Malicide I, Ch. 1

Prologue: Roahess Balaf

3432: 1-1-1-5

On the fifth day after Pentelaud, four heads arrived on Roahess’s doorstep.

It took her a moment to recognize them; they were so disfigured and covered in blood. After that, it took her another moment to stop screaming.

The poor courier who’d delivered the package had no idea what was inside—just a message from the Steward of the city Vinnis: get these to the Balafs. He was just as shocked as Roahess when he looked down and realized he’d been carrying a box of severed heads.

Roahess’s scream alerted the rest of the castle, who converged on her position in minutes. Her husband, Albadir Balaf, pushed through the crowd of servants and aides until he was at her side.

He burst into tears when he saw them.

It took Roahess a moment to notice that there was a note taped to the inside of the box—a single piece of parchment folded in on itself. She opened it and read it, a hand going to her mouth. When she finished, she passed it to Albadir, who took it with shaking hands.

While Albadir read, Roahess wiped her eyes and gingerly closed the box. Her nation was in danger. She needed to act, and to act now.

Albadir finished reading the note and looked up at his wife. Roahess could see terror, panic in his face. “Husband,” she said. “We have to act quickly now.”

He looked up, his eyes glassy. “War, Roahess…what—what do we do?”

“We have to find them,” she said. “The next four.”

“The Appointeds…”

“Yes. I believe Caraspen’s survival depends on it. Now, come on.” Roahess turned and faced the crowd of castle servants behind her. She took a deep breath and said, “I suspect many of you are wondering what is going on. I cannot tell you. The day for answers will come, but it is not upon us yet. For now, you will have to trust me when I say you cannot breathe a word of this—any of it—to anyone you know.” She paused. “If you have ever loved your Monarchs, if you have ever loved your country, now is the time to prove it. Go back to your posts, go back to your places. The sun will be up soon, and the day’s tasks still need to be done.”

One by one, the servants began to peel off, disappearing to wherever they’d come from before. After a few moments, it was just her and Albadir left at the castle entrance.

She looked back at the box, and then up at Albadir. “Come, husband,” she said. “We have a lot of work to do.”

Marya Somnas

3432: 1-1-1-5

Marya's eyes fluttered open. She was laying in a little stone room, braziers flickering on the wall. "Hello…?" Her tongue felt thick in her mouth.

"Good evening, my lady."

The voice belonged to a man, his tone colored by an unfamiliar accent. Marya’s eyes were blurry, but she could see him standing in the doorway. He was portly and older—rather grandfatherly, she thought. He wore silk robes and leaned on a tall iron staff. "Are you with the Project?"

"No, etsa. I am Albadir Balaf, Grand Priest of Caraspen."

She sat up, vision sharpening already. "Where's Leie? What year is it?"

"Er…" He paused. "Etsa, I am very sorry."

"What year is it?"

“Etsa, I need to explain—”

“How long has it been since I went to sleep?”

He frowned. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

“What do you mean, sorry? What’s going on? Tell me! Why isn’t Leie here? I—”

“Slow down, please,” he said. “My Discalin is not as good as it once was.”

“What? What are you talking about?” She could feel her hands starting to tremble.

"The Discalin language—your language—passed out of common use one thousand years ago."

Her stomach churned. “That’s impossible,” she murmured weakly. “That…that can’t be. Leie said they’d come back for me.”

"I'm afraid you have been asleep for a very long time," said Albadir.

Tendrils of panic were beginning to reach the surface of her mind. There were too many questions, too much confusion. They forgot about me. They abandoned me here and ran off.

And then the realization hit. They’re gone. Mama, Papa, Ivie, Leie…they're all gone. Bones and ashes and dust. She was breathing rapidly now, fear taking over.

Albadir's voice was distant in her ears. "Etsa, what is your name?"

Everyone I loved is gone.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder and flinched away. "My lady,” said Albadir, “I’m sorry, but I need to be sure you are the girl I'm seeking. What is your name?"

Marya stood up, her legs sore. As she scanned the room, her eyes caught on a little wooden box in the corner. Albadir seemed surprised, like he hadn’t noticed it before.

Curious, she knelt and pulled the box towards her. The wood was dusty and slightly rotted. The hinges creaked as she opened it. Inside was a letter titled, 'For my sister, upon her waking.'

Ivie. Marya recognized her eldest sister’s handwriting. With shaking fingers, she unfolded the crumbling parchment and began to read.

Dear sister,

I don't know when this letter will find you, or what condition it will find you in, but I hope you're alright. I love you and miss you very much. When Leie told us they weren't able to wake you with the rest of the Dormants, it broke our hearts. Mama is still crying.

For whatever reason, they could not wake you when the Project was cancelled. Quen said if he kept trying, it might kill you.

I don't know why it had to be you and not one of the other Dormants. I suppose that's just kind of our luck. Anyways, Leie told us we could put together a little box of things for you to have when you wake up. Something to remember us by.

I hope you're safe. I love you very much. The world you're going to wake up to will probably be very different than the one you came from but I'm sure you'll be alright. Remember what we lived through to get to this point.

Love,

—Your sister, Ivie Somnas

Marya folded the letter back up, trying to get her tears under control. Summoning all the strength she had, she turned back to Albadir. "My name is Marya Somnas. I believe I am from a time many years ago."

He nodded.

"Can you tell me what’s going on?" she asked.

Albadir sighed. "Etsa, a few days back, a great tragedy befell the nation of Caraspen."

"Caraspen…” the name was vaguely familiar. "What happened?"

"Yesterday the heads of the Monarchs of Caraspen—the Kaene, the Prime Chancellor, the Sovereign, and the Surveyor—were delivered to Castle Firalos, where they were discovered by castle staff."

Marya shivered.

"Our forefathers devised a protocol for just this kind of emergency. It relies on individuals called Appointeds. Appointeds are ordinary citizens chosen in secret by a Monarch to take their place if a disaster were to befall the Monarchy.” He cleared his throat. “My lady, the previous Prime Chancellor chose you as his Appointed.”

“He…what?”

"We don’t understand either, my lady. All we know is that when we opened the sealed documents, the name written down was yours, along with directions on how to find and wake you.” He paused. "My lady…if you accept, you will come with me to Castle Firalos. You will become one of the four Monarchs, and you will be trained in your duties and responsibilities by the best teacher that Caraspen has to offer—my wife, Lady Roahess Balaf."

Marya put her head in her hands. "You want me to be one of your leaders? I—I don’t know anything! I can’t even speak the language!”

“For whatever reason, my lady, it was your name that the Prime Chancellor chose to write. I wish dearly that I had a better explanation than that, but time is short and the situation is dire.”

She swallowed, wiping sweaty palms on her dress. Then she picked up the box and stood up straight. "Well then, Albadir, we'd better be going. It seems the other Appointeds and I are going to have a lot of catching up to do."

Olisir Dayglade

3432: 1-1-1-5

Olisir strolled down an Aelosi street towards nowhere in particular.

He was fresh off a draskim-induced slumber and feeling hungry, so he began scanning the passersby for someone whose pockets might fund his next meal.

As a child, it had taken all of his earnings to keep his belly full. Now, ten years later, Olisir spent almost all of his money on draskim. It was an expensive addiction, but there was nothing to be done. He hadn't had a good rest in years that didn’t involve a pinch beforehand.

Olisir spotted a tall gentleman among the pedestrians. He wore a silk cape down to his waist and a large purse dangled on his belt next to a decorative sword. Perfect.

He started moving, and closed the gap swiftly until the purse was within reach. He reached out and…

The man stopped on his heel. Olisir tumbled him from behind and tried to move out of the way.

“What are you doing?”

"Oh—terribly sorry, my lord, I…"

The man shoved him. Olisir flew backwards into a corner alley, hot pain erupting in the back of his head. He heard a sword unsheathing. He scrambled deeper into the alley. "I assure you, my lord, I meant no harm…"

The gentleman leveled his blade at him. "Quiet.”

A voice sounded from outside in the street. "Put your sword away, Eltris. He didn’t hurt you.”

Olisir froze. He knew that voice.

Standing behind the man was Lady Roahess Balaf, Chief Executive Aide at Castle Firalos. Her hair was a little greyer and her cheeks a little more wrinkled, but it was her. “Hello, Olisir. It's good to see you.”

“How…Lady Roahess? What’s going on?”

“This is my son, Eltris."

“Can we hurry this up?” Eltris tugged at his collar. “I can't stand this ridiculous outfit."

Roahess ignored him. "Olisir, I have important news about your old acquaintance, the Sovereign."

A decade ago, when Olisir was a boy, he had worked as an aide for the Sovereign of Caraspen. Their parting had been…less than amiable. “What do you mean?” he said slowly.

"This may come as a bit of a shock,” said Roahess, “but the Sovereign is…dead."

"Dead?"

"Murdered, along with the other three Monarchs. Their heads were returned to Caraspen with a letter yesterday.” She tilted her head. “I won’t waste your time, Olisir. I—"

But before she could continue, it all clicked into place.

The Monarchs are dead, he realized.

They need the Appointeds.

They need me.

He remembered that night, speaking to Ularael at Castle Firalos—back when the Sovereign still thought of him as a faithful protégé.

Olisir chose his words carefully. "I know I was his Appointed back before I left, but it's been ten years. Did he never change it back?"

"The name can only be changed once during a Monarch's term," Roahess explained.

Olisir leaned his head back. Firion Crippled, he thought. There’s no way she’s serious. "I'm sorry, but I can't.”

Roahess pursed her lips. "Final answer?”

“Final answer.”

“Well, I thought you might say that. Would you mind giving me a moment?"

He frowned. “Um…sure? Wait, what—"

Roahess turned and walked out of the alley. Eltris remained where he was. A moment passed, then another.

When she returned, someone was with her—a girl. Olisir recognized her immediately. “Imogen?” he gasped.

Imogen smiled. Her hair was tucked into a single neat braid, and she wore a loose green shirt and pants. “Hello, Ollie.”

He quickly crossed the distance and wrapped her up in his arms. “What are you doing here?"

"I missed you," she grinned.

"Come, Eltris,” said Lady Roahess. “Let’s give them some time.” She and her son stepped out into the mouth of the alley.

The last time Olisir had seen Imogen, they’d been teenagers—sixteen years old. The past decade had exacted changes on his friend. She seemed tired, worn. Her form wasn't as petite and youthful as he remembered; she was impressively toned, her knuckles calloused. "Where have you been?" he said.

She looked down at the ground between them. "Um, right where you left me.”

He felt a tinge of guilt. "It's good to see you, Im. Really, really good."

She looked up. Are you still addicted?

Olisir panicked for a second. It had been years since he'd had someone else’s voice in his head. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like. Yes, he replied. I'm sorry.

As a boy, Olisir had studied a specific kind of magic that gave him special gifts. One of those gifts was the ability to communicate telepathically with other Psyches, like Imogen.

"It's okay," she murmured aloud, a hand on his shoulder. "We can fix it together. I'll help you. I'll keep you supplied."

"Imogen…” he began. “I can’t go back to Firalos. I can't be Sovereign."

"What are you talking about?"

I'm a twitch! he said. I’m the least qualified person to take any sort of throne.

Ularael trusted you.

"Yeah, and look how that went for him," he sighed. "I'll ruin things, Im. I…do you really want a twitch as your Sovereign?”

"I want you as my Sovereign. And if that means I need to occasionally sneak out and buy some draskim for you, then that's something I'm willing to do. Please, just listen to reason. What do you have here that's so important, anyways?"

He stepped away and thought for a moment. "You're right, Im. I have nothing here. But that means I have nothing to lose. If I go to Firalos and become Sovereign, that goes away. Suddenly I have the weight of every citizen in Caraspen on my back. If I make a mistake, it isn't just me who suffers—it's millions of people who don't even know me. They live or die based on my choices. I…I can’t take that weight.”

Imogen stared at him for a long time. Eventually, she murmured, "What happened to you?”

“What?”

“The boy I knew ten years ago would never have walked away like this. That boy fought the Sovereign of Caraspen and won. He was daring and ambitious. He was never cowardly. That boy put himself in danger to save other people even though it was dangerous. Even though he could’ve lost." She took his hand and pressed it to her chest. "What happened to that boy?"

Olisir closed his eyes. He breathed a deep, shaky breath, and then slowly nodded his head. “Fine.”

“Are you—you’ll do it?”

"Yeah, I'll do it. Let's go."

"Really?"

"One condition, though. My…um, you know, will have to stay unknown. If word gets out that the Sovereign is a twitch, I'll resign."

"It won't, I promise. Come on, let's go—I told Lady Roahess it wouldn't take more than a few minutes."