Jay Olsen-Thrift

Yiradia

Day 14, Month 11, Year 13,239

Seth winced as he looked down into the chambers below. It was rare for him to enjoy watching his father work anymore. More and more he watched with a hint of disbelief or disgust. Surely there was another way for him to achieve what he wanted to do? Without needing to…

One of the men below screamed, and Seth shivered. Below in the chamber, there were three raised platforms built out of wooden slabs. On each platform was a spellsinger flanked by two soldiers with towering shields. The shields were meant to keep any harm from coming to the spellsinger. Their numbers had been dwindling since Seth’s father, Amias, began experimenting more frequently, and the academies couldn’t keep up with the demand for new spellsingers. The Zsikui assured him that he was getting close to finding the answers he sought.

Hopefully he finds it before anything else drastic happens, Seth thought bitterly.

Amias stood in the middle of the platforms wearing dark green ceremonial robes, his dark blond hair covered by a matching dark green hood. He shouted wordlessly, moving between the three platforms with speed that Seth hadn’t seen in a long time. Perhaps that meant it was working. A blue cloud formed in between the platforms as the spellsingers chanted louder and louder. One of the shield-bearers on the southern platform sank to his knees, the burden of the cloud becoming too much for him. Seth’s father ran to his side and hoisted the shield up, using his own weight to help support the heavy burden. Although Seth couldn’t hear the words, he knew his father was spilling a string of threats and curses at the soldier for even thinking about falling to his knees and potentially ruining all their work.

The cloud grew, and its center darkened. It looked like a hole opening in the air, but where it opened to, Seth had no idea. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

Seth’s father let out another victorious roar and abandoned the shield-bearer. He trudged his way toward the center of the chamber, his steps heavy as he tried to push back against the force the cloud was exuding.

“Yes, yes, a little more!” he shrieked, reaching a callused hand out to the black center of the cloud. The shadow of the cloud darkened his tan skin, giving it a dark umber color.

The spellsingers were wailing their chants with no more regard given to their volume or tone. Each of the three had their arms extended toward the ceiling, beckoning for something to come to them. Seth’s eyes moved between each of the platforms, studying the spellsingers and their shield-bearers. As he looked at the southern platform, he noticed the kneeling shield-bearer had lost his grip on the towering shield above him. It swayed to the side and fell off the platform with a loud clang. The spellsinger was startled and broke off her chant to look at the shield-bearer.

Without her voice aiding her fellow spellsingers, the cloud wavered. A deep snarl echoed throughout the room, and Seth looked around in panic. The other shield-bearers and spellsingers looked afraid, but not Amias. He was almost touching the cloud—nothing else mattered to him.

Something bright jumped out of the cloud and landed on the silent spellsinger. She let out a panicked scream and fell backwards, scrambling to get off the platform. The standing shield-bearer turned to her, drawing his sword, but it was no use. The bright light consumed the spellsinger as she cried out in fear, and then it was gone. Her corpse was left behind, her skin blackened and burned. The shield-bearers looked upon her with horror in their eyes. Seth’s bottom lip quivered, and he forgot to breathe. His eyes flicked to his father who was now reaching for an empty spot in the room. The cloud was gone.

Amias screamed again, but it was different. This was a guttural, deep, enraged scream that filled the room just as the otherworldly snarl had moments ago. He spun around to look at the southern platform, where one shield-bearer stood tall, his torso turned with sword in hand. The other kneeled on the ground, shield forgotten. Seth’s father crossed the floor and climbed the platform, grabbing at the charred corpse of the spellsinger, and lifted it off the ground with alarming ease.

“You are lucky that the Zsikui aren’t here to witness such catastrophic failure!” he screeched, chucking the corpse across the room toward the spot where the blue cloud had vanished. It wasn’t often that he invoked the name of their hosts, the scaled serpentine people who made the pyramids their home. “We almost had it, I—”

His father stood rigid on the platform, his back straight and his head bowed. Seth wasn’t sure what his father was focusing on, but he could tell he was avoiding looking at the other people in the room.

Is this another one of his lapses? Has he forgotten where he is?

Seth didn’t dare call out to him. He had learned his lesson in bringing his father back to the mortal realm. He hoped that one day his father wouldn’t return from wherever his mind wandered.

“Leave,” came the simple, quiet command. Amias raised his head and looked around the room at each shield-bearer and spellsinger. “We will try again another night.”

Seth exhaled slowly. The shield-bearers and spellsingers left as quickly and quietly as they could, not wanting to be in his father’s presence for a moment more. The scent of burning flesh wafted up to the balcony and he winced. Seth wished he could retreat like they were doing, but he knew he had to stay. His father always knew when he left early, even if the experiment ended in failure.

“My son, did you see what just happened?” his father called out to him, looking up at the balcony.

Seth resisted the urge to flinch and look away. “Yes, Father.”

“This was a failure.” His father’s voice was soft, but Seth knew not to be deceived by it. He straightened and leaned against the railing. His eyes met his father’s, and he held his gaze steady. “Can you tell me why this was a failure?”

Seth pursed his lips. A stray strand of blond hair fell across his face, but he didn’t sweep it back. His father wouldn’t be pleased by the distraction, not during one of his ‘lessons’.

Failure… Why had the experiment failed? “One of the spellsingers stopped chanting,” Seth answered.

Although he wasn’t close enough to hear it, Seth saw his father grinding his teeth. “And why did she stop?”

There was a moment of silence between them, which Seth hastily ended. “The shield-bearer dropped his shield.” The words were pulled from his lips, and he knew he would regret saying them.

Amias smiled. Perhaps “smile” wasn’t correct… His lips were indeed curled upward, eyes crinkling at the edges, and his face full of joy, but it wasn’t a bright joy. It was dark, cruel, and Seth knew exactly what fate the shield-bearer would face. He wanted to curl up into himself and hide away from that smile. He blinked.

“Yes, my son. And he will pay for his wrongdoings.”

Seth tried to swallow but found the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so.

With a snap, his father turned and walked toward the door. “I will meet you and the rest of the family for dinner. You’re dismissed.”

Seth waited until his father had left the room before he moved his hands to the wheels on his chair, his grip tighter than normal. As the door closed, he let out a shaky breath. Dinner would be in a handful of hours. He would need to develop an appetite before then, so as not to disappoint his father at the table. Even at nineteen—a man full grown by all standards—Seth didn’t want to risk his father’s ire over something so simple as a meal. He tugged the wheels back and guided himself through the crumbling arch into the hallway. There were only so many places he could escape to before being summoned to the dining hall.

He opted to go to the colonnade and try to clear the smell of charred flesh from his nostrils. His home was no longer as hospitable to him as it was when he was a child.

Before Father’s experiment.

He and his twin sister Octavia had spent most of their childhood climbing through the ruins and exploring the gifts that the Zsikui had given their people, the Provira. Now he was bound to the highest floor in the largest pyramid where his father and mother made their living quarters. A colonnade surrounded the outer edge of the living quarters and was mostly intact. There were a handful of spots where the walkway had crumbled, dropping down into the pyramid below. When he was younger, he had been able to climb over those holes with relative ease, but now he was forced to return indoors to make a complete lap around the colonnade.

As Seth left the observatory balcony, one of his family’s stewards stepped in line behind him. The stewards were like shadows that trailed after him wherever he went. Amias had organized the group during one of his moments of clarity, insisting that his son must be taken care of and protected at all costs. While some of the stewards had voluntarily signed up for the service, others were coerced into the role with threats of death. His father had made all of them swear a vow of silence as well, except for the Zsikui who had graciously donated their time and efforts into looking after Seth. They were the only ones permitted to speak to him, and they often regaled him with tales of when the Asaszi were powerful and feared, when their people could turn into great wyrms and breathe fire, and how they would help the Provira rise to the same greatness that the Asaszi once knew. Seth wondered if they realized that he didn’t share his father’s ambitions—not that he would ever dare voice those thoughts.

The air outside was heavy. As Seth worked the wheels on his chair, his palms grew damp. A thin line of sweat broke out against his hairline. The lands far below the ruined pyramid were the remnants of a decayed city overrun by the surrounding jungle. Gnarled trees sprouted from the small square huts, crumbled stone scattered all around like dust. The Zsikui had told his family about their history, how during the Eldest Days the pyramids had stood taller than any tree in the jungle. Since then, the pyramids had fallen, and the jungle had grown. Seth wondered what it had looked like before the jungle had reclaimed the land.

The jungle was lively today. Birds called out to each other from varying heights. Twigs snapped and branches shifted under the weight of the forest creatures. The wooden wheels of Seth’s chair rattled against the uneven stone of the colonnade. Beneath the noise was a low hum. He had asked one of the Zsikui what the hum was, when he was a child. The Zsikui had let out an amused hiss and told him it was the sound of magic trying to free itself from the ground. He became enraptured with the idea of magic, but as he grew older and witnessed the experiments Amias conducted, that wonder turned to resentment. He hoped that magic would stay trapped underneath the earth forever more.

Loudest among the jungle noises was a single bird, cawing to the others. Seth angled the chair so he could look out into the forest and try to find it.

“That kytling is quite the noisssemaker today,” the steward said quietly behind him.

Seth let out an agreeable huff, eyes narrowing as he scanned the treetops. The kytling usually stood on the higher branches with its chest puffed out as it sang its song. He couldn’t find the familiar tuft of yellow feathers.

The steward came to stand by his side. “It mussst be farther back in the forest.”

“I suppose,” Seth replied, slumping back in his chair. Watching the kytling had become a hobby of his on the sunnier days. Living near the top of the pyramid meant Seth could see where the tree line broke and the suns shone down on the land. The kytling enjoyed the suns, as far as he could tell. He never heard its song on the darker, rainier days. He wondered where the kytling went on the days the suns stayed hidden behind the clouds.

Wish that I could disappear on those days, too, Seth thought bitterly. He looked down at his lap, his legs, and then shut his eyes tight. Wish that I could fly away from all of this.

He dragged his eyes open and grabbed onto his wheels, abruptly backing up from the ledge and continuing down the walkway. He heard the steward let out an annoyed hiss as they backed away quickly to avoid their feet getting run over. If Seth were in a better mood, he might have apologized, but he just wanted to get back inside and return to his chambers where he could be completely alone. While the stewards were ordered to follow him everywhere he went, none were permitted to go into his room—only if he summoned them.

“I would like to speak with Octavia before dinner. Please send her to my room,” Seth said over his shoulder as they approached the door to his room.

“Yesss Lord Kharisss,” the steward responded as they turned away from him and returned to the rest of the pyramid.

Seth lifted a hand and pushed the door open. He waited for it to swing all the way open before passing through the threshold. Once he was inside, he twisted his upper body so he could push it shut. He sighed and looked around his room.

Stone surrounded him. The walls, the floor, even the bed, were made from the same beige stone as the rest of the pyramid. He had one exterior wall in his room. It slanted inwards and had a square window carved out of it. Even in his chair, he could look out the window with relative ease. The faint sounds of the jungle carried into his room. The sky darkened as afternoon clouds drifted in. Rain would begin soon, and then Seth would only hear the patter of droplets hitting the pyramid and the trees swaying in the wind.

He wheeled himself toward the stone bed. Four pillars stood at each corner. In other rooms, like his twin sister’s, the pillars were used to create canopies out of decorative silks and linens. In Seth’s room he used them as grips to pull himself into and out of his bed. When he was younger there had been green and red silks wrapped around them, creating the illusion of a comfortable nest. One night shortly after the accident, Seth had tried pulling himself into bed using the silks. They slid off the stone pillars and he fell to the floor with a pained cry. The stewards standing outside had rushed in and carried him off to be tended to by one of the tsurii. When he was brought back to his room, the silks had been removed.

He hauled himself onto his bed, hitting the blankets with a grunt. He looked up at the green and red canopy overhead. His father insisted on leaving it hanging, saying the Zsikui would be offended if every piece of silk had been removed from the room.

Before Seth’s mind had a chance to run away with that thought, his eyes settled on the only piece of furniture that wasn’t made from stone—his bookshelf. When he was a child, his father had helped him build it so he would have a place to store his books in his new room. As he grew older, his mother gave him books from her own library, or those that she found in the market. The shelves were now overflowing with books from her.

He tried to lose himself in the feeling of warmth that washed over him, but something kept him from it—the sight of his lower body lying limply on the bed. Seth shut his eyes tightly, feeling the familiar prick of tears near the bridge of his nose.

It had been five years ago when it happened, shortly after his fourteenth birthday. He could recall everything from that day in vivid detail, often seeing it in his nightmares. Another experiment with spellsingers. In that same room. There had been a cloud there as well, although it had been bright red and almost transparent. He and his father stood on a platform above the cloud, looking down. Seth could almost see the floor through it, but not quite. It didn’t look the same. The stones were brighter in color. He bitterly remembered feeling so excited to be standing next to his father, helping him with his latest experiment. He couldn’t remember what it was for; he just remembered them standing, then sitting, legs hanging off the platform, his father speaking softly to him, a hand on his shoulder, warmth spreading from the tips of his ears down to his toes, his wiggling toes, and that warmth replaced by heat, hot, fire around him, his legs, he—

Seth opened his eyes with a sharp inhale, the skin around his eyes wet with tears. His door had opened.

“Brother, you—” His sister’s voice came from around the door. Octavia stepped into the room and saw him on the bed, and she was by his side in an instant, worry in her voice. “Seth, what’s wrong?”

He glanced at his sister kneeling by his bed. “Tav, I-I didn’t realize—”

“Are you hurting, is it your legs…?” She reached for his hand, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. She looked him over with such concern that Seth immediately felt guilty for the tears on his cheeks. He took hold of her hand and gave a gentle squeeze, drawing her attention back to his face.

“No, my legs are fine. Nothing is hurting,” he told her and sat up. “Today has just been… taxing.”

Octavia leaned back from the bed but her grip on his wrist didn’t lighten up. “Was it the experiments?” she asked quietly.

Seth nodded, eyes lowering to their hands. He twisted his left hand in her grasp, so he was holding her hand between his. The two shared a silent moment. There were no words that Octavia could say that would ease Seth’s mind and they both knew it. Even though she knows these experiments are dangerous, she’ll keep defending Father until her last breath.

The twins were close, but there was a divide between them. Octavia was entirely devoted to Amias and his cause. Seth couldn’t fault her for it. Before the accident, Seth had also gone down that path blindly. He thought his father a great man, smarter than any other and capable of doing anything he set his mind to. He had wanted nothing more than to please Amias and make him proud. After his legs were crippled, Octavia told Seth that their father would heal him, fix him, and he allowed himself to be deluded by her words. He didn’t want to lose one of the only people he could trust, so he never challenged her devotion to Amias.

“How has your day been?” Seth asked and looked back up at his sister. It was like looking in a mirror. Blond hair falling past their ears, eyes pools reflecting muddy brown water, a splash of freckles across their noses.

Octavia tucked a strand of hair behind her ear with her free hand. “Training continues.” She fidgeted with her earlobe. “I bested Arcyr’ys today in the sparring ring.”

Seth gasped and squeezed her hand. “Arcyr’ys? The same Pyredan Wynn who trained you?”

Octavia grinned and nodded. “I’m sure I’ll suffer from it tomorrow during chores.”

He took in her appearance for the first time, realizing that she was still in her sparring clothes—tan cloth pants, cropped top, and wrappings around her hands and feet.

“I’m surprised he didn’t send you off to the pits immediately after.” Seth laughed as his sister relaxed.

“The thought definitely crossed his mind, but I was civil about it. Offered him my hand and bowed afterwards. Plus, Osza and Astohi were there.”

The names of the Asaszi sent an odd shiver down Seth’s spine. “Does Father know they were there?”

Octavia nodded and bit her lip, trying to fight back another smile.

Osza was queen of the Asaszi, and she was almost never seen outside of her private chambers. When she was, Amias was always by her side. Astohi, her mate, made more frequent appearances in public, but only slightly, and again, always with their father.

“What were they doing there if Father wasn’t with them?” Seth asked, his back stiffening.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and they turned toward the sound. “Lord, Lady Kharisss, time for dinner,” Seth’s steward announced, his voice muffled behind the wood.

“Thank you. One moment!” Octavia responded before looking back at Seth. She rose to her feet, her hand still between his. “May I?”

Seth nodded, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed. She was the only person he allowed to touch him, especially for something he deemed so humiliating. He let go of her hand as she bent down in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist. He in turn wrapped his arms around her neck, and she lifted him up and into his chair with grace.

She straightened up and tugged on the hem of her top. “Come along, Brother,” she said, opening the door for him. Seth tugged on the wheels of his chair and exited the room with his sister.

***

The dining hall was decorated extravagantly because Osza and Astohi would be dining with them tonight. Green and gold silk banners had been woven around the giant candelabra, every candle lit and burning brightly. The stone table had vases of fresh flowers placed on top of it. Around the table were six chairs, one on each end, and the others filling the long sides. Ribbons had been threaded and tied onto the backs of each chair. Their father was already sitting at one end of the table, and their mother was seated to his left. Osza sat on the opposite end of the table with Astohi to her right. That left one empty side of the table for Octavia and Seth. Servants lined the outer edges of the room, each holding a different platter or bowl of food while others held jugs of wine and water. They waited for the twins to take their seats.

“Good evening, children,” Amias announced, beckoning for them to approach the table. He had changed out of his ceremonial robes and into a fancy black robe embroidered with gold lace and tiny gems. The past one hundred years had not been kind to Amias Kharis. Up close Seth could see the wrinkles, crow’s feet, and scars on his father’s face. At his temples his blond hair had turned gray, reflecting the stress of his experiments and his old age.

Beside him, their mother, Evelyn, was dressed in a matching black dress, her chestnut hair swept up in a tight bun revealing her pointed ears. Next to their father she looked young enough to be his daughter. The Elviri blood in her veins was strong, aging her gracefully. She smiled at her children, her gray eyes and pale skin glowing under the candlelight. She was like a beacon of light within the snakes’ nest.

Seth rolled over to one of the stone chairs, fear briefly crossing his mind. Surely Father doesn’t expect me to move into one of these for the meal?

“Good evening, Father,” Octavia responded, nodding toward both their parents and their guests.

She swooped in front of Seth and grabbed the stone chair, lifting it off the ground and pulling it to the side so he had room to approach the table with his wheelchair. Although she did a wonderful job hiding her strain, Seth knew that she could only hold up the chair for so many seconds before she had to place it back down. Seth also knew that by doing this for him, she had indirectly issued a challenge to their father: Seth wouldn’t be humiliated in front of the guests. Octavia would never dare do that in the presence of the Asaszi unless she was sure she wouldn’t be punished for it. Something happened in the sparring yard today for her to gain favor with Osza, Astohi, and Father. The gears in Seth’s head turned, but he had little time to process everything.

Octavia took her seat to the left of Seth in between him and their father who barely managed to hide his dissatisfaction. To Seth’s right was the displaced stone chair and Osza. The Asaszi queen wore a simple gold circlet that held her black hair back and out of her face. A golden shawl hung across her shoulders. Her sharp, angled face was turned toward him and his sister. He met her golden gaze, and it was like facing a venomous snake. Her serpentine ancestry showed—thin lips that barely hid fangs underneath, two slits for a nose, and two small earholes along her hairline. Jade scales covered her body. She blinked slowly at him before looking back at their father. Her forked tongue slipped from her mouth, and she hissed quietly.

Amias clapped his hands once, and the servants busied themselves with serving the food and wine. Seth’s plate was filled with various roast meats and stewed vegetables.

“Your presence is most appreciated this evening, Osza,” Amias said, his sour expression fading. “I understand that you and Astohi were present for my daughter’s training this afternoon?”

Osza exchanged a glance with Astohi and then nodded. “Yesss, Amias. Your daughter shows promissse.” Because of her lack of contact with anyone outside of the Asaszi, Osza took care to make sure her speech was more than just a pattern of hisses. “Assstohi and I think that it isss time ssshe devoted herssself to your caussse.”

Seth was mid-drink when Osza finished. He held the cup to his face to mask his look of surprise. So that’s why they had been observing her today. It was her final test before her initiation. I should have put the pieces together sooner. If Osza and Astohi are pleased with her performance, that would mean—

“Then we shall host the permutation ceremony tomorrow evening.” Their father was practically beaming, and so was Octavia. Their mother was trying to look positive as well, but Seth knew she was just as uneasy as he was. “And we’ll make my daughter the youngest pyredan since the Provira arrived in Moonyswyn!”

Seth’s stomach churned. On the one hand, he feared for his sister. To announce her devotion to Amias so publicly… But if her permutation ceremony would happen tomorrow, did that mean his father intended on pushing back his experiments? Would the shield-bearer from earlier be spared?

“Amiasss, what about your experimentsss?” Astohi asked, his golden eyes narrowing into even thinner slits. With his head turned toward the other end of the table, there was no mistaking the poise of his serpentine head. He was ready to strike if the wrong words were spoken.

Seth’s father locked eyes with Astohi, unblinking. “The success of my daughter far outweighs the disappointment of the experiments.”

Osza let out another hiss, one far more dire in meaning. “Failure?”

His father looked at her. “Efforts to create an opening in the tomb aren’t going as planned. The Provira who make mockery of the title of shield-bearer cannot perform their duties during the rituals. It is… most disappointing.”

Osza’s golden slits were unblinking. Her face was neutral unlike that of her mate. Her tongue flitted out, tasting the air before she spoke. “Pity.” She wrapped her taloned fingers around the cup before her and drank.

The room went silent save for the sounds of utensils on plates and the drinking of wine. Seth wondered how long he would need to stay at the table before he could excuse himself and return to his room. Being in the same room as his father and Osza made his stomach twist and turn uncomfortably, and he was having difficulty forcing down food. The news of his sister’s permutation just made things worse. He wanted to escape as soon as he could.

“And what about your progressss on your son’s legsss?” Astohi asked.

Seth froze as his fork pierced through a piece of meat. Another piece sat heavy on his tongue, and he forgot to chew. He felt Astohi’s eyes boring into him, and he wanted nothing more than to shrink away into the darkness of the jungle.

Amias cleared his throat. “It is my understanding that High Priestess Szatisi has made progress with some of the spellsingers. I will meet with her before my travels to Iszairi to evaluate her work.”

What?

Seth’s heart thumped so loudly he nearly missed Osza’s pleasant hiss. “Very good.”

He carefully looked up from his plate and at his mother. Did she know that Father was doing this? Surely not or else she would have told me.

This had to be news to her as well. His mother, bless her, was perhaps the only person in the world that he could turn to at a moment like this, and he was furious that it had to be done in such a public setting. Evelyn’s gray eyes were downcast at her plate. Now was not the time. Could he request that she come to his room after dinner? No, that would make him look like a child in need of his mother and Amias would ridicule him for it.

“There is also word from Tetherphin, one of the envoys,” Amias went on with greater control and enthusiasm. Good news that he could deliver himself, eager to please the Zsikui.

Osza and Astohi’s tongues flickered out in curiosity. Seth’s mother and Octavia also looked up at the mention of the envoy.

The corner of Amias’s lips curled upward in a smile. “He has arrived in Elimere, and the Elviri are none the wiser for it.”

Seth’s mother let out a quiet gasp. The Asaszi blinked slowly. Octavia hung onto their father’s words, waiting for more.

“He has heard word that one of their highborn has been touched. He will hold his position until he finds them.”

“How can we be sure?” Seth blurted out.

The attention of everyone in the room snapped to him, and Seth immediately lowered his gaze to his plate. He exhaled and looked back up at his father. Seth saw the faint outline of veins bulging from his neck. In that moment, Seth was thankful for their guests, their presence curbing Amias’s wrath.

Seth cleared his throat and clarified, “Father, how can we trust that what he’s heard is true?”

“Tetherphin would never lie to his lord,” Amias hissed through clenched teeth.

Seth didn’t risk holding his father’s gaze. Although his father hadn’t really answered his question, he knew better than to risk challenging his response.

Did Osza or Astohi notice the lack of an answer?

They were, perhaps, the only people who could openly call out Amias. And yet they never did. Seth should have known better than to hope, even for a moment.

The room filled with tense silence again without the sound of utensils scraping and wine-drinking. After another moment, Seth decided he had had enough.

“Father, may I be excused?” he asked. When he didn’t receive an immediate response, he knew that his father was waiting for him to look up. He decided he could afford one moment of bravery and deny his father the satisfaction of making eye contact. He placed his utensils down on the table and pushed his plate away to make his point.

After another moment of silence, his bravery paid off. “Yes. Go,” came his father’s curt response.

Seth gripped the wheels of his chair and pulled backwards, putting space between him and the table. As he swiveled toward the door, he spared one glance at his mother and sister. Octavia would be able to hold her own for the rest of the evening with Osza and Astohi in attendance. Seth wished he could speak to his mother. He rolled out of the dining hall before his cowardice resurfaced.

***

It wasn’t any easier climbing into bed a second time, but he managed. That had been after he found a pair of silken sleep pants tucked into one of his drawers and pulled them on, casting aside his day clothes. Now laying back on the bed, he ran a hand through his blond hair and eased out any tangles that had formed during the day. He tugged on the blankets beneath him until he was underneath them. Seth sunk deeper into the bed, surrounded by silk and linens that buried the stone beneath. He pulled one of the several pillows to him, pressing it against his chest and face.

He let out a shaking sob that went down all the way to where he lost feeling at his knees. Sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. He tried to focus on breathing in and out, not letting the sobs wrack through his body. He listened to the sounds of the jungle outside, hopeful for rain, but instead was met with the buzzing and chirping of bugs that nearly drowned out the faint familiar hum underneath it all. The hum of magic. He scoffed, rubbing his eyes. Magic was gone, and he hoped that his father would never be able to find a way to bring it back.

Seth had witnessed the work of High Priestess Szatisi shortly after the accident when he was fourteen. His father had held him against his chest as he lay on a stone slab. Szatisi had poured something dark over his bare legs, adding a blue tinge to his skin. The three of them watched his legs, waiting for something to happen. At first it was faint, but then the feeling hit him full force. He had screamed and thrashed against his father’s grip. Burning, burning, burning. His legs had felt like they were on fire. He had grabbed onto his father’s arms, his wrists, anything he could reach as he pleaded to make it stop, to make it go away, get rid of them, get it off, get it off—

And then he had been submerged in water. The feeling faded. His legs no longer felt like they were on fire—they felt like nothing. They still felt like nothing. Seth wished Amias had cut them off all those years ago. But he had insisted. He had said he would find a cure. Seth looked down at his legs, covered by linens, and cursed. There was nothing that could fix his legs. They were dead. The curse lingered on his lips as he faded into sleep.

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