight, they had a full living space. Bookshelves lined one wall, adorned with tomes, scrolls, and even toys and other items they had used as children. A rice paper privacy screen was in one corner and various rosewood chests the size of a bathing tub were next to it, filled to capacity with old clothing. A bed was right next to the barrier lip of the structure that separated the exterior ledge and “interior” maintained by the bubble, though it was merely a mattress with no frame. And a princess lay on the bed, sound asleep.

Cyrus smiled, set his blade down next to the bed and removed his boots, socks, and overtunic. Padding over to the bookshelf, he found the entire area dusted and cleaned; Astra had managed to clean before retiring. Cyrus rolled his eyes. You wanted to talk about what your father had to say, but you used up the last of your prana for cleaning. We really need to get your priorities straight. Though Cyrus often did not do the very porter-esque tasks usually required by Sorceress Knights—such as after having debarked the couatl earlier—he regularly did the mundane tasks Astra really should not have been bothered to do.

Carefully, Cyrus sat down next to the princess. He poked the palm of her outstretched hand, which twitched slightly and drew back toward her body, allowing him to settle in next to her.

Though he understood her desire to know what her father had said, he did not quite understand why she had come here if she was only going to fall asleep. I’m sure she would have had Nuit’s attention if she had sought him out. He doesn’t have late duties to attend to. After putting up with Troyen’s loud complaints over Astra’s safety while Cyrus had been injured and all of Sildan’s questions regarding the situation, Cyrus still had to reissue orders to the palace regulars regarding Astra’s presence, reconfigure the wards to accept Nuit and his escort’s presence, store all of the things he had brought on the trip, and double-check on his and Astra’s horses.

He thought Astra had probably been asleep before he had finished the wards.

Looking over the hideout, he shivered at the heavier implications. As children, discovering them here would have been an embarrassment and earned a scolding. As teenagers, it would be scandalous and could have earned Cyrus and his family a lot of trouble. Now, with Astra’s betrothed present and approaching the eve of their wedding, it was probably enough to get him killed. Okay, so perhaps I’m even more brilliant now than I was as a child.

Leaning over the princess, Cyrus thought of the dream he had for so long tried to forget about. Prior to his knighting, he had been forced to experience a similar vision that was so real and vivid he thought he could still remember the scent of a perfume Astra had used in the dream that she did not in the real world. For years he had dismissed it as much as possible, and now it felt like someone had rammed it into his head like an arrow shot. He snorted, then kissed Astra’s forehead. I hope you don’t think I’m here just because I’m in love with you, you know. I didn’t aim for this position just to be close to you.

Sometimes, though, he wondered if that was why he stayed around.



When Cyrus woke, the sun was beaming in through the false wall with the faintly pink light of horizon cresting. It caught Astra’s back perfectly as the princess was changing into different undergarments, and Cyrus took a deep breath to let her know she had an audience. Not that she usually cares.

Astra glanced over her shoulder and moaned, “This is adjusted way too tightly and I can’t get it off. Help.”

Snickering into a pillow, Cyrus motioned for her to move closer. When she sat down next to him he reached up and started pulling at the offending strap, pulling the adjustment out to give her right shoulder slack. “Grown since putting this on last?”

The pink highlights of the sun did nothing to help the pink highlights that started running up her neck. “After all the travel I’m pretty certain I lost weight. I have no idea what was the problem here.” When she could move her arm, Astra reached for a blouse set out on the end of the bed. “Any further comments on my chest size and you go flying past the balcony.”

“Just so long as that goes on my headstone. ‘Was bosom buddies with the princess to the very end.’”

When the princess had finished pulling on the top, she turned and crawled over Cyrus until he was trapped between her arms and legs. “So now, you tell me everything my father said.”

“Can’t we keep talking about the finer parts of your body?” He winced as she poked him in the sternum. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He started to make another joke but stopped at her even stare. “He was angry, certainly. He questioned my sincerity and dedication to the duty, as it is an ordained position and not particularly an earned one. Since the heavens cannot be questioned, my determination had to be at fault.” Cyrus understood the reasoning, though, as Virel was a deeply religious man: if Cyrus had divine powers to protect the royal family, and he failed at doing so, it was due to the man with the powers, not the powers themselves.

Astra’s lips pursed and her eyebrows dropped and although her hair stayed in exactly the same place, Cyrus could not help but think of a cat with its hackles raised. “Anything else?”

Cyrus sat up, forcing the princess back onto her knees and regarded her carefully. “He was just worried about your safety as always. He was impressed by your spellwork to look out for the villagers while we got them to Temptress Cliff, and between that and Lord Nuit describing the Nightmare King’s attacks and the steps you’ve taken to find a way to save everyone from the curse kept his attention until he dismissed me.”

“I wish you would stop defending him. He’s the senior; he can take care of himself.” Astra’s eyes dropped, however, and Cyrus could feel her thoughts drift to why her father was so protective. Four years on and Stella Aerowlyn’s death still hovered over everyone in the country, much less her husband and daughters.

Cyrus accepted everything Virel Aerowlyn criticized him for, even if they were incomprehensible complaints; Cyrus had been ultimately responsible for Stella’s protection and had not been able to stop the assassination. Virel had never quite forgiven him for the perceived failure on Cyrus’ part, nor the fact that Cyrus had been the only one present to witness her final breath. He’s also a grieving husband and I’m an easy outlet for his frustration. At least until you’re married, I don’t think it’s a problem to let him vent some of his anxiety on me. We will deal with it afterward if it hasn’t abated.

“Someday, Cy, you’re going to need to put yourself ahead of me and my family,” Astra muttered.

As they often did, Astra’s thoughts had gone from her own mother to Cyrus’ father Tyrest, who had died avenging Stella Aerowlyn’s murder. Cyrus thought it somehow fitting, that while both deaths had hurt their own children, Cyrus found himself more often concerned with the queen’s death while Astra would bring up Cyrus’ father at random times, as if trying to remind him to grieve. Someday, maybe, I’ll do that when you stop mirroring me. He reached up and started tying the collar laces to Astra’s blouse. “Well, once your safety can be put into Lord Nuit’s hands, you can bring that up again and we’ll negotiate. Although I certainly plan on spoiling your children whenever I get the chance.”

He had meant to bring that up, as the queen had always spoiled him as Astra’s playmate and son to two of her dearest friends. It had the wrong reaction from Astra, however, as she seemed to wilt from his touch and finished tidying her clothes herself. She then stood and looked off out through the barrier toward the eastern sky. “I should get to my room and ready for the day. Don’t be too late to breakfast; my father is sure to have a lot of work for us to do today.”

Astra stepped out through the barrier before he could respond, even leaving behind the sandals she had worn and braving the cold autumn stonework of her balcony barefooted. Cyrus sighed, glancing about the room and wishing he had said something else. The sunlight’s pink hue had given way for the full golden glory of morning, mocking his winning decision instead.




Chapter 24
Take the Floor


“Thus, I’m hiding,” Astra said.

The description was apt, as she stood between rows of mannequins displaying a variety of dresses, merely a bob of blond hair and the fringes of a skirt and boots visible from any angle. From elegant gowns with shimmering metallic threads to barely-there apparel of lace more appropriate for the bedroom, every dress was known through the city for having a faint glamouring spell that manipulated the eye into believing the wearer was slimmer than they actually were. It was the sarcastic flare that had caught the royal family’s attention when looking for a sorceress to train Astra, and the princess had found the dressmaker, Darcia, to be a kindred soul.

“In plain sight, so to speak,” Darcia said, brushing her hands along each dress in turn as she paced the display rows.

Many women in the courts of Mount Aerowlyn knew the princess frequented the shop, and Astra was content with their assumptions as to why she patronized the establishment. Another tool against your stupidity. Unknown to all but a few, Darcia’s true shop was hidden next door: a full sorcery laboratory full of items for dedicated spellweavers and their protectors. The dresses Astra used to mute her presence had all come from Darcia, as had the warding devices she and Cyrus had used while traveling.

“After wandering around for so long, I think I became spoiled by how nice it is to talk to a stranger and not have to worry about what they want from me.” Astra growled, as one dress in particular reminded her of one very annoying young noblewoman that was as stiff and uptight as a fully knotted corset. “Now all I hear is thinly-veiled ‘I expect this’ and ‘be sure to do that.’ I feel like electrocuting the entire hall.”

“And Cyrus?” Darcia asked, feeling her way to the end of one row and circling the displays to the next.

Astra sighed. “He just gives that smile and matches their fastidious tone and says nothing of it.” She took to playing with a quill pen like it were a weapon, imagining what it might be like to knife the next annoyance to come her way. “And they jab at him whenever they can, of course. Especially those that are from families with members in knightly service.” She growled again. “Everyone is blowing his injury out of proportion...in the wrong way, anyway.”

Darcia passed where the princess stood and snatched the pen out of her hand, replacing it on the countertop it had come from. “I do not plan on writing future letters in blood, princess.” She traced her fingers along the edge of the counter as she rounded it, and then sat up on the stool behind it.

Astra sighed again, her breath coming out shaky. With every day that passed since returning home, she felt herself becoming angrier, and not just because of the courtiers nipping at her heels. Seeing Cyrus act like that is starting to really, really get on my nerves. Now that she felt like she had truly seen into him—more than even his eyes could see into her—the conclusions she had drawn were gloomy.

“You might remove yourself from whatever thoughts disturb you enough to grit your teeth, as I will be having a guest momentarily,” Darcia said.
Astra glanced at the woman, then at the door to the shop as it opened. Shaking her head, Astra wondered when her sorcery talents would develop into passive awareness. Though Darcia’s were making up for a disability, the older woman had explained Astra’s own talents would develop some form of passive awareness somehow, though Astra herself was overdue for such a thing to occur. The person at the door then stole her thoughts. “Uncle Forlan!”

“Little Lady Astra,” the old dwarf said, giving a lopsided grin. “Already caved in from wedding preparations?”

Astra ran over to drop to her knees and gave Forlan a hug. “Only mostly,” she admitted, smiling.

Forlan was not her uncle, nor Cyrus’ uncle, though it was the knight’s habitual title for the dwarf that Astra had picked up on when they were little. An old friend of Tyrest Lighleir, he had worked as a quartermaster for the Twilight Knights and had opened a shop in Mount Aerowlyn when Tyrest had started a family. Now old due to his chosen life with humans, he hobbled on a cane and his hair and short-cropped beard were graying prematurely. “You should just electrocute everyone until they leave you alone,” he suggested.

Though she did not have magical ears, Astra could hear the almost-snort Darcia made and could easily imagine the grin that accompanied it. Darcia asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I just got an order in from Milasa Car and thought I would see if you might have some scabbards?”

Darcia motioned to the door behind her desk. “How many?”

“Thirty.”

Darcia nodded and traced her hands to the door. “Just a moment.”

Astra frowned, looking back to Forlan. “I haven’t heard anything since we left the knights some months ago. They’re in need of more arms than their regular smiths can handle?”

“Mm. The raiders in the mountains have been more aggressive and attacked settlements on both the Aerowlyn and Enralyn sides of the range. These raiders apparently have expensive and well-made equipment that keeps breaking the knights’ current arms.”

Cyrus and the others were crooning over the organization of these raiders. This shouldn’t be a surprise. Still, it annoyed her that she had not heard anything about this since returning to the capital. “Deaths?”

Forlan ran a hand through his hair. “None from Aerowlyn. Just the knights. Probably why nobody here cares.” Tapping his cane on the floor, the armorer shrugged. “I heard you had some run-ins of your own, princess. You shouldn’t be concerned about this. Irashin can take care of his own.”

“And my own...” Astra sighed.

They waited for Darcia to return while Astra brooded. Even her escape only brought her frustration. Unless the curse attacks start affecting more than a handful of people or the raiders are breaking down the city gates, nothing I say will move anything along. Not that I want that to happen. It was one of the reasons she felt frustrated, like the world was moving everywhere else while she sat still. I’m such a hypocrite...enjoying Nuit’s presence and complaining nobody else is doing anything.

“I know his answer, but pass along a message from Irashin to Cyrus for me,” Forlan said, leaning hard on his cane. “He knows that once you’re married and the Cordelyn prince brings in his own people, Cyrus’ current duties can be redistributed. He would very much like it if Cyrus reconsidered the job offer with the knights.”

Astra looked off, wishing she could see right through the walls to Cyrus’ location like he was able to do with her. “Yes, I’m sure I know his answer too. But I’ll relay it.”

Darcia came then, bringing lengths of leather, silk, and steel in her arms. Astra moved to take them from her blind teacher and handed one to Forlan. The dwarf examined the offered casing and nodded. “Perfect fit?”

“Of course.”

Smiling, Astra looked the device over. It appeared like a fairly standard sheath, but Darcia’s crafting would mean they would form to fit the weapon perfectly.

The princess thought of her knight, the imperfect sheath he lived in, and wished he would consider finding a better fit.

Perhaps then she would feel more comfortable where she was as well.



The dragon’s firelight creates greater darkness still.

Dust of candlelight, ashen darkness of dragonfire.

And a curtain is pulled, the story has ended...



Astra was not sure if she ever fully fell asleep. Comfortable, safe, Nuit’s arm around her, she had stared out the darkened windows of her bedroom for the longest time and could have sworn her dream was what actually existed beyond her balcony. The light of the city and the starry sky she knew existed beyond it blackened by fire, while the curtains of her room had been drawn.

Neither was true, though, and when she became aware of her dream, carefully pulled herself out of bed. She glanced back to find Nuit still asleep, though he made a little noise of complaint at the disturbance. The prince had been busy all day with her father talking about the various power-holding families in areas Nuit had toured, and then he had been sure to wait a proper amount of time to avoid the gossip around the palace in venturing up to Astra’s room.

Not that anyone particularly cared. Nuit was charming and already liked by everyone high and low in the palace. Talk behind his back was generally positive as far as Astra knew.

Astra found herself touching the drapes, drawn back from the windows and door onto the balcony as the late fall weather made protection from the sun unnecessary. The faint glow from the city was still off to one side and the princess could make out a few stars in the sky in the other direction. No flames burned, no ash permeated everything.

She wandered over to the vanity and thought of a different dream. Though it was too dark to see any detail in her reflection, all she could think of when sitting at it was the image of herself she had seen before, someone both not her and her. Astra was still not sure which one was the real one, though.

Once more, the passage of time hit her and Astra could not make out whether she had fallen asleep or not. But it was not long—or it was, and she took no notice—before light peeked through the windows and Nuit drowsily made his way to her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Astra shook her head, though only partially at the question. The image presented to her in the mirror was too similar, too different. Again, she could not tell which was more real, or if what she had seen before was even just her imagination now. What was real for Cyrus isn’t real for me...so did that even really happen? If my presence is in his psyche, does that make it real for me, since I technically wasn’t there? I just projected into his mind, I didn’t actually...

And now, that vision was closing on her, like she would no longer have anything to do with it. Fire burns everything away, and Cyrus is stuck in a pyrrhic happiness. Astra scowled and her mirror image glared at her.

“Feeling helpless?” Nuit pressed. When she nodded, he leaned down to put his chin on the crown of her head. It looked ridiculous in the mirror, like a two-person-two-gendered totem statue. “Join the party.”

Astra blinked up at him, or rather at his reflection. “You’re feeling helpless?”

“I told you, a long time ago, that in marrying you, I was going to forfeit the throne to my own kingdom,” Nuit said. He had explained this up-front when he had offered his hand in marriage years before, and that his status as Prince of Cordelyn was in name only. He was prepared to be a king, but would be bringing no political power to Aerowlyn in doing so. “Your news earlier disturbed me, and I had to sleep on it before I brought this up, but, well, here you go. I think I know who is responsible for the raids up in the mountains.”

“Who?”

Nuit matched Astra’s earlier scowl. “Me.” He shook his head. “And my family.”

“I don’t understand.”

Nuit gave a helpless shrug himself. “My younger siblings are very much a product of our father. Unlike your family, it has always been an unknown who he would take as a successor. He did not want to assume the role would go to me, the eldest, unless I was the most capable. By the time there were six of us, it was clear he intended to pit us against one another to determine who was worthy.”

Astra listened, growing more disturbed. She and her sister Luna were extremely close-knit and the idea of having to compete in any fashion with her made her shiver. Nuit, on the other hand, she knew, had multiple siblings and half-siblings. “How?”

“Giving us political power in small increments and seeing what we did with it. How savvy we could be with resources, how much those under us responded to our leadership.” Nuit stood back up and allowed Astra to turn and look at him directly. “I told you I got sick of the politics where I was raised.”

“So what does this have to do with the fighting up north?”

“The organization these raiders have resembles strategies my brother Juron favors. The news that the Twilight Knights were losing equipment made me wonder, because Juron’s resources include a great deal of refined materials for weaponsmithing and the like. He’s also extremely ambitious and suspicious: if he thinks I am coming here to have an entire country at my disposal, he may consider it my way of securing both this country and my home at the same time.”

Astra bit back on the instant question, Are you? and regarded her husband-to-be carefully. Nuit was certainly calculating, probably more than Cyrus was capable of thinking ahead, though even Cyrus had stated all he could see from Nuit’s star was sincerity. “What do you intend to do?”

Instead of answering, Nuit met Astra’s eyes and said, “I know why you traveled. You had visions.”

Astra gaped at him.

“I know...because I have them too.”

Stars exploded before Astra’s eyes, and not the ones Cyrus saw either. This just came like lightning out of the blue sky and Astra had no response. She had intended to tell Nuit of what she saw, but she had never found the right situation.

Nuit went on, and Astra thought that he had been preparing this himself for a long time. “The Cordelyn Royal Family does not have the same bloodline power as your own does, but, it is not completely unheard of, to have such visions. I doubt that mine are as strong or as vivid as yours.” He closed his eyes and swayed in place. “But I can see it, when I concentrate hard enough, when I least expect it, in my dreams. A darkness...real danger, true destruction...and only a single light before it.”
Astra stared at him and she had to remember to close her mouth. “Yes, that’s exactly the same.”

As if in a trance, Nuit continued. “But the light goes out...and the darkness overcomes. It terrifies me, like the darkness consumes me, like a monster, an all-seeing dragon or beast that I cannot fight against.” He opened his eyes, and perhaps for the first time, Astra finally saw the same intensity behind a stare that Cyrus described in her when she was thinking about her vision. “You understand, don’t you?”

As she was still stunned by this revelation, Astra was not sure what exactly he was referring to. But she nodded, as no other response came to her.

“We have these dreams because we are that flame.” He paused, then corrected, “I do not mean literally. But, those like us. Those with strength and courage both, and those that are in some position to do something. To stop it from happening.”

That makes sense, but... Astra could not quite put all the pieces together, her head still swimming.

“Did it ever occur to you why specific people have been attacked, with the curse? Why the victims seemed so random? Forget for a moment the resources, the limited number that one could theoretically cast the spell on a weapon.”

Though she felt dizzy trying to absorb his statements, Astra could not help but consider the fleeting thoughts she had before on motivations for the curse. “You think, they...just those people...”

“Yes,” Nuit said, as if reading her mind. “Each victim was a threat. To a greater or lesser degree, they might have had the same vision. I wonder if the visions themselves are not more widespread, more prevalent than just us. It comes clearest to you only because of your lineage and foreknowledge on the subject.”

Astra leaned back far enough in place to feel the edge of the vanity digging into her back. She wanted to ask, Why didn’t you bring this up before? but the answer was clear in her mind.

The same reason she had not told him everything.

Nuit knelt down next to her and took her hand. “This is why. Why I fight. Why I came to you, was drawn to you. I hate the word destiny, but, it is so.” He pursed his lips. “I think my family is part of the problem. Juron brings battle to our doorstep, and the Nightmare King does everything to keep those with the ability to do something. Perhaps even punishing them for their dream-visions with the curse, just to be a bastard on top of it.”

Astra felt her fingers twine with his before she realized she was doing it. “What do you plan to do?” she asked again. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I will do anything to stop that spread...Juron, the curse, anything else lurking out there. To keep that light from going out.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead to hers. “To keep you from going out. If we are that light, we’re going to protect it. Protect you.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll figure out what to do together, and take charge when we figure it out.”




Interlude
Winter Solstice


Astra was so busy frowning at the letters that the knock at the door went unnoticed.

Sighing, Cyrus drew his blade and crept up on the princess. His approach still unnoted by the young woman, he jabbed the point of his weapon into one of the papers stacked next to her despondent elbow and drew it away from the pile.

“Hey!” Astra cried, finally noticing her attacker.

Cyrus made a noise somewhere between a snort and gag, his eyes scanning the pilfered sheet before he held his blade out as far from his body as possible. “I thought it looked dangerous, with how much you were glaring at them.”

Astra’s frown deepened but her body seemed unwilling to comply with any frustration, sagging over the desk even further. Her head hit the dark wood with a louder-than-sounded-safe thunk. “You get to mend that if you punctured anything important.”

“They are actually requiring you to write each one of these?” Cyrus stared at the skewered invitation as if waiting for it to grow teeth and pounce. “Is that why you have not left your room in the past sixteen hours?”

Her replying moan was muffled by the sleeves of her dress as she curled her arms around her head. “Sixteen hours? I barely finished half!”

Cyrus shook his head, glancing at the desk: at least two hundred letters like the one he had maimed were piled to Astra’s right, while another pile of untouched parchment was stacked to her left. An empty plate and goblet sat off to the side—clearly the remains of her last meal—and an empty inkwell lay on its side beside that. Her current inkwell looked about two-thirds empty and her fingers twitched around the pen in her hand, clearly tired. “You do not have a spell to scribe for you?”

“That would require more food in my body and joy in my heart than I currently have the capacity for,” came the muffled reply.

“You cannot have someone write them for you, then sign afterward?”

One gray-blue eye peeked out at him. “For distant leaders, that had to suffice since invitations went out weeks ago. But for the local courts, I am obligated to speak directly to each person individually, as I will be dealing with them directly soon enough. I must reestablish our personal connections, however impersonal they may be.”

Cyrus put his hands on the princess’ shoulders and squeezed gently. “It is time for you to sleep,” he prodded. “Especially if that is all you have been doing the past day and half the night.”

“What about—”

Smiling, the knight pulled his charge from the desk and guided her toward the closet before giving her a light shove in. “You find your sleeping gown and get some rest. I will write the invitations.”

There was some rustling from inside the closet—but Cyrus was happy to see that she was nonresistant to his suggestion, clearly rifling through to choose one. “You believe you can match my handwriting?”

“I spent nearly eleven years schooling with you. I am sure I can manage.”

“Let it be known, then, that this forgery is out of my hands and that it was completely the fault of a rogue knight while fair princess was sleeping,” Astra said.

Cyrus replaced the damaged letter on the desk and read through it, absently setting his blade aside and pulling the next sheet of parchment out. Testing his forgery skills out, he copied the letter as best he could, then held them up side-by-side to compare once he was through and turned to look at Astra once she was changed and ready for bed.

The princess nodded. “It looks very convincing.” She paused and gave him a dubious look. “Are you really going to spend the whole night doing this for me?”

“I slept most of the day after reorganizing the guard positions for the wedding. It is still morning to me.” He smirked up at her. “You, on the other hand, are swaying in place.”

Leaning down to kiss his cheek, Astra gave him a stern look. “Wake me in eight hours for certain.”

“I will.”

Frowning once more at the stack of unfinished letters, Astra retreated to her bed, and it did not surprise Cyrus to hear her breathing slow in deep sleep before he was done with the next letter.



It was not Cyrus that woke Astra—her own internal clock must have alerted her as she found herself waking without a prompt. Eyes cracking open, she made out that it was probably around eight hours later regardless; the position of sunlight on the wall put it still relatively early in the morning.

Once wakefulness had reached Astra enough that she could focus on her other senses, she could make out the sound of pen on parchment and realized Cyrus was still at work on her wedding invitations. Remembering the other person in the room, she had to fight against the early morning sensitivity wakefulness brought her and the odd longing for intimate contact that washed over her.

Of course, it always helped that Cyrus could pick up on her consciousness and startle her out of hormonal urges. “I am almost finished with the letters,” he said, making her jump a tiny bit.

When her morning-fogged mind cleared enough to process more than the oh-I-hope-he-didn’t-detect-what-I-just-felt thoughts, she almost dizzied herself by sitting up so fast. “Finished?!” she cried, looking to the desk to indeed find only a half dozen parchments now rested in the to-do pile.

Grinning over his shoulder at her, he motioned to the pile of finished letters he had made. “You will have to go over them, of course, to make sure they sound and look right, but I believe they should work to your satisfaction.”

Flinging blankets and comforters aside and ignoring the winter chill leaking into the room, the princess strode over to look over the letters in question and could only stare in shock upon finding them well-forged and well-written. “How? You had to copy my handwriting, so you must have been slower at composing everything.”

“We both know that while you are better with words, I am the better scribe and scholar.” His grin was bordering on insufferable now. “Singing and speaking voice you may have, but you would be singing my tune.”

Once again, Astra hoped Cyrus could not detect such specific details when he glimpsed their emotional states as his choice of words had a few thoughts running through her head. She pushed that aside and looked dubiously at the remaining letters Cyrus had yet to compose. “True as that may be, I have a hard time believing that you managed nearly the same number I did in half the time.”

He shrugged in return. “Perhaps I had more motivation to finish them than you did.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well...” Cyrus turned around in the seat and looked up at the princess in honest. “I called in some favors before coming here so that your next scheduled appointment—rehearsal for the marriage poem and incantation—would be canceled, since I know you already have the incantation memorized. I thought perhaps I could take you into town for the first day of the solstice festival since you cannot attend any other day.”

Blinking, Astra said, “This is true, and it has been a few years since I have attended one, but...” she put her hands on her hips, “aren’t you tired from staying up all night?”

“I told you last night, I slept prior to coming here. What I could go for,” he said, grinning, “is some food and candy from the festival stands.”

“I suppose I would be paying?” Astra said, but she was starting to smile as well.

“I did just do nearly half of your work for you.”

“A valid argument,” Astra said. Putting her hands to his shoulders, she leaned down and pressed her lips to the top of his head. “Finish up the last ones while I bathe and change clothing, and we will go find something to eat at the very least.”

“Yes ma’am.”



An hour later had Astra freshly bathed and clothed in a dress and cloak suitable for the winter’s bite. Cyrus motioned to the finished pile of invitations, and upon receiving an approving nod from his charge, herded her to the door and through the palace to the waiting city.

Mount Aerowlyn was, despite the weather, jubilant and energetic with people excitedly milling through the snow-packed city streets and converging on the city blocks near the river. Children ran about, munching on sweetened bread or throwing snow at each other; some of the older boys were dueling with sticks and imitating the knights they looked up to. Cyrus had to carefully decline in playing with them, lest he hurt their feelings...or be attacked regardless.

The festival was in full glory by the time the pair made it to the grounds: primarily congregated on the bank between the river divergence, the streets—usually full with horse and foot traffic—was lined with temporary stands full of games or selling food. On the east side—where clear areas next to the temples regularly went unblemished—now were temporary eating establishments with the orange and red glows of cooking fires bleeding out onto the packed snow next to the riverbank. Cyrus and Astra had to pass by open stalls full of traditional dress which lined the western bank.

“Is your mother going to perform this year?” Astra asked as they crossed one of the west bank bridges.

Cyrus shrugged, moving aside as two kids blindly ran past him with sugar canes in their mouths. “I believe not. My guess would be that Novalis is going to perform in her stead this year.” Novalis was, though not blood-related, Cyrus’ younger sister. After Cyrus had joined the ranks of the knighthood and his father had passed away, Liria Lighleir had taken on a young girl as an apprentice storyteller. The girl, Novalis, had been orphaned years before, and had bonded with Cyrus’ mother so fast it had quickly been arranged for her to be adopted.

“I see,” Astra said. Though Cyrus had little contact with Novalis, the girl did seem to very much admire Cyrus; Astra always thought herself unwelcome when Novalis was around, though, as the young bard-in-training seemed to despise the princess. For all the same reasons I despise me. Her eyes wandered to one of the dresses out on display with a distinctive metal thread woven through to display a wind and morning glory flower motif. “We should attend if she performs tonight.”

While she was distracted, Cyrus slipped the flower he had been hiding into her hair, causing the princess to reach up momentarily to grasp at his hand in surprise. “Been waiting to do that all morning, have you?” she asked, glancing over to him.

“Well, it was rare enough...”

When he refused her hands from pulling the flower out, she reached for the shawl that Darcia had provided her for outings such as this, palming a mirror to look at herself. “Cyrus...” she whined, carefully brushing her fingertips along the pinkish tips of the red azalea, “when did you get this?”

Grinning, Cyrus swatted her hand away from prodding. “A moment ago. We passed a flower vendor I know and had already spoken to. They mean patience in Rokamuran flower arrangement and you have certainly been patient these past few weeks.”

Astra sighed, but could not help the faint blush that crept up her cheeks. Although Cyrus knew it could be attributed to the cold, the faint glimmer of embarrassment that flickered deep within her said otherwise. “Well, thank you. It is very beautiful.”

“So, are you hungry first, or do you want to brave the shops first? Or the arcade?”

“It is funny to hear you so excited over this,” Astra said, starting down the path toward the food stalls, “since you were always so sedate when we went to festivals before.”

Eyes roaming about, Cyrus shrugged. “It has been years since the last time I went to one, and that was just after being knighted. Every person in a five kilometer radius wanted to congratulate me, leaving me no time to do much at all.” He smiled slightly. “Not that I should complain for such a thing, but when you just have the urge for curl bread and cotton candy...”

Astra beamed. “That is what I want right now. Some curl bread with the melted cheese.”

“Ah, the subtext of my explanation worked.”

Glaring playfully at him, Astra led them over to one such stand selling the prized food.

The young man that served them smiled at the princess but was polite and left her to her privacy. They then went two stalls down to a fruit drink mixer, who likewise took notice of his customer but simply bowed once before going about mixing their orange drinks. Hands full of their snacks, the two started wandering the direction of the performing stages that had been erected near the front of a couple of the temples. They had to dodge children running about, some with food themselves, others throwing snowballs or stick fighting, using festival attendees as shields.

Neither of the stages was performing anything of interest, and after asking around Cyrus found that Novalis was performing at sundown later in the day. So they wandered back toward the arcade area, Astra sneaking some of Cyrus’ dipping cheese when he was not looking. Proving himself as inept at the arcade games as he was when they had been twelve, they wandered to some of the exhibition booths empty-handed.

“If you ever plan on bringing another girl here, you need practice,” Astra said, snickering.

Cyrus sighed, shaking his head. “It was rigged, I’m telling you.”
“Excuses.”

“I thought this was supposed to be for me. I’m the one that suggested this. Why am I suddenly the one at work?”

Astra smirked, leaning into his arm. “You should just give up thinking you ever get free time with me.”



It was intangible, the place between sleep and wakefulness. Lately, it became more and more blurred to Astra, leaving her wondering where one began and the other ended. Because her dreams of late were not of the vision, she sometimes wondered if she were still sleeping as she looked up at her companion, his eyes never leaving hers. He spoke not; simply watched her, waiting for her mind to catch up with her senses. She remembered the festival, remembered returning to the palace, retiring to their hideout as it was late and nobody was waiting on them.

“What?” Astra whispered, once she knew that it was indeed morning and she was awake.

The light in his eyes flickered, and for a moment she wondered if it was the reflection of her own soul-star she saw or if she ever managed to see through to his own like bards all over the world sang one could. “What do you dream of?” he asked. “When you’re not having visions?”

Her lips curled faintly. “Normal things, mostly. Going to school. Eating foods I like. Talking to people.” She rolled slightly so her words were not as muffled by the pillow. “Sometimes the places we’ve been to. Sleeping.”

Cyrus smirked at that. “You dream of sleeping.”

“Hey, it’s amongst my favorite things to do.” She made sure to add a pout to that statement.

“What else?”

“Just things. Usually all mundane...simple things.”

He watched her intently. “But?”

The pout faded from her lips and she sighed, sitting up to address him properly. The thought had already passed through her mind and she knew that Cyrus was aware of her discontent. It sometimes annoyed her how well he could see what only flashed through her own head for a moment. “I always have the impression they are the sort of things Luna will someday have. Because every one of these dreams...I’m not in any position of great responsibility. No meetings with the powerful and elite, no strategic planning, no posing for crowds. They are all…as it was before.” She waved a hand in the general direction of where his heavy boots and blade lie. “Before you were a knight. Us just...having what we did yesterday.”

“I see,” he whispered, and she knew he meant more than the dreams.
Astra looked down and found the flower that had been in her hair next to her hand on the bed. “It was the last time, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Silent for a moment, Astra regarded the flower, picked it up to look at it. Whatever preservatives had been keeping its color was wearing off, though it had yet to go dry and brittle. Looking up at Cyrus, she smiled, then reached up and curled her hand around his neck, pulling him closer and pressing her forehead against his. She smiled because the alternative was to cry.

“I don’t want this to leave this behind,” she said, finally.

“Neither do I.”

She looked at him, a little startled; surprised that he would admit so. “You’ll be here for me, right? Every night, I just want to be here, for a little while.”

Cyrus nodded, and with that, they withdrew from one another to get ready for the day. Astra went to put the shawl she had brought in around her shoulders, then crawled up behind Cyrus as he put his boots on. Wrapping her arms around him completely, she pressed her cheek to his shoulders.

“I’m scared,” she whispered.

She felt his hands come up to hold hers; eventually pulling them up to his lips and he whispered something against them she couldn’t hear.




Chapter 25
Shroud of Waking


“So, should we see if Alisia wants to come for the wedding?” Elreia asked.

Cyrus shrugged. “I’m sure she has other things to do, but if she’s free, she is certainly welcome to come. Both of you as well, if you are allowed.”

The elves were packing supplies onto horses, ready to take off for their homeland and their original station. After sending word to the Midnight Eyes leadership, they were asked to return and await instructions, so Cyrus had provided them with mounts and food for their travel. The horses seemed less-than-happy about the arrangements, though, as the first winter snow had fallen and they had been taken from their warm stables and daily meals. Elrodan had to constantly move between the two animals and calm them with petting and offered handfuls of grain.

“Thank you, though I rather doubt it,” Elreia said. “The new wave of fighting up in the mountains has Enralyn rather concerned. Normally the Eyes keep only a token team there, but...” She gave a smirk. “The Twilight Knights are sometimes too effective. Those raiders might decide the forests are the easier, less costly target. We’re going to have our hands full.”

Cyrus nodded. Though the Enralyn houses were generally friendly to Aerowlyn in particular, the fact that these raids were human-driven probably had at least a few hackles raised.

Elreia handed the last pack to her brother, then took Cyrus by the arm and pulled him closer. “Listen, we’ve been keeping an eye on Tassoran insofar as we could. He’s been careful to dodge our shadowing, though. I think you still need to watch for him, because now I’m not fully trusting either.”

“Have you told your group leader or Alisia about his behavior?” Cyrus did not like the idea of tattling, though considering the brutal efficiency Tassoran demonstrated with enemies, it was a serious consideration.

The woman nodded, and her jaw set in a way that kept any further amusement from her face. Cyrus, unfamiliar with elves for the most part, had heard their longer lives contributed to sharper, more contrastive expressiveness. Perhaps that’s why Elrodan is so easy to understand.

“We haven’t heard back from Alisia yet,” Elreia said, “and our regional leader doesn’t seem concerned by it, though, so Tassoran is supposed to stay here looking for signs that the cult is following your princess.”

Though even if he found signs, would he tell us? Cyrus thought of the would-be assassin that had attacked Astra when they were ferrying between cities and how Tassoran had executed the one they had captured. Though he had not been awake for it, Cyrus also knew Tassoran had done something similar to the entire crew of the ship that had waylaid them on the eastern coast. That was in addition to all of the avoidance he did when they were citybound; even now, Cyrus had only seen the man three or four times in the seven weeks since they had returned, even though he had been given a room in the palace until he was reassigned. Assuming he himself isn’t somehow a part of this. Though there was no such evidence, Cyrus had a hard time believing Tassoran did not have something invested in this more than just professionalism.

Cyrus did not understand Tassoran, even when seeing; what he saw instead seemed closer to the traditional sense of a nightmare, and though it did not scare Cyrus in appearance, it bothered him that it could be related.

“Just keep your guard up,” Elreia said. “If we hear from the Captain I’ll let you know immediately, if she doesn’t just forward her orders straight here.”

“Thank you.”



The departure of the elves marked the first major change in events since returning to the capital; Cyrus had otherwise been stuck rearranging guard detail around the palace, talking strategy with military commanders regarding the raid rumors to the north, or accompanying the elves into the city for any news on the cult. The latter had proven fruitless, as it seemed the cult had been keeping a low profile since the fight on the coast. The former two, though, had proven long and frustrating, though not completely due to the topics at hand.

If the other knights were not jabbing Cyrus for being wounded on the job, they were insinuating he was having an affair with Astra. Cyrus was used to such stories, but dealing with them in place of real issues always frustrated him. Once upon a time, he had regularly used his knowledge of the palace and various chemicals and devices to play elaborate pranks on the various hard-headed ones in the court, but now he thought it rather hypocritical to be resorting to such measures. Before, it had been amidst a peaceful world, but now, people were dying or in real danger.

And he dared not bring it up to Astra. The princess had two feelings on officials that acted that way: vague annoyance and absolute rage. She had been the one to start Cyrus on the road to such pranks, but now, if he distracted her too much with the little occurrences about the palace, he thought Astra might lose it. And with three weeks to go until the wedding, I don’t know if she’d even recover. While not an easily-depressed person by any stretch of the imagination, Astra was prone to bouts of frustration and melancholy when too many things came up at once.

The light snow that had started shortly before the elves departed had built up enough to re-bathe the shoveled areas in a dusting of white. Cyrus regarded the city from the palace gates, the distant sounds of the still-ongoing solstice festival an oddly counterbalanced murmur of warmth. I wonder if I should be happy that everyone is in high spirits and ignorant to the dangers outside this city, or sad that they are so unaware. And now Astra will have no time to look into matters herself, directly. He shook his head, grinning, but feeling rueful. Of course, I bet it would not take much to have me deployed to look into it all. Everyone seems quite content to remind me how bad I am at the protection business.

He absently ran his hand along the guard of Aleraynic, allowing it to catch along his glove, before setting off into the city. He had an appointment with the Astaraia Temple on that topic, as both the healers and local priests wanted to make sure his wound was healing fine. My station, this blade, it all has me appointed higher than any Sorceress’ Knight in generations, but there haven’t been any failures to protect the royal family like mine since times of war. Only the strict adherence to religious belief that the Hethai Valis were divinely appointed kept the naysayers at bay now.

The sounds of the city grew in pitch as he made his way to the temple, not far from where the festival was occurring. Cyrus wondered if he should stop by again and try to catch his family about, but something in him urged against it. The thought of answering any further questions about the trip earlier was not something he wanted to deal with at the moment, and though he had sent a letter to his mother regarding his injury, he was certain she would want more information. And the festival will still be going for another ten days yet. I’ll get to it eventually. Aerowlyn celebrated the solstice for a good two weeks before ending the night of the solstice itself, a constant excuse to feast on the year’s harvest and sell one’s trade before the religious ceremonies that accompanied the first day of the New Year.

I wonder if Astra will try and have me ejected from my position then. She still feels guilt over my own damn choices and everything she saw in that cursed vision only has her more upset. Cyrus stomped on the ground to knock snow off his boots as he approached the temple and made it under the overhangs of the entryway. I can tell she’s plotting something, and I’ll have to figure out a countermeasure that will placate her.

“The very thing that makes you capable as a protector is also the very thing that hinders your abilities.”

Tassoran stood before him just within the temple; Cyrus had not detected his presence until he was right in front of the man, so intent on considering his predicament with Astra. Glancing about, Cyrus could now see the various presences within the temple, all much more distant than they ought to be. He turned back to the white-haired ranger and the...thing...he saw within. “What have you done?” Cyrus ground out.

“We need to talk, and it needed to be undisturbed.” The man turned back into the temple proper and the worship fountain within. “All who step within the boundaries of this building besides we two will have the uncontrollable urge to sleep within the goddess’ embrace for a while.”

Snarling, Cyrus drew his blade. “I’ve had enough of this.”

The knight charged in after Tassoran, who turned in place and drew his own sword, swinging with the same motion. Cyrus dove beneath the swing and brought his right arm up, the steel gauntlet he wore slapping against the flat of Tassoran’s weapon and moving it higher. He brought his other hand up to swing in with Aleraynic and catch Tassoran unguarded—

Tassoran hummed in satisfaction.

Cyrus saw the intent almost too late, bringing his blade straight up instead, catching Tassoran’s wild swing. Steel clattered against steel and Tassoran’s sword went ballistic over Cyrus’ shoulder.

Had Cyrus not redirected the weapon, it would have flown right out of Tassoran’s hand, up toward the balcony overlooking them, and up to where Cyrus could sense a presence. You’re using them as hostages now?!

Tassoran’s smirk, despite now being unarmed, was one of genuine—if not wholesome—happiness. Cyrus brought Aleraynic up to its original target at Tassoran’s neck, though the man would not stop. “What the hell are you—”

The ranger interrupted him. “No, Cyrus, the question is, what are you doing? Playing reactionary like that, always on the back foot, allowing your opponent to make moves before responding. Even your concerns with Astra are in reaction to her feelings.”

“So you did this just to make a point?!” Cyrus reached up with his free hand, grabbed Tassoran’s collar, stepped around one leg, and threw the man to the floor. “What’s your game?!”

Tassoran lost his expression, and when his lips relaxed from a smirk, Cyrus felt a sense of dread crawl up his skin. Tassoran’s narrow face, the beard and sharp eyebrows, all of it made him look very cold when he was not showing amusement. “I am not making a point. I am testing a theory.”

“And you would risk lives to test it?”

“Cyrus, I think the way you see the world has you blind to one thing: lives are always at risk, whether it is in drawing a sword in one’s direction or never once threatening bodily harm.” Tassoran sat up, ignoring the blade Cyrus held near his throat. “You are too much of a reactionary to understand. The still waters may reflect what is above them, but you seem to have forgotten that they are also transparent and show what is beneath.”

Even though he was still unsure where this was going and still angry with the ranger’s casual use of life, Cyrus felt he still had to respond to this philosophical comment, esoteric it may be. “What is beneath is distorted, though.” He could not help but think of his own nightmare—his own dream—and feel the frustration and anger with himself from it.

“Yes, Cyrus, it is,” Tassoran pushed the blade away, clearly knowing the knight would not harm him unduly. “But so is what it reflects from above.”

Somehow, Cyrus felt, he had lost this brief skirmish with those words.

“Now then.” Tassoran stood and brushed himself off, turning back to the worship fountain. “We need to talk, about what happens after Astra is married.”

As the image of Astaraia to the religious of Aerowlyn was likened to a spiral stairway of stars that tumbled down toward the earth, temples used a fountain with streams of water that spiraled downward to reflect that image. Cyrus wondered if all this talk of water and reflections were not all related to the place they were in. “Just what are you talking about, ‘what happens’?”

“To you, and to Astra.”

Cyrus sighed. “You mean, how are we going to help you search and investigate, both the raids up north and the cult?”

“No.” Tassoran glanced about, as far as Cyrus could tell, in the direction of every person within the confines of the temple, still unconscious by whatever means he had crafted. “As I said, life is always in danger. I ultimately care little about either of those issues.”

Cyrus snorted. “Yet you ‘care’ about what Astra and I will become? If that’s your transparency, it certainly is distorted.”

Tassoran’s expression did not change, but Cyrus could see the shift in attitude, the confusing flashes within his presence. The change was odd, though, because something about it screamed delighted to him. “Yes. It certainly is.”



Cyrus returned to the palace late and had to interrupt the already-ongoing meeting between King Virel and Prince Nuit over the taxes that would be gathered concurrently with the observance of New Years.

The king, a man not unlike Nuit in appearance—dark hair and a deep chest that gave him a strong presence—looked annoyed in a way that only he could: without any change of expression but eyes that followed the guilty like a hawk. “Lord Lighleir, you are late.”

Bowing, Cyrus took up his place at the table across from Sildan, the Sorcery Knight that was assigned to shadow the king. Though Sildan was lower in ranking, he still looked vaguely annoyed as well at Cyrus’ tardiness. “My apologies. The examination at the temple took longer than I expected.” He paused and glanced at the empty seat where Astra was supposed to be. Though he knew she would be absent before entering the room—he could sense her presence up in the hideout room—he still feigned surprise and asked, “Is the Lady not joining us?”

“She was feeling stressful earlier, so I suggested she retire early,” Nuit said.

Though the king did not say anything, Cyrus could see the happiness in his star with how the prince was considerate of his daughter’s wellbeing.

“Anyway, the question I had,” Nuit said, “was why the tax is greater with tradesmen. Those that operate out of their homes are still behest in the same way as...”

Cyrus paid attention with half an ear, as tax issues were not actually something he had neither helpful knowledge on nor interest in. He was required to attend because it was relevant to the military, but ultimately it affected his job in no personal fashion.

Instead, all he could think of was what Tassoran had to say, and the wordplay-riddles he seemed so happy to spring on the knight.

Reflect from above, view from below, but either way is distorted.

He hated feeling this way, but, ever since waking from that dream, Cyrus had fought off this nagging sense that something in him had fundamentally changed. Before, everything had been so clear to him, more like viewing the world through a pane of glass than through the mirror-like surface of water.

Like my eyes are shrouded, covered by something I can still see through, but...

More than anything, it felt to the knight as if—

Night had come, but he had yet to go to sleep, where he belonged.


----

Well, that's it for this draft. If anyone wants to know the rest of the story I can talk about it. I've got everything planned out and "outlined" so to speak, including how the premise of this story series is sort of a leap-frog idea that we don't really focus on the same characters. Knight of the Princess focuses on Cyrus and Astra, the next story would focus on Luna, the story after that focusing on a character that shows up in Luna's story, and so on.

[Techlet]

Nice. Your setting's comprehensive and your characters are lovable (Astra~ :3). Which is great since I see this as being mostly a character driven affair.

[Arashi_Leonhart]

Pretty much. It slowly opens up to be gradually more epic: this story is completely built up on the whole knight-princess-dragon dynamic in folk lore and all, but Luna's story is centered around a local war, the story after that jumps to a different location and a civil war, after that a larger war again. But I prefer to have limited numbers of characters and really establishing them before expanding. The next draft of this is eliminating the elves from this because their presence really was just to establish "my elves are different!" and I can do that elsewhere.

But yeah, all character driven hopefully. Astra trying to figure out what she wants, Cyrus trying to stop being codependent on her.