Chapter 13

G asping for air, I awoke beneath sweat drenched sheets. Dampness pooled on my brow and I scratched at my throat, trying to break free from those fierce, talon-like fingers. Throwing the covers from me, I rolled to the floor and took the musty air deeply into my lungs.

I laid there for a few minutes, not existing outside of my breath. Inhale, exhale. I wasn't dying. I was alive. Fighting away the image of those burning hands, I closed my eyes. Just a dream. I was alive.

The sun hadn't yet risen across the skyline and a tranquility hushed over the sleeping city. Hobbling to the window and pushing the pane open slightly, I embraced the chill of early morning against my skin. Had that really been Tethys I'd dreamt of? Dreams were visions of the future, forecasted across the mind. If that was true, then what could the goddess want with me? Placing my hand on my neck, I traced where her fingers had seared into my skin.

Something she said resonated within me. Your power has finally awoken. My power. Did she mean the shadows? The kernels of light that spread from my palms? They had felt so familiar, so natural- it had shaken me to my core. Maybe something within me had freed itself. Perhaps it was something that had always been there.

I needed to think. I needed to learn about my past, my history. Information kept from me as a child, knowledge hidden in shadow, anything that could pull these pieces together. The walls felt too tight, too cramped for these big thoughts. The air was too thick, too stifling. Leaving Arcturas, now curled in my residual heat, I crept down the hall to the bathing chamber, hoping a crisp splash of water across my face might clear my racing mind.

The reflection staring through me in the small, dirty mirror was unrecognizable. Beads of cold water rolled down my face as I inhaled deeply. My eyes no longer sunk into my cheekbones. My lips were no longer a dull grey. I hated to admit it, but freedom suited me. The shine of my obsidian hair had returned, and with it a delicate glimmer of content now danced along my flesh. The coldness of the water on my brow had soothed those burning thoughts, and I could think clearly.

Even if the dream had been truth, there were only two in this city, two in this realm that knew my secret. Both I trusted endlessly. For now, I was safe from Tethys. Drying the remaining beads from my face, I returned to my bedchambers to dress for the day.

Frya emerged from her chambers shortly after I began my work, fiercely sweeping, mopping, scrubbing- anything to keep my mind from reeling.

"Good morning," she said behind me, clearing her throat.

Surprised to hear her voice, I jumped, nicking my thumb with my peeling knife. Red dripped from the gash and splattered on the bowl of turnips I had been peeling. I swiveled around on the rickety wooden storeroom stool to glare.

"You scared me," I scowled, placing the wound in my mouth to keep from dripping blood.

"Aren't you supposed to be aware of your surroundings, Huntress?" Frya snickered. She pulled a stool beside me and held out the rag from her apron.

"I was lost in my thoughts," I said, wrapping it around my hand.

I plucked another turnip from its dirty burlap sack.

"I was thinking about my family line and I realized I know nothing of my ancestors. My grandparents had long since passed before either my sister or I were born. We descended from an ancient northern line, but that's the most I know."

The northern crown's familial line was veiled in secrecy. Whether a strategic decision to separate the royalty from city folk or for some other reason, maybe it was time I learned of my past.

"The temple archives might have what you're looking for. There's information on practically anything down there. I've heard it's left unguarded after dark. It'd be stupid to enter the temple chambers when Polaris is at her most powerful, but your sneaking skills seem… good enough."

"That could be our best shot," I said, looking at the barkeep. I considered telling her about my nightmare last night, but something in me thought it best to keep it to myself. If, in fact, it had been a vision, I couldn't involve Frya. It was too dangerous. I tossed the now naked turnip into my large wooden bowl and reached for another. Frya eyed me impatiently.

"Well? Think you're up for it?" she asked, rising from her stool. She shifted her weight from her cane and leaned on the doorframe.

"What did you mean my sneaking skills are good enough? Not only did I sneak out of exile, but I snuck past you during Festival! I'd say they're better than good enough."

Frya snorted, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "You should go tonight, once the city guards blow the lamp posts out. I'll try to pull out a warmer cloak. It's supposed to be well below freezing. I'll check the spare closet."

"Thank you, Frya. Truly," I said, grabbing her leathery hand.

She smiled softly with a vacant expression flushed across her eyes. It wasn't uncommon for thoughts to consume her. What was she thinking about now? Maybe she'd found herself in a memory from long ago. I knew what it felt like to be overwhelmed by the past. I hoped, for her heart's sake, that she'd gone to a happier time. One filled with love and light, where the heartbreak of her lost child couldn't reach her.

Turning back into the kitchen, Frya began her own daily chores. We didn't speak for the rest of the day, both withdrawn into ourselves.

Just after the city bell chimed midnight, Arcturas and I departed for the temple. Creeping in shadow through the town square, we slipped up the mountainous steps, hidden from the guards finishing their watch at the temple's entrance. We were silent observers lurking in the shadow of a large boulder. The two men completed their last turn of the perimeter, yawning and swinging their lanterns lazily.

With their descent down the summit steps, Arcturas and I padded softly to the entrance marked by grand wooden doors stretching up the full length of the exterior marble walls. Glancing back toward the sloped path, I hesitated.

Was this stupid? The hilt of the silver dagger Frya gifted me just before I left now burned in my palm beneath my cloak. I knew what had to be done if anyone saw me. Was I ready to face that darkness? I had to be. This was too important, too critical. Pulling the double doors open just enough to slip through, I faded into the shadows of the temple's interior as if a terrible beast swallowed me whole.

All the sconces were blown out hours ago. Only the silver moonlight beaming through glass skylights overhead illuminated the strip of cedar beams and pillars that lined the walls of the vestibule. Obsidian sculptures of Polaris rose from matching stone floors, projecting speckles of light across the cavernous walls. Like a replica of twinkling stars across our northern sky. Each statuette posed with outstretched arms, as if beckoning me to plunge deeper into the temple's subterranean secrets.

At the back of the corridor was a dais, shrouded in gauzy drapes. On the dais, a glorious throne. I sucked in a breath, half expecting the Queen of Spring to await me there with her blonde ringlet curls and perfect little foot bouncing over her crossed leg. Only starlight and dust rested upon the throne. My footsteps echoed through the high, multi-story ceilings as I snuck behind the dais and slipped down dusty stone steps leading to the temple's archives.

The archives were vast, stretching for miles into the earth beneath the mountain. Symmetrical, unlit chandeliers, cast from iron, hung down the stretch of the corridor. Round oak desks with matching stools dispersed between row after row of leather-bound books and dusty ledgers.

Only the sound of my cautious footsteps filled the space, refracting off ornate black tiles, speckled with amethysts mapping the northern constellations. The crux stood opposite the northern star. Ursa Major and Cassiopeia beckoned to one another from their adjoining tiles.

What I was searching for, I wasn't sure exactly. I traced my hand across leather spine after spine along the shelves. Arcturas, having picked up a scent, sniffed frantically at a trail, winding her through sections and weaving between desks.

I paused at the stack of shelves labeled Immortal History. Scanning the titles on each shelf, I finally found something of promise. Pulling a thick, black leather-bound book, I started towards the closest desk. Arcturas was still furiously sniffing as I began flipping through the pages.

Tethys, goddess of Spring, Patron of Dawn, was once a benevolent and loving ruler over her people. Venia and its mortal citizens flourished beneath her reign. However, that all changed when she fell into a fit of fury, fueled by retribution.

Rumors circulated that a relationship between her mortal consort and a handmaiden had been uncovered. Heartbroken and enraged, Tethys slaughtered her husband and the entire mortal court beneath her. Although the account of this affair is not documented, historians have heavily investigated the aftermath of this massacre from across the realms.

The members of the court, in an incredibly gruesome sight, were strung from the outer city walls, warning all immortals and mortals alike not to cross the vengeful goddess. Thus started the Great War- an effort lead by Altair, God of Summer, Patron of Day and supported by Procyon, God of Autumn, Patron of Dusk.

Polaris, Goddess of Winter, Patron of Night, however, withheld her army's involvement in the bloodshed. Thousands of mortal lives were lost in the seventy-five years of battle. It wasn't until Aquilae nearly crumbled beneath Tethys's force did Polaris send her armies to support.

During the legendary Battle at Aquilae, Altair himself was seconds from forfeiting to his female enemy when the battle horns of the Northern army rang from outside the city walls. With these new reinforcements, Altair and Procyon pushed Tethys and her armies East- back to her territory.

Venia nearly burned to the ground on that historic day. Accounts from mortal citizens tell of violence and death across the flourishing Eastern Realm. A common legend spread throughout the modern city of Venia. It states that anywhere a plumeria blossomed, mortal blood was shed under their patron goddess's knife.

Once the realms were secured from war, the immortal council decreed that to prevent any more bloodshed of scorned lovers or vengeful gods, a realm isolated from the four mortal cities was to be constructed and the four patron gods would rule, invisible and separate from their mortal peoples.

They appointed four elders as conduits between the cities and their immortal namesakes. Hearts were left broken, and children were left with single parents as the immortals evacuated from their cities. Now, over a thousand years later, the bond between the two races has become seemingly nonexistent.

Venia, still isolated from the other realms, has rebuilt and grown into a prospering city. Without the active presence of their namesake goddess, mortal leadership has taken command of the city.

I smacked the thick book shut. Grumbling, I returned it to its shelf and continued to scan the aisles. The history of Tethys and the Great War was common knowledge. Everyone knew the stories. This was pointless. The archives were public record. There wouldn't be anything here I hadn't already learned in my history lessons.

I continued to hunt for an answer down the rows, however. I couldn't give up that easily. With each page after page I scanned, my frustration boiled. At my tipping point, I threw a leather text to the ground and stomped like a child, tears springing from my eyes.

I was an idiot. Nothing was here to help me. There was no explanation for what happened. The historical records of the royal lineage had told me nothing. We'd come from a pure northern line. Ancient, dating back to the first mortal settlers in the fjord. They'd been just like every other northern family. Nothing miraculous or mystical. We had descended from mere farmers. The only thing that'd set us apart from the city folk was sheer luck. They had selected the first northern king with a bone toss. A child's game.

I slid to my knees, letting the full force of my hysterics erupt out of me. Ripping pages from the books I'd pulled from their shelves, I wailed and sobbed until I expelled all the moisture from my body. When my cries faded into gulps of breath, I thought of my parents.

What would they say if they could see what I'd become- a shell of their daughter, consumed by her fear, calloused by years of cruelty and betrayal? I pictured myself as a child, running through the castle gardens, chasing butterflies, and collecting worms from the dirt.

Where was that girl?

It had been so long since I felt her presence within me. I longed for her light, for her carefree disposition, for her kindled warmth. Had she simply retreated too deep or had they murdered her the day I stepped foot into the tower? I wasn't sure anymore.

Wiping the snot now trailing down my upper lip, I inhaled deeply, chasing the sadness and anger away until only the usual numbness remained. Gathering the torn pages into my cloak pockets, I turned out of the aisle and stepped toward the exit. Something caused me to stop in my tracks, however. My heart dropped into my chest and my knees buckled beneath my weight.

At the end of the alcove, just beside the exit, stood a black-haired woman with dark indigo eyes .