Page 6 of Where We Belong

To my right are the King’s advisors, Kian and Vale. Wide-eyed and alert. Kian’s greasy, dark hair lies plastered to his forehead with what I assume is nervous sweat. I do not blame him. The times are volatile at best. I inhale my sigh and take my place on the dais, observing those my uncle trusts the most. And noting who is missing.

“I apologise for the intrusion upon your morning, but there is news.” His voice cracks. A shadow of sorrow crosses his face that only those who know him well would catch.

“It seems my niece is alive.”

Chapter 7

Aiden

But even with this newfound zeal,

a battle still raged within,

If the lieutenants are as startled as I, they betray it not. My half-sister? Impossible. She is dead. She died in an inferno she started as a child. A blaze that claimed the lives of her parents. My father. I anchor myself to years of etiquette training, fighting the roiling wind in my gut. Restraint is what separates a ruler from a tyrant, Aiden.

“In The Above, Offshore of England. It seems she survived The Great Fire and was taken by governing officers before our Volker arrived. They had assumed her dead along with my brother and his wife, thus reporting her so.” The King’s voice is somewhere between regret and relief. He rarely speaks of my father. Only by palace gossip and fragmentary memories do I know they were inseparable. Comrades by blood and by choice. The door swings open. Theron pants with exertion from morning drills with the Volker, but it barely brushes past the edge of my awareness while Leander catches him up.

“Your Majesty, praise be, this is fantastic news.” An easy smile graces Nykholas’s chiseled face, his straight white teeth on full display. “But how can we be sure?” His voice brims with respect. Convincing and pleasant enough, but I have always seen right through it.

I hear the exchange. How the Seers sensed her magic and ran screaming to whoever would listen. Theron’s disbelief and Nykholas’s careful questions. But the words are muffled beneath the thundering slam of my heart. My chest burns with hate so sharp, so loud, it startles me. Thoughts spiral, tangling with bitter, ugly emotions. As a boy, I wrestled with a streak of jealousy upon hearing whispers of my father’s new family in The Above. Had he even mourned my mother properly before the bond transferred to his new wife? When news broke of his daughters’ black fire, the inferno that killed them, I felt something dark. Vengeance, perhaps. It was twisted justice, I thought then, that she and her mother had perished, even if it meant losing my father and our key to freedom simultaneously. And now to learn that she survived? She survived.

“She must be retrieved. Captain Kaed—”

“I will take the honour, my King, to make the arrangements.” Theron’s ambition is cringeworthy, but the King ponders for a short while. Eyes scanning the room and resting on where his Captain should be standing. “Very well. Nykholas, Theron and Vale will make the arrangements for tonight—”

“Tonight?” Reality rushes back in. “She shall come here? To the palace? Will she survive the journey? She is half human, the pressure of the Chasm, the humidity alone. Will it not kill her?” I fear I cannot wholly hide the tremor of hope in my final question. Because if she comes here, what place will remain for me? I have never had to compete for my uncle’s affection. His attention. His love. But she is my father’s only daughter. Heir to the throne. Now the miracle survivor. The promised one spoken of in whispers and prophecy. A Princess born of black fire and ruin. Worthy of devotion in ways I have spent my life trying to earn.

The King lifts his hand. “It seems I have much to discuss with my nephew but please, prepare contingency plans for interception. The rebels will seek my niece if they learn of her recovery. We mustn’t allow yet another hostage situation, so practice discretion. I shall inform the territory leaders myself but only once she is retrieved.” He pauses, “I will not make the mistake of withholding information again, rest assured. I do not need to tell you what is at stake here if you fail.” The King dips his chin, peering over the rim of his spectacles. Nykholas tucks his beaded necklace into his uniform before he retreats and bows, offering an endearing smile. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Once my uncle and I are alone, I exhale a controlled breath. “She killed my father. Your brother. Are we to proclaim her return? What title shall she bear? We have just about achieved peace after almost a year of bloodshed in the streets. She cannot — she will not —be lodged in my mother’s quarters.”

I know I stammer and unravel at the edges, but he has never judged me. He only pushes me to be better. Better than him. Better than my grandfather.

“Must we deny hope to our people because of our sorrow, Prince?” He runs his fingertips through his short beard. “I know little of her, save what we all do. That she bears great but terrible magic. Black flames. But this is her home, and we must endeavour to do right by her.” My legs feel as if they are about to give way when I follow him out of the room, “And do right by your father, Aiden. He would not have you harbour hate. He was a male of justice and of love, even when the world gave him none.” I wonder if he knows that description fits him also. His thick brows remain furrowed, though he drapes his arm around my shoulder in a hearty embrace. “Please do not fret about her, or about peace. It shall be handled delicately. Let us break our fast; we both need strength for what is about to come.”

Chapter 8

Kaed

before I could build, I had to kneel,

and turn my eyes from sin.

I rest my temple on my fist. Eyes fixed on a distant point beyond the walls. My jaw flexes, betraying the storm brewing inside me. The air hums with hushed voices and hurried footsteps as light from the hallway slices in through the gap under the door. Sharp angles cut across the floor and the percussion of iron-on-iron carries faintly through the walls. The door opens. Not again.

“Theron. Leave.” Despite the consequences, I launch a goblet at the door. I’m losing my grip. I must bridle the beast.

“You will want to hear this, Captain.”

It isn’t Theron, it’s Vale. A short, slimy male with a gut revealing his lack of self-control. He is lucky the goblet did not catch his head. It’s now wedged into the splintered wooden doorway. Though if I knew it was him, I may not have dared. As powerful as I am, I wouldn’t provoke the magic that emits from him. The wards he has around himself, the palace, are stronger than anything I could dream of conjuring. Vale is unmatched. His beady eyes inspect it carefully, and his tone changes into something almost respectful.

“The Seers have found your betrothed. She is alive, after all. The King announced it to the court. We have a location, and the Chasm will be opened tonight. Theron, Nykholas, and I are putting plans in place, but for obvious reasons, you must be the one to retrieve her and bring her back here. Despite your current state.”

My legs force me upright before my mind can catch up. My body is rigid, my magic depleted, but my soul is full of fire and pressure. The hurricane inside me is picking up speed. Fast. A bond suppressed springing to life, and with it, a need to protect her that feels like instinct. That feels innate.

Alive? The word slices my chest. It burrows into my ribs, settling in my heart. The heart that has beat for her since its first. Every inhale now feels as if the air is being taken from my lungs. Against all intuition, I had trained myself over the years to reject hope. And yet, some part of me, something that has been too stubborn to die, has always known. Feeling her like a phantom limb. Even when it was unclear which of our Kings would bear the Black Flame, I knew what she would be. Mine. To serve. To protect. I remember the day they told us of her existence and her death in the same breath. How the jet black fire she started tore through a street in London. How the disgraced, exiled Prince, of all people, was the one to beget the key to our freedom. And how she had died with him.

“What new trick is this, Vale?” I spit with the inevitable malice of an incoming tide. I am not in the mood. I will finally leave this room. I will get to her.