Chapter 3

Ayana’s eyes wandered across the sky as she lounged on the balcony. Unyielding clouds entombed the world in their harsh clutches, a thousand shades of gray painted on the heavenly canvas.

Servants milled about the grounds, some laboring in the orchards, some tending to the stables. A few miles to the west, the Black Citadel rose toward the sky, surrounded by snow covered rooftops that glimmered under the morning sun. Argent, a city that even the winter god Isei Ilvi could not make any more gloomier.

It was almost four weeks since Lucien had told her about the Emperor’s decree. It wouldn’t be long before they tracked her down.

They had come for her once before, and if not for Lucien… She pushed away the memory, before it brought back more unpleasant ones.

Ayana turned her gaze to the far horizon.

Years back, during the winter eves spent sitting by the crackling fires with her tribe, Keîn Záka had often narrated tales of an ancient goddess that had come to their great continent. With her cruel generals, she had laid waste to a hundred empires and slaughtered a thousand kings. Until one day, the generals had turned on her.

“They sealed Bia Ilvia in a crypt,” Keîn Záka had said, the shadows dancing on his face. “Before they could put an end to her for good, one of the generals stole away the crypt. Ilirion was his name. The others did not take kindly to his betrayal. They cut him into nine pieces and tossed him into the sea. They searched for the crypt, but never found it.” He had thrown a block of wood into the fire, making sparks fly. “Bia Ilvia will come to reclaim our great continent once again, awakened by the progeny of her one loyal general.”

Several years after, on that terrible day, a dying Keîn Záka had told her the truth about her lineage.

She wasn’t one of them.

Her blood mother had brought her to Isouvien from their razed home in Valenta. The Emperor’s assassins had slaughtered the last of their family, believing them to be Ilirion’s descendants, but her mother had somehow managed to escape with the infant Ayana. She had delivered her into the care of the Azerian tribe before drawing her last breath.

Ayana brushed a rogue tear.

Death followed her everywhere she went…

She drew back from the ornate balustrade as a raging gale battered the castle tower, carrying the first droplets of rain. Despite her fur-lined gown, the spiteful wind pressed against her exposed skin like countless piercing needles of ice and fire.

Ayana held no fondness for winters, especially when the colorless snow covered the beautiful orchards, meadows, and gardens, hiding the myriad of colors in their pale embrace.

“Lord Lucien has returned from the Citadel, my lady.”

Ayana glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Thank you, Iezabel.” The stewardess held open the crystal door as she entered her living quarters. “Please, take me to him.”

“No need.” Lucien rose from his seat near the fireplace, the dancing glow reflected by his long hair of purest white.

“Excuse me, my lord, my lady.” Iezabel bowed and took her leave.

Ayana crossed the distance between them and took his hand.

“How are you feeling?” Lucien asked, his voice layered with concern.

“Better than usual,” Ayana said, although it was a lie. Her body had started rebelling ever since her third month. Her back was killing her, not to mention the cramped muscles, but he did not need to know that. He had enough on his mind without having to worry about her trivial discomforts.

“I presume things did not go well with your brother?” she asked, noting the distress in his eyes.

“Orion is reluctant to defy the Emperor. He is no different from my father,” Lucien said, a bitter tone in his voice.

“What happened?” Ayana asked, noticing the fear behind his eyes; fear for her.

He closed his eyes . “Eydis has sent the vlarik to Argent. I do not know for how long Orion will keep them in the dark.”

Ayana felt a tug in her chest. She took a deep breath. “Alas, our time is short then.”

“As long as our child is safe, it matters not.”

Their eyes met, and she saw a churning abyss of despair in those blue orbs. No matter how she had prepared for this moment, the pain of parting drove into her like a corroded blade, numbing her mind and senses. She loathed to leave it all behind, to deny her child a normal and happy life, and most of all, to part with her beloved.

Ayana blinked through the tears. “I am sorry I brought this upon you.”

Lucien lifted her chin. “Do not blame yourself, Ayana. I chose my path with my own free will, and I would do it all over again. Do not worry, this will all be over soon.”

Her brow furrowed in anxiety. “What are you planning, Lucien?” When he did not reply, she exhaled.

“Whatever it is, please be careful.”

“I will.”

“Don’t take long.” She looked into his eyes. “I will be waiting.”

A smile flickered on his lips.

“I shall come for you as soon as my work here is done. I promise,” he said. “I have to make certain they do not come after you.” His countenance wavered as he let go of her hand.

Ayana wiped her eyes and hardened her resolve. If not for herself, she had to do it for their child.

“Orion has agreed to lend me a unit from father’s Royal Guard,” Lucien told her. “They will be here for you at dawn.”

“No, not an entire unit. It will draw too much attention. Iezabel shall accompany me.” Iezabel was the only one she could count on besides Lucien, and she was better than any armed escort.

“But in your condition? A carriage would do you no harm.”

Ayana frowned, vexed by his skepticism. “You know I am not as weak as I look.” Even if not for her misplaced pride, taking to the roads was too risky, and she would have a better time evading the Empire without a fancy carriage.

A faint smile played on his lips. “In that case, it is time I returned this blade.” He unbelted his sword along with its scabbard and handed it to her.

A moonstone adorned its pommel, and a blood red sunstone glinted on its cross-guard. Buried memories flitted through her mind as she clasped the wire bound hilt. “Zivnâr,” she whispered.

“But I cannot,” she said, her hand trembling as she looked up at him. The last time she had gripped that sword was when the accursed vlarik had massacred her tribe and burned her village.

“It is yours,” Lucien said. “You will need it to keep our child from harm.” He moved closer and lightly caressed her swollen belly. His eyes shone with such devout adoration, he would go to any lengths to protect the new life growing within her.

Ayana placed her free hand on top of his, a smile of contentment on her face. How she wished this moment would last longer, but she knew her fate would not deem it so.

Lucien pulled her into a gentle embrace and kissed her hair. “Please, be safe,” he whispered.

“I will.” Ayana did not let go, the sword dropping to the floor as she held him tighter, loath to part. She breathed into his chest, warm tears silently streaming down her cheeks.