The prince has fallen.

Blood blossoms like a crimson flower across his chain mail staining the Great Tree on his chest. I’m too late. I should have gotten here sooner. I could have saved him.

I should go to him now. I should do something. Fear freezes in me place. I remain hidden in the shadow of the medic tent.

The skies grow dark. My skin turns cold as a blue haze drifts off my body and floats towards the arena. My breath curls in silvery-blue fog.

It has been generations since a life was lost on this field, and only then by accident. From what I saw, this was no accident.

I cannot lose him.

Small balls of hail pelt across the dirt. The onlookers inch forward to discern what happened. A few run to take cover from the angry skies.

Winds lash out furiously against the field, stirring up dirt and hay. The tent flap waves behind me. The short parts of my hair sting my eyes. The long ponytail I have grown all my life flies about like a whip. I grasp it and wrap it around my palm.

A cloud of smoke erupts at my side sending a spray of embers and ash into the air. Shadow steps out of the darkness. He tugs my shirt to steal my attention from the field, from the prince. I do not grant him audience.

Doctor Couphrin and Chanel, along with a few of the prince’s personal guard, lift Prince Artunnus from the dirt. I stare at his bronze face as they carry him from the field. Sweat dampens his brow and plasters his dark green hair to his forehead. His eyes are wrinkled shut. Hail pelts around the group, but doesn’t touch them.

Shadow tugs harder. “You are needed, my lord.” His voice is husky for a boy of twelve, a boy still too young for all he has seen.

I tighten my ponytail around my palm until my fingers start to numb. I take a deep breath and concentrate on my tingling fingers. The blue fog fades. The angry hail ceases. The sun pierces through gray clouds.

The prince’s small party comes closer, heading towards the tent I’m occupying. Chanel’s hand is on his stomach. Golden light erupts over him. I strain to see past the approaching guards.

“The prince is with Chanel,” Shadow says as he puts his small hand on mine. “We must go.”

Before I can object, Shadow’s magic reaches out like thousands of hands wrapping around me, sucking out all light and sound. The air fills with smoke. There is nothing but the familiar weight of Shadow’s hand in mine. I turn and see his eyes, black as the darkness surrounding us except the bright glow of golden irises. He releases my hand and the world returns.

He has brought us to the dungeons.

“Forgive me, my lord.” I glance over him as he bows. His Briga uniform is neatly pressed. A golden Phoenix rises against a crimson crest on his chest. The same crest is embroidered over my breast pocket. A symbol of our loyalty to the Elders and Earthenwood’s throne.

Shadow’s coal colored skin glimmers as smoky magic recedes into the golden tattoos on his exposed arms. Tattoos that hide the scars of his past. He stands tall, proud to be part of the Elders’ secret magic-user unit.

“Captain Saldene awaits, my lord.” Shadow pushes the door open for me to enter.

“Thank you, Shadow.” I face the inner dungeon. I tighten the rope of long hair around my palm, cutting off the circulation to my fingertips. They’ll start to turn as purple as the tips of my hair, but I keep tightening the strands. The numbness helps. It keeps me focused on the here and now. It keeps me from releasing magic, unlike the storm earlier.

Shadow stiffens to attention as I pass ready to guard the door with his life. If any were so bold as to attack, they would find Shadow as impossible to grasp as smoke. Along with his powers to walk through darkness, he has a multitude of knives hidden in pockets throughout his uniform and is accustomed to using them.

I clench my jaw. Shadow closes the door behind me.

Captain Saldene’s yellow eyes smolder against his dark red skin, burning with an anger we both share.

The prince has fallen.

“We’re investigating how he smuggled the dagger in,” the captain reports as I enter.

“I should have been there sooner,” I mumble.

“You were on orders.” There’s a slight tremor in his voice. “And if you had interfered Prince Artunnus would have been furious to lose the championship.”

I frown. “He could lose his life.”

“Chanel is with him. She will heal him.” He says it as much for himself as for me.

I clench the rope of hair around my palm. I cannot lose him. I’ve already lost Amora.

Captain Saldene’s magic crawls across his skin. It snakes over his body like a yellow, glowing lizard only I can see. The movement draws my attention from thoughts of blood against chain mail. I turn to the man chained to a chair, body slumped against his restraints. Dark blood is dried against his hay-colored chin. His head lulls forward. His sky-blue hair is matted with sweat, dirt, and a slick sheen of black oil.

Arí’s Breath, I curse. “Let’s hope he’s conscious enough for me to find the answers we need.” I gulp back the tension in my throat. I sense Captain Saldene’s agreement in the coils of magic drifting from his body.

I stare at the man in question. A layer of inky magic shimmers against his skin and drips like venomous blood from every orifice. For all the times I wished others saw magic the way I did, it might be best they can’t see things like this.

I take a deep breath and choke on the overripe smell of sweat and rot.

“He looks near death,” Captain Saldene states. “I don’t think it’s from the fight.”

“No, this is something else,” I mumble, not ready to say much until I’ve had a good look.

The man sits crooked in the chair. If not for the chains, he would fall over. His long horse-like ears reach almost to his shoulders, probably a member of the Pegai Clan. Frustration swells at the thought of someone from my own kingdom, Aeronautica, attacking the Crowned Prince of Earthenwood.

He shudders. Black ribbons of oil unnaturally seep through his pores. Magic festers and bubbles on the surface of his pale skin. He coughs. Dark brown blood flies from his mouth to the ground, hitting my shoes. Ooze squirms on my boot like maggots. I swallow back the burn of bile.

I don’t have much time.

My fingers tingle as I release my ponytail and step closer. I take slow, even, shallow breaths. The smell is suffocating. The low lamplight doesn’t help. There is no gaslight in the dungeon. The stone is too thick to run pipes. Prisoners don’t require such comforts.

I clench and unclench my hand. Before feeling returns in my fingers I grab a fistful of the man’s oily hair and yank his head back. His throat bobs as he cringes. Magic flickers over him like a veil of smoke.

“The Order of Lilith has risen,” he whispers, his voice a shaky rasp.

My chest tightens. The Order of Lilith hasn’t openly attacked Earthenwood since before I was born.

His eyes open a crack as his face scrunches into a scowl. “Elder scum.”

Spit and blood miss my face and land on my shirt. My throat burns with disgust. I refuse to look where the man’s spit landed. I yank his head back. His stormy gray eyes open wide at the force of my pull.

When our eyes meet, the whole of his existence flows through me in a series of jumbled images.

A woman with feathery brown hair. Purple wildflowers blossoming in the snow. Clouds against blue skies. A steam flyer breaking through fluffy clouds. The rocky underside of a floating island. Rich green earth of the island’s surface. The woman again, this time her smile overflows into tears as she places the man’s hand on her swollen stomach. A pink baby girl with small horse-like ears and red feathered hair. The baby opens her eyes, they are two different colors, one green as emerald, the other yellow as the sun.

His memories are grains of sand, fine and small. I hold his gaze, hoping to find something useful.

A talon shaped ring on a boney finger. An ancient woman with cataract paled eyes grins. Rotten stubs for teeth poke out of pale gums. Her nose, which hangs nearly to her chin, wobbles as she sniffs. She hungrily extends the hand with the ring. A bag of coins and a scroll leave her skeletal grasp. The man accepts them both.

The images flicker and blur. They turn brown at the edges. Darkness seeps in as the prisoner’s life slips away. I grab his face with both hands and reach my head closer, as if closing the distance between us will make the memories in his failing mind come faster, clearer.

A memory slips past. He’s tied to a table face down. Bound in chains and ropes. The tips of needles dipped in crimson edge at his vision. They stab his skin. The needles press deep. Crimson liquid is funneled through small tubes attached to the needles. He coughs up flowers that turn to ash when they touch the ground. The old crone hands him a dagger, carefully wrapped so the blade does not touch her skin.

The images darken. Like a candle being snuffed to curling smoke, they fade to nothing.

For a long moment I am lost in the emptiness. I take a staggered breath and the world returns all in a rush.

I recognize the wildflowers and the architecture in the man’s memories. The jagged rocks of the floating island. The background of his daily life.

“Has Shadow been to the floating islands?” I ask Captain Saldene as I release the captive’s head. It lolls to the side, blood dribbling out his gaping mouth.

“No.” Captain Saldene’s voice rumbles through the chamber.

I frown. “He can take my steam flyer then. Send Hikari with him to investigate the floating island, Boreas, and the mountain village, Dornet in the Towering Heights. Tell them to find an old woman with a talon ring, but use extreme caution.”

I step away from the captive and wipe my hand furiously against my clothes. His eyes are pale and empty except for the black slime that pours like tears down his lifeless face. My heart races. He is certainly dead, not by my hand or the prince’s. His lifeless mind twists inside me. The last of his memories flicker behind my vision.

Slime slowly seeps down his corpse, pooling against the rocky floor. I take another step back, not willing to touch it more than I already have. “There’s magic everywhere. It’s coming from his pores. Whatever they did to him must have killed him. I don’t know if it’s poisonous, but we shouldn’t leave him lying around to find out.”

A coil of smoke rolls off the captain’s body. He steps to my side, his arms tight across his chest. The yellow glowing lizard crawls up his neck, cradled under his arms like a pet he can’t see.

“I thought he looked too old to be magic-born,” he says as he leans to take a closer look. He doesn’t step any closer.

I scowl. “They performed some kind of ritual with needles. I’ll talk to Chanel and Doctor Couphrin.”

I shake my head, pushing through tremors of unease. “There was money exchanged, possibly a contract. The only face I saw was the old woman’s. The man mentioned the Order of Lilith.”

Images of the man’s life float in my mind, pity, grief, empathy. Emotions I don’t want to share with the person who tried to kill the prince. “Make sure they find a little girl with red feathery hair and ears like him. She has two different color eyes, one green, and the other yellow. She’s possibly hiding on one of the floating islands.”

“And what should we do when we find her?” Captain Saldene turns from the body to me. His brow furrowed.

“The girl is his daughter. If found we might be able to offer safety in exchange for information.”

He nods. I sense his silent thoughts stir. He turns to face the attacker. The yellow markings on the captain’s red skin flicker with his power. Skin inherited from his father. His pointed ears and broad structure are from his mother, the Queen of Earthenwood’s sister.

We both know the heavy stigma of those born from the union of different Clans. Captain of the Elder’s Briga, cousin to the crowned heir of Earthenwood, and a secret magic-user. Saldene has felt the weight of every stigma possible. Thankfully, Earthenwood’s royal family is kind and the captain is strong.

“Think this was a warning?” His voice is a natural growl that rumbles off the stones.

“That, or a statement.” I cross my arms over my chest to fight back the chill that creeps against my skin. The images of needles against the man’s flesh are still sharp in my mind. His body is lifeless, except for the oily slick that glimmers and oozes down his skin. I want to turn away, but I don’t want to look a coward before the captain.

“A bold statement, for all the kingdoms to see,” he agrees.

“The prince will be back in the tournament by tomorrow if Chanel doesn’t tie him down,” I say because we both need to hear it, to believe it. Because the image of crimson blooming across chain mail and the prince’s bronze face twisted in pain returns to my thoughts.

“There will be others,” Captain Saldene says. He flicks his fingers sending little flames into the air. They flutter and change shape to budding flowers and bright birds. It’s like the Phoenix has flown into the room. The flames fall onto the body. Like glowing ants they begin to eat away at the remains.

I turn and walk away. I’ll leave the captain to his work. He can stand the bittersweet stench of burning flesh. He will stay until all that remains is fragments and ash. His words follow me.

There will be others.