Aire

The poets of old spoke of Seers gifted with waking dreams,

of Sentinels, who could take the form of the beasts of the air,

and who watched over the sacred lands.

Then the age of gifts came to an end.

Over a hundred years, Seers and Sentinels became as Legends,

stories told to wide-eyed children at night.

Chapter 1

That afternoon, many long hours before the attack, Annalisia dressed carefully in a gown made of pale cream silk. She slipped on the beautiful gold slippers that had once been her mother’s. They pinched her toes, but she didn’t complain. She merely stood still as Mira, her personal cloth maiden, smoothed the transparent veil over her hair and made sure the traditional head covering was secured in place under a slim gold halio . The cool metal rested lightly against Annalisia’s forehead, a familiar sensation. Now she felt dressed.

Mira stood back to look her over. She quickly brushed down the skirt so it fell more smoothly to the floor and nodded in satisfaction.

"Your veil is so beautiful, Principessa," she said, giving a little sigh of happiness.

Annalisia nodded absently. She’d embroidered the veil herself. It had taken her weeks to painstakingly stitch the pattern of gold stars along the hem without snagging the delicate fabric. She could hear her sisters chattering in the hall outside her door. Any moment now they’d tap on her door and tell her it was time to leave. She wished she could share their enthusiasm. That was the trouble with noticing too much.

There was a light tap, tap, tap on the paneled door and Liliana’s voice calling, Anna-lee-sia! It’s time to go down to the carriages.

And you’d better hurry, Helena added. Even when she was laughing, Annalisia’s eldest sister sounded as imperious as their grandmother, the queen.

There was more hushed chatter and giggling, and then the sounds of their slippers swishing on the marble floor as they walked away.

She and Mira followed after them. The hallway and the grand staircase seemed an eternity of steps. At the bottom, Annalisia could see the royal carriages in the courtyard. The hem of Liliana’s icy blue skirt was disappearing into the lead carriage. Helena must have already gotten in, for she wasn’t in sight. And the queen’s carriage must have already departed, for there were only two left waiting.

At the thought of Queen Josefina and the banquet ahead—and all of her suspicions, which she feared were right—Annalisia let out an involuntary gasp.

All the air seemed to be sucked right out of her lungs.

She needed to breathe. She needed to be alone, if only for a few moments.

Tell them to go on without me.

"Principessa?" Mira hesitated, looking at her curiously.

I’m fine, Annalisia assured her. I just need a moment. Tell them not to wait.

Her cloth maiden bit her lip. She reached out and squeezed Annalisia’s hand, a small, rather impulsive gesture of encouragement that made Annalisia smile.

Go on. I’ll be fine, really.

As soon as Mira leaned into the carriage to deliver her message, Annalisia grabbed her skirts and hurried away toward the seaward facing palace wall. Her veil whipped about as she ran. The sea breeze threatened to tear it away from her, but the halio held it in place. At the wall, she kicked off her dancing slippers, which, for a second, was pure bliss. She climbed up the bronze rings embedded in the stone.

At the top of the wall, Annalisia couldn’t see clearly for several seconds. She could only feel: her pulse pumping fiercely, her lungs aching, her face hurting from trying not to cry. She could feel the gritty, sun-warmed sandstone beneath her bare feet, and one uncomfortably sharp stone trying to pierce her tender skin.

Slowly her vision cleared and she saw Isalla stretched out before her. Rolling green hillsides sloped sharply down to the sea. From her vantage point high above it all, the houses seemed piled on top of one another, pressed together so tightly that you couldn’t wedge a page of parchment between them. Built of sandstone bricks, they were topped with clay tile roofs, forming a cheerful carpet of red and gold. She could see the winding white beaches in the distance and, of course, the sea. At that moment, it was a deep, clear blue-green, sparkling with rays of golden light in the fading sun. Usually, the familiar view gave Annalisia a restful feeling of home, of belonging to something greater than herself, but today such feelings seemed distressingly out of reach.

Some distant voice told her she should worry about getting her gown dirty, or that her delicate veil would tear on a ragged bit of rock. But she ignored the voice and began walking along the top of the wall. There was a good four-story drop on either side, but the flattened walkway along the top of the wall was safe enough, easily as wide as two guardsmen standing shoulder to shoulder. But there was also no railing to keep her from falling if she tripped, so she stayed in the middle.

She heard the shrill cry of a falcon and looked up to see if Olera was in flight. There was no sign of her though. Searching the skies reminded her of more peaceful days, coming here as a small girl. She would climb to the top of the wall to watch her father’s falcon soaring high above. Her head had been filled with dreams then, dreams of Il Sentiro. The legends said he could take the form of a falcon. He would roam the skies as a bird, then return to the king with a report of all he'd seen, having changed back into a man.

It had been terribly exciting to dream about, but now it seemed impossible, even to one with a gift as unique as hers.

Annalisia stretched her arms out, filled with a sudden yearning to fly. If only she were free. If only all she had to worry about was the wind and clouds and sky.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

It would be even better if she had her father back. He’d been very good at listening. He used to smooth her hair away from her face and tell her not to worry. And she knew he would fix everything. He’d always found a way.

Except for that one night. The horrible night he'd died in battle.

A great whooshing sound startled her and she stepped down hard on her hem. In an odd disjointed way, like a nightmare, time slowed and bent this way and that. She felt herself tipping sideways, being driven over the edge. Annalisia fought for balance. As she wheeled her arms, she saw her own body on the pavers below, limbs twisted at odd angles, lying between the bubbling fountain and the white marble statue of her grandmother. Annalisia gripped as hard as she could with her bare feet and contorted her body until she righted herself.

For a second she could only stand there, breathing hard, in and out. She didn't have time to think about her near fall though, for Olera was upon her, approaching with the whooshing flap of her powerful wings. Annalisia raised her fist instinctively. The falcon flew to her, its talons piercing her hand, as sharp as thorns, drawing a bright red drop of blood. The sound of boots thudding against the pavers came from below. Annalisia looked down and saw Ilan, the falconer’s apprentice, running along the wall. The hem of his sand-colored tunic flapped against the back of his knees.

At the sight of him, Annalisia straightened to the more proper posture of a principessa, forcing the painfully tight muscles between her shoulders to relax.

Looking for something? she called down to Ilan. She scratched Olera’s feathers and the falcon preened at her touch.

Ilan bowed, then craned his neck to look up at her. "She must have seen you standing there, Principessa, for she burst from my hold. It was all I could do to stay with her as long as I did." He blew a dark curl off his forehead, as if he’d just run the full length of Isalla, but Annalisia wasn’t fooled by his dramatics. He wasn't even breathing hard.

She held back a smile. You’ve shown impressive dedication, my friend.

I am, as always, glad to be of service. Ilan’s eyes glowed with appreciation. He’d followed Annalisia around since they were children, much like a faithful houndling would trail after his master. At sixteen, a year younger than she, he’d become a handsome young man. Some pretty servant girl would capture his affections someday. Perhaps one of them already had. Not that Annalisia had the right to complain. If her suspicions were proven true tonight, she'd likely never have time to practice archery with her friend again. She’d have other things to occupy her time. Dry, discouraging things like alliances and duty.

And honoring her grandmother’s wishes.

And marrying a man she didn’t love.

Annalisia felt herself sinking. She was sinking forever into the blackest, deepest hole and soon the dirt would be up to her chin, then covering her mouth, until she couldn't breathe. She drew in a sharp breath and squeezed her eyes shut for a second. She opened them again quickly, sure Ilan would ask her what was troubling her and wishing he hadn't noticed. Thankfully, his attention was on Olera not her.

Come, hungry one, Ilan called, as he reached upwards with his gloved fist. "Your principessa doesn’t have any food, but I’m sure the master has a tasty mouse or two waiting for you." With a great shake of her wings, Olera flew down and arranged herself on Ilan’s fist. She waited with an air of great forbearance as he tied the thin leather jesses to her leg. When Ilan finished, he glanced up at Annalisia.

"May I be of assistance, Principessa? he asked. I do believe a royal carriage awaits you.... He looked pointedly toward the palace courtyard. I’ve heard there’s a banquet in Boroth tonight, or perhaps you have forgotten?"

Despite her troubled thoughts, Annalisia felt her lips twitch upwards into a smile. She looked pointedly down at her ornate gown. I haven’t forgotten, Ilan, as you well know.

Only delaying the inevitable.

The queen wouldn’t be happy to see you up there. He raised one dark brow in mock reproach. Even so there was a light of worry in his eyes.

I know, Annalisia said. She was relieved he hadn't witnessed her near fall. He certainly would have mentioned it if he had. She turned and walked back toward the ring ladder, feeling Ilan's protective presence hovering below her, as if he truly intended to catch her if she fell. At the top of the ladder, she sat and dangled her legs off the edge. How often had she climbed up here as a child so she could spy on her brothers? They'd been so much older, so fascinating. How she'd worshiped them, wanted to be with them, but she'd been too young, a nuisance really.

Do you require assistance? Ilan asked.

She blinked, waking up slightly. The images in her mind had been so vivid, as if her brothers had been standing only a few paces away, with their broad backs to her.

Ilan squinted up at her in the now fading light. His expression was concerned.

No. No, of course not. You may go with my gratitude. She gave him a flourishing royal wave to dismiss him.

"It’s my duty and pleasure to serve, Principessa." Ilan bowed low, raising Olera high on one fist as he did so—dramatically, of course—and took his leave.

He walked away with the sure stride of someone who knew what his purpose was. As Annalisia watched him go, it occurred to her that she couldn’t stay on top of her wall forever. She was no longer a little girl who believed she could escape her troubles. She was a young woman now, and it was time to start acting like one. Remembering her puncture wound, hardly anything to worry about, she quickly wiped the blood against the stone, smearing it into a thin line. It seemed fitting, as if she were making a pact of some sort: today I am leaving childish dreams behind. Or something like that.

Smoothing the veil away from her face, Annalisia climbed down the smooth bronze rings of the watchman’s ladder. At the bottom, she slid her feet into the gold dancing slippers and they immediately pinched her toes. With a sigh of resignation, she straightened and lifted her chin.

For that was what one did to prepare for battle.

Even if that battle was with oneself.

Chapter 2

Annalisia found the voyage to Boroth too short. The quiet, glassy seas offered little distraction from her troubled thoughts, but at least she wasn’t sitting across from her grandmother. Because she’d lagged behind, the first of the royal ships, the one transporting Queen Josefina, had already departed. Helena and Liliana had boarded a second ship, in keeping with tradition, so no accident at sea would kill the whole royal family.

Though Annalisia had been relegated to a small open vessel, she didn’t mind. Mira had greeted her with some relief, but soon after she and the other cloth maidens had started chattering happily amongst themselves. The palace guards stood at their posts at the prow and stern, looking suitably fierce in bronze chest armor.

Upon her arrival to the palace, Annalisia quickly made her way to the great hall and wormed her way through the crowd, properly escorted by two palace guards. Easily a thousand merchants and dignitaries had already assembled for the king’s banquet. As she approached the delegation from Isalla, her steps slowed until she joined her sisters, where they stood facing Queen Josefina.

Her grandmother stood with the impeccable bearing of a queen. Two towering columns framed her to either side, making her look very much like a living, breathing statue of royalty. The bright, jewel-toned silks that billowed softly down each column added to the effect. She wore a long silver gown tonight, which shimmered under the glow of the lanterns strung above. In the royal jeweled halio, studded with sapphires and diamonds, with a matching silver-threaded veil covering her dark upswept hair, she was unspeakably magnificent.

When she lifted her chin ever so slightly to acknowledge Annalisia’s arrival, the guards immediately melted into the background, taking positions with their backs against the stone wall.

As the queen swept an appraising eye over her, Annalisia stood stiffly at attention. She felt herself slowly becoming smaller and smaller, until she was a little girl again, standing with her hands tucked obediently behind her back. It took all her strength to resist the urge to squirm. She could hear the twang of stringed instruments being tuned in the background and the hum of many voices. But they were muffled, like sounds heard under water. She felt the uncomfortable warmth of the hall too, swimming with so many bodies, but she cared only for what her grandmother would say next.

The air thickened.

Time stilled.

Her grandmother appraised her sisters as well, and Annalisia wondered briefly if they felt the same gnawing clutch of nervousness she did.

A small smile finally graced Queen Josefina’s lips. You are all at your most beautiful tonight.

Annalisia let out a small pent up sigh, only then realizing she’d been holding her breath.

Thank you, Grandmother, Helena said, and fell into a graceful curtsy.

While she and Liliana broke into hushed conversation, Annalisia felt Queen Josefina’s gaze resting thoughtfully on her.

You are late, Annalisia.

I was detained.

Indeed.

Annalisia squirmed then, wishing anything would take her grandmother’s attention away from her. She even wished for an appearance by the king of Boroth, a loud, rather vulgar man whose company she usually avoided.

"Cara, you seem distracted tonight. And perhaps even a little sad?" Her grandmother’s voice was softer now, concerned.

I’m a bit tired, Annalisia admitted. She didn’t dare mention how many restless nights she’d spent staring out her window. She must have revealed her troubled thoughts in her expression though, for a flicker of understanding lit her grandmother’s eyes.

All will be well, Anna. I promise.

Annalisia bowed her head, acknowledging the words and wishing they were true. As she looked up, she caught a commotion near one of the arched entryways. An official strode in, commanding the attention of the entire hall. He wore the colors of the kingdom of Jeraan: a long-sleeved tunic in the darkest of browns and a deep evergreen sash, which slanted down from his powerfully set shoulders.

Who’s that? she asked.

"That is Marius De Attero, the most influential advisor of Jeraan. He is of royal blood, I believe, and it’s said he has the ear of King Halim. Queen Josefina tilted her head ever so slightly to one side and arched her brows, as if considering the man with new eyes. I imagine he’s eligible, tesoro..."

Annalisia felt the bite of fingernails in her palms and realized she’d clenched her fists. Her? Marry Marius De Attero, a man old enough to be her father?

But he’s far too old for you, the queen said, echoing her thoughts. I will say, she added with an air of import, I’m glad to see you taking an interest in such matters, Annalisia. It makes what I have to say much easier.

What you have to say? This was it then. What she’d felt coming for weeks now.

Her sisters fell silent and drew closer to listen.

"I’ve made arrangements for you and your sisters to dance the Balladosa this evening," the queen announced.

Even though she’d half expected the news, Annalisia let out an involuntary gasp. Helena stiffened at her side. Liliana turned pale as a dove and slipped her hand into Annalisia’s.

Helena, you will dance with Prince Renardi, the queen said, her tone suggesting that since the two had known each other since infancy their union was a matter of course, and perhaps it was, for Helena didn’t even flinch. For you, Anna, I have secured a dance with Natius Mont Viaglio, a royal of Mont Vineao. He has recently moved into the palace of Jeraan and will be serving as ambassador for his homeland. Ah, there he is. She angled her head slightly in his direction. You will see what a handsome young man he is. I have it from the king that he’s serious and responsible. He has prospered in trade and commands a fleet of merchant ships. He’s the right age for you, you’ll agree.

Is he? Annalisia mumbled. Arranged marriages weren’t unheard of—some royals were even betrothed at birth—but she’d always hoped for something more, for something special. For love even. She saw a fleeting image of herself on top of the palace wall as a child, spending endless days staring up at clouds, foolishly dreaming. Perhaps she had, after all, read too many stories as a child. An inward sigh whispered through her.

Stupid legends.

"He is suitable for you, Annalisia, Queen Josefina insisted, with the same understated regal smile that sent her subjects scurrying to obey. By agreeing to this marriage—in due time, of course—you will be serving the people of Isalla. An alliance such as this will protect us all."

I see. Annalisia obediently looked toward Natius, but her vision blurred with unshed tears. And why the tears? she asked herself with some impatience. She’d suspected her grandmother was planning this very thing.

What do you think of him, Anna? Queen Josefina’s voice was soft, her manner inviting a confidence. I do want you to be happy. I think I’ve chosen well.

Annalisia muttered something vague, causing her grandmother to bring herself up sharply.

Look again, Annalisia.

Annalisia sighed. Her eyes sought the group of young men nearby. One in particular stood out from the others, a young man with uncommonly fair hair and fair skin. Against her will, Annalisia found herself taking an interest in him. Her grandmother hadn’t lied. Natius Mont Viaglio was indeed quite handsome. Leaning with the heel of one hand against a marble column, he exuded an air of power and confidence. He wore a snowy white ankle-length tunic, as suited the occasion, with a bright blue sash worn diagonally across his chest. One of his companions made a comment that made the others laugh aloud, but only a slight smile played about Natius’s lips, intensifying the impression that he was separate and apart from them.

Annalisia still felt an urge to scream that she didn’t want an arranged marriage. If only Queen Josefina would listen. But she wouldn’t. Not now. Not at the banquet.

He’s a very...suitable...young man, I’m sure, she said instead and her grandmother smiled.

A Borothian guard came forward. After conferring in hushed tones with the queen, he escorted her away. Presumably so she could meet with the king to discuss the alliance.

I don’t want to dance with Natius Mont Viaglio, she muttered to her sisters.

Do you think I want Prince Renardi? Helena asked. But I’ll do as I’m told. And so will you. You heard Grandmother. It’s for the alliance.

"An alliance against Cardia, who’s never going to invade us again." It was an old argument. What business did Cardia have with Isalla? Their mother, a royal daughter of Cardia, was gone now, so there wasn’t even the slightest thread of connection between their countries now. Annalisia’s father and their grandfather, the king, had both died in battle to protect her. No one could accuse them of not giving their all. But, in the end, their mother had disappeared, abducted by some unknown common enemy, perhaps, and was never heard from again. Another sharp loss, one Annalisia shied away from thinking about too much. Besides, from all she’d heard, Cardia had grown fat and rich of late. They hardly needed to plunder the jewels of Isalla or to steal their finest cloth.

Surely you’ve heard the latest reports. Helena glanced uneasily at a group of wealthy merchants standing close to them and lowered her voice. A Cardian patrol boat was spotted in the waters of Jeraan just weeks ago.

Of course I’ve heard the reports, but it may have merely looked like a boat from Cardia, Annalisia pointed out. Or maybe some Jeraanian fisherman purchased his boat there. Or— She broke off in frustration because nothing she said would ever convince Helena—or the queen—otherwise.

Perhaps we’ll never know, Helena said in an annoyingly practical tone, as if pacifying an upset child—a tone she adopted all-too often with Annalisia, who was the youngest of them all.

Annalisia resisted the urge to stick her tongue out at her. It was a childish thing to want to do and she’d made a decision not three hours ago to leave her childish days behind.

She burned to tell Helena, I know that trouble will surely come of all this. That’s what I know.

Instead, she bit her lip, barely stopping the words, for she knew no such thing. Although a heavy, sort of hollow sensation dragged at her chest, it was nothing like the sudden sweeping cold she felt before one of her visions.

Grandmother didn’t say who I was to dance with, Liliana broke in, speaking swiftly and gripping Annalisia’s hand more tightly.

Annalisia gave her sister’s hand a comforting squeeze. Of the three of them, Liliana had the gentlest soul and a tender heart.

You’ll find out soon, Helena said reassuringly. If I were to guess, I’d say Grandmother has chosen Prince Tallen of Jeraan for you. Why else would he be here when his father is home dying? she asked, gesturing with a significant nod as she spotted him in the crowd. At least you know Prince Tallen, Lilia. He’s soft-spoken and intelligent, not one to overpower your sensibilities. His people are peaceful and industrious. Their land is not too difficult a voyage by ship.... It may indeed be a suitable match.

Annalisia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. If anything Tallen had been her special friend growing up. "Liliana doesn’t want to marry Prince Tallen! Do you, Lilia? She didn’t need to wait for an answer. And I don’t want to marry Natius, she said firmly. To marry for an alliance...." She grimaced. It was all so cold, so unromantic. And needless.

We’ll do as the queen wishes, Annalisia. Helena lifted one shoulder in a resigned shrug.

Wishing yet again that she had the gift of flight, Annalisia looked away. She caught sight of Mira on the outskirts of the hall. She was nestled in a shadowed alcove with a young guard-in-training. Annalisia watched in riveted fascination as the young man stroked a knuckle down Mira’s cheek. He whispered something in her ear then, something that made her blush prettily. It happened as quick as a blink, then the two parted, then the young guard strolled away with a rolling swagger that brought to mind the captain of Isalla’s royal guard.

Watching them, Annalisia was assaulted by a sudden piercing yearning.

Her eyes strayed to Natius Mont Viaglio, the young man her grandmother wished her to marry in due time. Would she have to leave Isalla, for Isalla’s sake, and live in Mont Vineao, a land of cold mountains and endless icy lakes? It seemed wrong. She didn’t know Natius. He hadn’t asked to dance the Balladosa with her, as was the custom, to express his intentions. There was no sweetness, no catching of the breath. They might be dancing together tonight, but the courtship rituals that followed—all the customary dinners and excursions—would be a mockery.

Annalisia rubbed at her temple, easing the beginnings of a headache. If she had the choice, she wished she could simply flee the crushing confines of the great hall. Even as her eyes strayed toward the archway that led out to the gardens, where she’d often played as a child, she saw Queen Josefina gliding across the floor as if there was no crowd at all. People wordlessly parted to grant her passage. On her way, she collected Natius Mont Viaglio with but a glance, and the two princes of Boroth and Jeraan as well.

Annalisia watched with a sense of doom as they approached.

Chapter 3

With no real awareness of having taken a single step, Annalisia found herself in the circle cleared for dancing, facing Natius Mont Viaglio. At the appropriate time, she placed her arm across her waist and swept the other in a graceful arc above her head, just as she and her sisters had been taught. Natius Mont Viaglio stepped closer until they were side to side. Annalisia felt the warmth of him, his hip nearly touching hers, and an odd little shiver of awareness rippled over her skin. She was suddenly intensely aware of every breath, how any accidental movement might bring her into contact with him.

It wasn’t a pleasurable sensation. Nor was it entirely unpleasant....

It was a whole host of unknowns. That’s what it was.

And she was being silly. As a principessa, she’d danced with many other young men and many times she’d stood close to Ilan as they were practicing their archery. Even so, when Natius boldly grasped her upraised wrist, she had to resist the urge to snatch it away from him. Never breaking contact, he guided her in a measured circle around the dance floor. The music flowed around them like a gentle stream at first, almost sleepily. They took several turns around the polished stone floor, swiveling inward to the center and out toward the edge, over and over, her slippers making a light swishing sound with every step. The other couples echoed their movements. To Annalisia’s surprise, she found the dance quite stirring, as if she were part of