The world exploded into a million shards of glass, shards that burst themselves into millions more, over and over again.
Shattering.
The world was coming undone, breaking along the seams, breaking between the seams, fracturing, collapsing, because of a single sound. Once a song, the sound was now just a scream, a scream the world would never forget.
On and on the scream went, and the world shattered with it.
Alice’s eyes shot open. She tried to take a breath, but it wouldn’t come. She was stifled, smothered, and she fought her sheets and comforters, scattered her piles of pillows, until she could sit up in bed, unencumbered, and finally take a long, desperate breath.
Stop it. It’s a dream. Even the most frightening dreams are just dreams.
She took another long, deep breath. Then she cast about, and the hope in her heart dwindled.
Flynn hadn’t come to her in the night. Perhaps the doors here were more difficult than the door of her tent. But she didn’t lock her bedroom door. Why should she? There was nothing to fear here.
Here was home. Here was the only true safety in the world.
And even then… it wasn’t safety from the terrors in her heart.
She took another breath, then rolled out of bed and stood on her own two feet. It was only five o’ clock in the morning, but there was no going back to sleep now.
And there was definitely no hanging around in her room all alone. So she got dressed, gave her hair a cursory brushing (it was always a bit unruly, and she liked it that way), and exited her bedroom. Out in the hall, she considered her options. She could go see Mister Carrol. He was always awake, it seemed — she’d never caught him sleeping, and she’d tried numerous times. She could go next door and peek in on Guin, who was undoubtedly fast asleep, drooling all over her pillow in a fashion adorably unbecoming of a queen.
Or… she could follow the music. She realized as she laid eyes on Tobias’ door, right across from hers, that there was music coming from within. Soft singing in a warm, lovely tenor voice.
She smiled. Crossing the hall, she grasped the handle to Tobias’ room, and flung open the door. “Aha!” she proclaimed loudly. “I knew you could sing!”
“I never said I couldn’t,” Tobias replied calmly, not at all caught off-guard by Alice’s sudden, unannounced arrival. He was sitting in the center of the floor, the Canticos open in his lap. On the bed behind him, Flynn was curled up in an adorable little ball. He opened his eyes to look at Alice, but otherwise didn’t react, not even raising his head.
“There’s no surprising the two of you, is there?” Alice asked, sighing. She entered the bedroom, closing the door behind her. “So? What’s go you up so early?”
“Habit,” Tobias said.
“So this is your usual morning routine, is it?” Alice asked. She hopped up onto the bed, and then sprawled out beside Flynn, petting him gently. His fluffy tail was the first to uncurl from his cozy little ball position, wagging softly. Then he lifted his head and started giving her palm dainty little kisses.
Cute.
“We don’t have a set routine, so to speak,” Tobias said. Alice noticed him smile as he saw Flynn uncurl and sprawl out with Alice, eagerly accepting some morning tummy-rubs. “But it’s nice to be able to start with the Canticos.”
“Prayer and song, hmm?” Alice asked. Tobias nodded. “So? Now what will you do?”
“You’re here now,” Tobias said, closing the book. “What do you want to do?”
“Ever so accommodating,” Alice said with a grin. “What I want most to do is give Guin the rude awakening I thought I might be giving you.”
“Let her sleep,” Tobias said. It was spoken calmly, but there was something else beneath it. Was he a bit protective of the Promised Queen? How intriguing.
“Fine,” Alice said with a sigh. She laid out flat on her back, spreading her arms out. Flynn, no longer being petted, stood up over her and started licking her face. She burst out laughing, playfully shoving his face away, only to get his tail wagging and more eager face-kisses. “All right, I’ll give you some love, too!” She petted him all over, and he sat down, happily receiving her affection. “Maybe we should give Flynn some play-time.” She sat up, beaming. “I know just the place.”
Tobias stood and retrieved a few balls from his rucksack, which turned Flynn’s complete and total attention to him. “Lead the way,” he said.
Alice happily obliged.
——
Guinevere woke comfortably tangled in her sleeping bag and numerous comforters, her hair a wild mess, her face embedded in her pillows. She blinked bleary eyes in the yellow gleam of the dawn, and then sat up partially, wiping a hand across her mouth. Ava, curled up against her stomach, leaned into her comfortingly.
She’d managed to sleep heavily and deeply, despite all the night had brought her. And yet, now that she was awake again, she couldn’t help the doubts that flooded her mind, brought on by Lacie’s stunning declaration.
There is more than one person in my company who knows where Artorius is. They know…
And they haven’t told me.
She didn’t want to doubt those who had become her friends. She trusted Sheena when she said she didn’t know. Which left Alice, Tobias, Elliot, and Ninian. She wouldn’t be surprised if Ninian knew — she seemed to know a great deal beyond what others did. But she couldn’t imagine Ninian keeping such a secret from her. They weren’t close, but Ninian had always been honest and true. And the fact that she always spoke with true Elysian, with a song, meant she could not be dishonest.
So. That left Alice, Tobias, and Elliot.
Guinevere shook her head hard.
Stop it. Whoever knows, whether or not they know, whyever they’ve chosen to hide it from you…
It only serves Lacie’s purposes. It only makes you more likely to trust her, more likely to accept her offer.
And… if I did know where Artorius was… if I could go to him right now…
She realized it wasn’t so simple. Did she want to see him? Yes. To see him alive, to see him grown from the child she’d known, would be incredible. But…
It had been ten years. Nearly fifteen since they’d last seen each other — when he’d been taken to the Wonderian compound for his protection, they had communicated almost entirely through letters for five years.
She wanted to see him. Of course she did! And yet…
What is this fear? Why now, when the offer is before me, when the truth could be right within my reach, do I hesitate?
If he is still alive, and so many others know of his whereabouts — the Librarian, Lairah, Lacie, and more than one in my company — then… why?
Why would he tell them, or reveal himself to them, but not to me? Why wouldn’t I be the first person he told? Why wouldn’t he at least write to me, at least give me some sign that he still lives, that he still even thinks of me? Did our friendship mean nothing? Does our shared fate mean nothing?
His “death” made my parents try to lock me away for my protection. His “death” led to all sorts of articles and proclamations that the Promise itself was dead. Without a King, what use was a Queen?
“You are no Queen. A princess at best, but really only a promise, a promise without hope of fulfillment.”
Saoirse’s words still burned in her heart. And those insults, those declarations of Guinevere’s uselessness, all stemmed from one horrid lie: the Promised King was dead.
Only he wasn’t. He was alive! Guinevere had known it all these ten years, and now she knew she wasn’t the only one to know.
Does he know what his false “death” does for the people’s hope in the Promise?
Does he know what his “death” did, and still does, to me?
She wanted to see him. And yet… she didn’t. Memories of the boy she’d known, of her best friend and his wonderful parents, still sparkled and gleamed in her mind’s eye, still warmed her heart. But if she saw that same boy today, all grown up, if she saw the man who had chosen to forsake their friendship and abandon her…
Would all that she knew and loved from the past be shattered?
And what would she do? Would she be able to tell him everything she wanted to say? Would she be able to ask him all the questions in her heart? Or would she be reduced to a puddle of raw emotion, making a fool of herself when it mattered most?
As she stood, and placed her hands on the rail of the balcony, and gazed out at Ars Moran under the gleam of sunshine, she realized…
I don’t want to know.
Ava stood and joined her at the edge, and Guinevere smiled, stroking her head. “It’s me and you, sweet girl,” she said softly. On the same day that Artorius’ parents were killed, when he supposedly died, it had been Guinevere’s birthday. Ava had come to her, out of nowhere, with a glittering tag on her collar saying “For Guinevere.” There was no note of who this precious gift had been from, but Guinevere knew.
It was you. The Artorius I knew, preparing the greatest gift in the world for me.
That’s… where our story ends. That’s how I’ll hold you in my heart — as who you were. Your summer-sky-blue eyes, your brilliant smile, your simple charm, your adventurous spirit. I’ll always treasure the friendship we had. You’re a part of me, forever.
You’re not dead. And I’m glad you aren’t. But…
Maybe it’s best that we remain apart.
Guinevere blinked at sudden tears, then wiped them away. She would not cry. Taking a breath, she composed herself.
“It’s a new day, Ava,” she said. “Let us face it together.”
Ars Moran was a completely different city in the light of day. Tall, gothic spires gleamed in the morning rays, the dark shadows that concealed nocturnes and other dangers put to flight, the fears of the unknown cast away in illuminating brilliance.
Guinevere stood, bathed and dressed and ready for the day, outside of Alice’s manor with the rest of her party — Sheena with Akko perched on her shoulder, Alice, Tobias with Flynn at his side, Elliot and Ninian with Hector between them. Mister Carrol stood on the doorstep, seeing them off.
“I hope to have good news for you upon your return,” Mister Carrol said. “Good luck in your efforts today.”
“Thank you!” Alice said, waving. “We’ll be back soon. Try not to be lonely!”
As they started off, Tobias asked, “Are you sure we’ll be back soon?”
“Oh, we’ll be back eventually,” Alice said. “It’s all on Guin today. Right, Guin?”
“Right,” Guinevere said.
Over a delicious breakfast, she’d explained her plans for the day. She’d hoped that she wouldn’t have to go through it all alone — especially her last stop. But she was prepared, if necessary.
It turned out, none of her companions wanted to leave her side. No one else had any plans, aside from Alice, and her only plan was, “We have to come back home before we leave Albia again. Mister Carrol is looking into a modulator, and other leads besides. He’ll turn up something, I know it!”
So Guinevere had sent a message to Rosalie with her plans for the day, and then they set off into the city.
The first stop: the swordsmith extraordinaire, Fiore Viggiani. His studio — a combined swordsmithery and renowned fencing school — occupied half a city block in Ars Moran’s Upper Canto Ward, a region of the city devoted largely to the development of the musical arts. But fencing was so connected to music — the dance-like footwork, the importance of tempo and timing in swordplay — that Viggiani’s fencing school fit right in. His wasn’t the only fencing school in the Upper Canto Ward, either. But his was certainly the most renowned.
“What brings us here?” Alice asked, gazing around in wonder at the sights and sounds. Gramophones played music of various styles, while colorful banners fluttered in the wind, and grand posters were smoothed out as part of the morning opening routines. A café nearby smelled delightfully of cinnamon and chocolate. If Guinevere hadn’t already had a lovely breakfast at Alice’s home, the Café Impresario would have been her first choice for a morning meal.
“My sword,” Guinevere said, resting a hand on the hilt of the rapier at her hip. “Maestro Viggiani crafted it at my request, just before I departed for Wonderia. I never got to thank him then. I finally have a chance, and I don’t want to delay it further.”
“We get to meet the maker himself!” Alice said. “And his creation has served you very well.”
“Indeed,” Guinevere said. Her sword had been put through its paces in real action far sooner — and more violently — than she’d expected. And it had proven its perfection at every turn.
Fiore Viggiani’s studio was a multi-floor affair that stood out architecturally from the gothic spires, arches, and elaborate stonework around it. It took its architectural cues from Viggiani’s homeland, its charming, open design full of big windows, breezy verandas and balconies, and flat roofs with colorful ceramic tiles. A pair of crossed swords shone in the sunlight over the inviting entrance. Guinevere led the way inside, her heart singing at the sound of practiced footwork on exercise mats and the light ringing of training foils engaging in morning drills. The interior had a warm, cozy feeling, with lacquered wood walls, comfy seating areas, and lovely potted flowers and lush trees. Shelves displayed sword treatises and other instructional material, available for perusing at one’s leisure, or for sale if one was so inclined. The entrance hall branched off to the left with descending stairs to the swordsmithery, and to the right with ascending stairs to the first practice hall.
“Good morning,” said a spritely young assistant behind the main desk. “How can I —”
“Guin!” came the distinct, charming accent of Maestro Fiore himself. He strode down from the practice hall, a towel across his shoulders, his face shining with sweat, wearing a broad, bright smile. “It’s wonderful to see you. And what an entourage!”
Fiore Viggiani was in his mid-forties, surprisingly young for his status as one of his homeland’s foremost swordmasters. His thick dark hair was tied back in a short ponytail, and his green eyes were alive with enthusiastic delight. He was dressed in the style of his homeland, with numerous layers of bright colors, favoring green and orange. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, revealing tautly muscled forearms.
“It’s good to see you, too, Maestro,” Guinevere said, shaking the hand Fiore offered. When he knelt to give her hand a kiss, she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. He always did lay on the charm a bit thick. “I was hoping I’d be able to catch you while I’m in town. I wanted to thank you.” She drew her sword, its slender silver blade gleaming beautifully in the light. “She has lived up to your lofty claims, and proven an able companion through many trials.”
“So you’ve already put her to the test, have you?” Fiore asked, a twinkle in his eyes. “Excellent! You must regale me with tales of your adventures, then. I’m eager to hear how her unique artes have been put to use.”
“Her artes?” Guinevere asked, blinking in surprise.
Fiore stared at her. “Surely you didn’t think the Elysian script along the blade was for show?” he asked.
Guinevere gazed at her blade, which had a musical stave engraved up its length, etched with Elysian script. “I…” she started, then didn’t know what to say. She had thought it was just an inscription. And she had, she realized with chagrin, failed to try to decipher it at all.
“Well!” Fiore said, laughing loudly. “I must confess, I thought the good Captain Grants would have gotten you up to speed — or that you would have investigated them on your own. But I don’t want to spoil the surprise. When you get a chance, take some time and decipher them for yourself. Put your studies of Elysian to the test, eh?”
“Ooh, are they riddles?” Alice asked. “I do so love a good riddle!”
“They could be seen as such,” Fiore said, “though that simply comes from my own poetic inclinations. Elysian is too beautiful a language, and music too beautiful an art, to be employed in straightforward declarations.”
“Of course,” Guinevere said, and laughed softly to herself. She took another look along her sword’s blade, then sheathed it. Mysteries to look forward to solving. “Thank you for going above and beyond for my sake. Even without taking advantage of her magics, she has proven a peerless blade, and I am forever grateful.”
“If my humble talents can contribute to your safety and success, that is all I need,” Fiore said. He bowed with a flourish. “Is there aught else I can help you with, Guin? You and your companions can make yourselves at home, of course, and I’d love to hear stories of your battles — but you seem to be in a hurry.”
“I do have quite the day ahead of me,” Guinevere admitted. “But I’m glad I was able to thank you in person, Maestro.”
“Fiore, please,” Fiore said. “My title is a shadow in the face of your own. And we are friends, are we not? At least, I would like to think so.”
Guinevere laughed. “All right, then, Fiore,” she said. “Thank you. I look forward to deciphering these songs and the artes they embody. And I hope I’ll see you again sooner rather than later.”
“I shall hope for the same, your Majesty.” Fiore added this last in a whisper, and bowed low, dramatically. “I wish you well on your adventures, Guin. When next we meet, tell me how well those artes served you, eh?”
“I shall,” Guinevere said. She thanked him again, and then they were off.
“It would have been nice if the rest of us had been properly introduced,” Alice said. “And I would have liked to talk to him a bit.”
“As would I!” Elliot said, and Guinevere thought she saw stars in his eyes. “He’s the greatest swordsmith in the Kingdom, and a peerless duelist.”
“You’ll get plenty of chances to talk to him on your own in the future,” Tobias said, giving Elliot a shove away from the studio. “Guinevere’s in charge, today.”
Guinevere smiled at that. But when she remembered where she had decided to go next, cheer turned to grim determination. “Right, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”
They hailed a cab and piled in. The cabs of the capital were designed with a pair of rear seats facing each other, so that six passengers could easily fit in the back — three facing forward, three facing backwards. The dogs had just enough floor space, too. Hector curled up and kept his head down — he was not very fond of car rides, though he coped admirably. Meanwhile, Flynn took up a spot right next to the window, sitting up, watching the world go by, his tail wagging away. Akko perched atop Flynn’s head, equally delighted by the sights outside. Ava was the calm one, lying down at Guinevere’s feet, unbothered by the ride.
Their ride took them down to the Middle Canto Ward, a bustle of close-in residential areas intermingled with small local grocers, several chapels, a hospital, and the centerpiece: Saint Gloriana Primary School.
It had been a wonderful, shining beacon at the center of the Middle Canto Ward. Now it was a burned-out husk. Still standing, but with windows shattered, insides blackened, it was fit for no one. There was no children’s education happening here.
And the ones responsible for this act…
Zweitracht. Lacie and her ilk. They did this. And for what?
They drove past the school, to the hospital. There, Guinevere paid the driver and they all piled out. Heading in, Guinevere introduced herself, and despite still dressing “incognito” — dueling pants and jacket, boots, and a cap on her head — she didn’t hide who she was.
“Your Majesty!” said the nurse at the reception desk, eyes wide in amazement. She bowed twice, then leaned forward. “Oh, but I’m so pleased to see you alive and well! The rumors going around about the League and your kidnapping… well, I knew they couldn’t be true, but you’d still disappeared. We’ve all been so worried!”
“I was on a journey of my own accord,” Guinevere said. “Now I’ve returned, and I want to see those affected by the Saint Gloriana fire. I wish to pay my respects.”
“Ah, of course, your Majesty,” the nurse said. “Please, follow me. I’ll show you right up. And thank you, truly. You don’t know how seeing you alive and well will brighten their day.”
Those still recovering from the fire — three teachers and seven students — were being cared for on the third floor, in a ward with big windows all around, giving them plenty of light and a sense of the outdoors even though they couldn’t yet leave to go outside themselves. Three were hooked up to artificial respirators to clean out their lungs and help them get the oxygen they still needed, while others were receiving care for injuries received.
Guinevere removed her cap and strode to the first bed, taking a seat before a child not much older than Alice. The little boy was just downing some pain medicine, and when he’d finished washing it down with a big gulp of water, he turned to see Guinevere, and his eyes widened in shock. “M-my Queen?” he asked in a tiny voice.
Guinevere smiled. “Yes,” she said. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it, Philip? My, how you’ve grown. In fourth grade now, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Philip said, nodding meekly. He had such lovely green eyes, full of curiosity and wonder. “You’re okay, your Majesty? I mean, we’ve heard so many rumors…”
“It’s Guinevere, Philip,” Guinevere said. “And yes, I’m all right. Don’t believe everything you hear. I went on an adventure, purely of my own accord. Now I’ve come back to check on all of you. I’m glad to see you’re in good hands, and coming along nicely.”
“It doesn’t even hurt anymore,” Philip said, gesturing with his left arm, which was encased in a thick cast. “I just took a little fall, that’s all. Others had it much worse than me.”
“You’ve been very brave, haven’t you?” Guinevere asked. Philip smiled, and Guinevere smiled back to keep the tears at bay. “I’m going to check on everyone else, okay? Get some rest. You’ll be better in no time.”
“When will we get to go back to school, Miss Guinevere?” Philip asked.
“I’m sure they’re working very hard to get things cleaned up and repaired to welcome you back,” Guinevere said. “But I’ll check on things when I’m done here, to make sure you can go back to school soon. All right?”
Guinevere gave his uninjured hand a gentle squeeze, and then headed off to the next bed, where one of the teachers, Mrs. Aldecott, had a breathing mask over her mouth and nose hooked up by a hose to an artificial breathing apparatus. She was asleep, and Guinevere rested a hand over hers, saying a silent prayer for her before moving on to the next bed.
One by one, she visited with those recovering from the fire. Injuries were minor, and those in need of artificial respiration were recovering nicely as well. They would all be able to return to their lives none the worse for wear by the end of the month.
But that wasn’t where the true damage had been done, Guinevere knew. They’d seen their school burned out into a dead place. They’d felt the flames, struggled to breathe amidst the smoke. They’d struggled and panicked, desperate to escape. The memories, the fears, were worse than any physical wounds they had suffered.
And Guinevere thought of Tobias. He had watched his parents murdered in front of him, in the midst of fire and smoke. She’d seen how he reacted to fire being wielded as a weapon in Saoirse’s lands, seen the panic that briefly flared up within him.
Terror inflicted wounds that could last a lifetime.
And so, when Guinevere had finished meeting with all those in the hospital, she walked down to the school, where a fire brigade was still investigating certain areas where the last vestiges were still smoldering, days after the blaze had been put out.
“Your Majesty!” said the fire chief when Guinevere introduced herself to him, his eyes going wide. “What brings you here, if I may ask?”
“I wish to know the status of the extinguishing, and what current analysis is as to the hopes of restoring the school,” Guinevere said. “Who is in charge of repairs and restoration, once your brave work is finished?”
“We should have the last embers and smolders fully extinguished by end of day, Your Majesty,” the chief said. He turned a grim stare towards the blasted-out windows of Saint Gloriana’s front façade. “I’ve been told Rogert’s Insurance is handling the claims. All’s been cleared as no fault of the school’s owners and occupants, of course. But the costs of restoration… well. Saint Gloriana has a sterling reputation, but her coffers are somewhat less impressive. If you don’t mind me saying so, Your Majesty.”
“That’s what I was afraid of, captain,” Guinevere said. Rogert’s was a fine insurance company — for personal and individual claims. An entire school needing to be restored, at least parts of it completely rebuilt…
They aren’t up to the task. It’ll take years, with endless delays, for the bare minimum to be accomplished here. There’s just not enough money, between what the school would have invested and what Rogert’s can back up.
“Is the superintendent available?” Guinevere asked.
“Yes,” said the fire chief. “He’s here, actually — overseeing every step of things. Trying his best to see some hope in this mess, I suspect. You’ll find him in the main lobby.”
“He’s inside?” Guinevere asked.
“Oh, the entrance is safe as can be,” the fire chief said. “You can trust us, Your Majesty. We won’t risk further loss of life or limb.”
“Thank you, captain,” Guinevere said. She led the way up the front walk. Stepping through the charred front doorway onto a floor scattered with ashen debris, she found a man standing in the midst of it, his eyes turned skyward, to where a great stained-glass window had once hung resplendently in a high alcove. The window still stood, in fact — enduring where all other glass had failed — but its colors were painted over black by smoke and ash.
“Superintendent Carwyn?” Guinevere asked.
The man nodded, murmuring a confirmation. He didn’t turn to face her. He stood with hands in his pockets, his whole stature a sigh yet to be breathed. Guinevere stood silent, too, unwilling to mar his reverie.
“Your Majesty,” Carwyn said after a moment, his voice a silken whisper. “It is good of you to come.”
“I have heard the tentative prognosis,” Guinevere said.
“Dire,” Carwyn said.
“Indeed,” Guinevere said. “Would you like to hear a more hopeful alternative?”
It was then that Carwyn finally turned to her, a question in his haunted grey eyes.
Three hours later, Guinevere and her companions exited the cab in Concordia Plaza, right on the walk up to the Queen’s Manor. The air was stifling — not a breeze stirred Guinevere’s hair. She took a long look back, across the Plaza. A grand circle one hundred yards in diameter, in the center was a ground-laid mosaic depicting the Promised King and Queen, hand-in-hand, golden crowns atop their heads, with a golden dawn shining behind them.
It was such a beautiful piece of artwork, in the center of immense grandiosity. It should be awe-inspiring.
To Guinevere, Concordia Plaza had always felt lonely.
Here on one side stood the Queen’s Manor, and across from it the King’s Manor — but the King’s Manor had always stood empty, as long as she had known of it. Artorius’ family had declined to take up residence in such pomp and circumstance, preferring to give their home more of a personal touch, on a smaller scale. They chose to live in the countryside, where nature was never far away, and where Artorius’ mother could grow her beloved apple trees.
And so the city was left with a plaza that was dedicated to the Promise, with two grand manors, practically palaces, arrayed across from each other, and nothing else. When one of those manors stood empty, and the Plaza itself was more ceremony than residence, with no one ever taking a pleasure stroll through the circle…
Guinevere turned away from the circle, towards the Manor, where a contingent of Knights of the Promise were already hastening towards her and her companions. She noticed Lancelot at the lead, flustered as usual. He’d always reminded her of a puppy — and right now he looked like a puppy who was worried he’d done something wrong, and was trying his best to make it right.
“My Queen!” he cried as he brought the Knights to a halt before her, all of them saluting in unison. “I had hoped that was you. You’re dressed… um…” He looked her over quickly, clearly unsure how to respond to her more casual attire. He shook his head, then affected a sunny smile. “You’re all right! Safe and sound, as Captain Grants said you would be. Welcome home, My Queen.”
“I won’t be staying long,” Guinevere said. She stood tall, chin held high, determined to make herself felt as queen even if she wasn’t dressed the part. She fought against a tightening in her throat as she spoke her next words. “Take me to my parents. I would have words with them.”