Jistan

That had to have been her, Jistan thought. The medium-brown skin, the hazel eyes, the button nose, the mole on her left cheek…

Seeing Shai at the parade brought back so many old memories. Which also made him think of the other person he lost.

When he got back to his room in the palace, he strode over to the black trunk in the corner and opened it, the stale smell of old clothes rising to greet him. He flung aside cloaks and tunics, the garments flying through the air and landing on the gold rug. Finally, he reached the folded bundle of ivory wool at the bottom of the trunk.

He gently lifted the small blanket out. The soft and fuzzy material was just the way he remembered it. He held onto the top corners and let it unravel to reveal the navy blue insignia knitted in the center, smiling as he remembered when his mother had given this to him.

“Is this for me?” five-year-old Jistan had asked as he climbed into her lap after she finished knitting the blanket.

“Um…yes, it is,” Mother had said, smiling sweetly at him. Her hair had been braided into an up-do, which accentuated her round, honey-brown face. But her amber eyes had been sad, and he remembered thinking she might cry.

He had looked at the blanket, his young mind thinking he’d figured out why she was sad. “You messed up the bird-and-vine symbol. But it’s okay. I can still use it.”

Mother had stroked a hand over his head. “I know. And when you get older, you’ll understand its true meaning.”

Now, Jistan stared at the blanket’s insignia, which was supposed to be the Casland crest, an image of a bluebird with an S-shaped vine behind it. But the S looked more like a Z, and the bird silhouette looked upside-down.

Still, he had treasured this blanket. And now that he’d recalled that memory, he wondered what his mother meant. Did the blanket have a special meaning? And why had she been so upset? This had been five years before she passed away, so she hadn’t been sick yet. Maybe he would never know what she’d meant.

He swallowed back his grief. The loss of his mother was also what led to the estrangement of his former friend, whom he saw during the parade today.

“Your Highness,” a voice said as someone entered his room.

Jistan started, dropping the blanket back in the trunk and turning toward the person. His advisor, Tivon, bowed low, then straightened. Tivon had been serving the prince for the past two years, fresh out of an academy for biomancers, those whose magical talent involved acquiring knowledge in many subjects. Jistan jokingly thought of them as walking libraries. Some people thought biomancers were weak, but he knew knowledge was power.

“Yes?” Jistan asked.

Tivon stepped closer, wringing his sand-brown hands, giving the mess on the floor a curious glance. “Sorry if I’m disturbing you. You wanted the latest report on the Crossover War?”

The prince sighed. “Is it more bad news?”

His advisor nodded. “It has increased in intensity. More civilians are getting caught in the crossfire as enemy soldiers pass through our villages.”

Jistan rubbed a hand across the top of his cropped hair. “Dammit! We haven’t had one day of peace since I became head of the RDP.”

“It is rather unfortunate, my prince.” Tivon cleared his throat, pulling out a scroll from the inside pocket of his doublet, which he unrolled and started to read from: “The worst of the fighting is still along the border of Zanteos. General Samut has scaled back some of his mancer forces, and it could mean he’s letting them replenish their mana for a stronger, more coordinated attack…”

Jistan nodded, but his mind wandered. He was still thinking about her, from the parade.

Her face appeared in his mind again. She hadn’t changed much except for becoming much more beautiful; her body curvier and her hair longer. There was no way she could’ve forgotten about him, of course, but how did she feel about him?

She hates me, he thought. That’s why she never came back. She hates what my family did to hers.

“Your Highness?” Tivon looked up from the parchment, blinking at the prince through locks of black hair that fell over his eyes.

Jistan shook his head to clear it. Even though he’d only been half-listening, he knew all his advisor had done was read from the scroll. “Right, thank you, Tivon. Let me see that report.”

He handed the parchment over, and Jistan scanned it, frowning.

“I think it’s time for me to take action and join our battle efforts,” the prince said. “I need a reason to hone my magic, anyway.” He flexed his fingers.

“But what will you do?” Tivon asked.

“I’m not sure yet. I just know I need out of this place. I need to prove to all the naysayers my father didn’t make a mistake by giving me control of the army.”

“Do you think Emperor Akeil will give you permission to leave the capital?”

“I don’t see why not. There’s only so much I can do as head of the RDP while sitting on my ass.” He rolled up the scroll. “Is he still in that meeting with the Royal Treasurer?”

“I believe it just concluded. Oh, and that reminds me of another report I received on my way here. Members of The Cliq are being escorted to our dungeon for breaking into the Grand Treasury earlier today, around the time of the Pact Day parade.”

Jistan’s eyebrows shot up. “In broad daylight? Those bandits are getting bolder. How many were apprehended?”

“Only two, unfortunately. They’re both females, and one had the Diamond Gem of Irisei in her pocket. Five other members escaped, but they didn’t steal anything.”

“Good. Let the dungeon guards know I would like to interrogate those women personally. I’ll see if they’ll tell me where their leader is.”

“You know they never talk.”

“Maybe the threat of decapitation will loosen their tongues.” Jistan approached his friend. “I shall go speak with my father now.”

Tivon bowed. “Let me know when you need anything else.”

The prince nodded as Tivon left the room. Jistan quickly cleaned up the mess he made, even though he could’ve let his young steward do it, then also left.

He walked down a corridor lined with tall windows on either side, allowing ample sunlight to filter in through the west-facing ones, bathing him in the evening glow. He was the only one in this part of the palace, his boot buckles jangling with every step he took on the carpeted navy floor.

Even though it was silent inside the palace, he could hear the noise going on outside the gates. From this height, he had an excellent view of the crowds below, dancing to drums and waving colorful kente banners. Ladies in midriff-bearing tops and feathered headpieces danced for onlookers, their bright colors standing out among the drab landscape around them.

Groups of mancers also entertained around the city: pyromancers who shot gouts of fire above their heads, making the flames swirl and writhe; aquamancers who formed shapes from water, the sunlight creating rainbows around them; and even heliomancers who used their sun magic to create sparkles of light, stars glimmering and spinning around the heads of onlookers.

Pact Day festivities would run long into the night. It was a celebration of the Quint Pact, marking the time when the continent of Alyrria was divided into five countries over a thousand years ago. Five emperors were elected to rule over each country, thus ending the worst of the Mancer War. And Casland, the country in the middle of the others, always had the largest jubilee of all.

Even though everyone celebrated the end of one war from generations ago, there was strife along the borders of Casland in the present. It was called the Crossover War, since each country kept trying to cross over into each other’s territories. It was why some people were against celebrating Pact Day, as many of their loved ones were away fighting in what some thought was a pointless battle.

As Jistan walked, he lifted his wrist, checking the miniature sundial on it. The enchantment a heliomancer placed on it worked best in direct sunlight. The sundial told him it was the middle of the fifth afternoon hour, so he had about one hour before the Pact Day feast began. Where he would smile and talk business and politics to boring dignitaries—

Suddenly, darkness wrapped around him like the tendrils of a massive beast, leaving him unable to see a thing. His heart leapt into his throat, and he immediately unsheathed his sword. Good thing he always kept his weapon on him…but bad thing he’d insisted he didn’t need guards following him while in his own home.

“Who’s there?” he called, hating himself when his voice cracked. This cursed darkness was worse than real darkness. His eyes couldn’t adjust in this. It had to be magic.

He held out his sword, putting a window at his back so any attack could only come at his front. He wouldn’t even be able to freeze anyone with his chronomancer magic if he couldn’t see them.

A shuffle came from his left. He spun toward it, swinging his sword.

Then there came a giggle. “Is that any way to greet a lady?”

Jistan lowered his sword, his shoulders sagging in relief. “Lady Aladia! Is that you?”

She giggled—or more like cackled—again, and the tendrils of darkness dissipated, allowing the sunlight and palace to seep into Jistan’s vision again.

Aladia, a Lord’s daughter from the city of Lyndree, came into view too, her hands still absorbing the darkness. Her light brown hair fell straight past the shoulders of her petite frame, glistening against her olive skin. Today she wore a dress with black and yellow diamond patterns. She always wore the color black in some form, which represented her status as a darkmancer.

“Goddess of All,” Jistan cursed, sheathing his sword again. “Why catch me unaware like that?”

“Sorry, I wanted to surprise you by showing off my newest trick,” Aladia said, swaying her hips as she sidled up to him.

He swallowed. This girl always made him feel like she would pounce and start ripping his clothes off at any moment. She was never shy about letting him know that was exactly what she wanted to do to him one day.

“I didn’t know you’d learn to use your ability in such a way,” he said, running a hand down the front of his tunic. “I’m impressed.” Would’ve been more impressed if you hadn’t nearly given me a heart attack.

She smiled, batting her lashes. “Thank you, Your Highness. Anyway, I’m glad I found you. I wanted to see if you’d be willing to escort me to the dining hall for the Pact Day feast.”

He cleared his throat, his shirt suddenly feeling tight against his neck. “I would have loved to, but my father requires me to enter by his side.”

She sighed. “The emperor and his traditions. What a pity. You’ll save a dance for me after dinner, at least?”

“Of course. You’ll be the one I look forward to dancing with most.”

She grinned wider at that. “I look forward to it as well.” She winked, wiggling her fingers and creating shadows that danced around Jistan’s feet as she walked away. She could weave darkness into tangible, lethal weapons too. Darkmancers were some of the most powerful mancers in the country, which was why the Lord of Lyndree hoped Jistan would marry his daughter. But Aladia was much too intense for his tastes. He would prefer to keep her as an ally though, rather than an enemy.

At least she’s only here for a week, he thought, closing his eyes as he exhaled. He didn’t know if he could fend off her advances any longer than that.

Highborn ladies made him nervous. Especially since his father kept hounding him about marrying one soon. Jistan wrinkled his nose at the thought. He was more focused on his job at the moment. Marriage was the last thing he wanted.

After composing himself from the little scare he’d had, he continued down the hall and down the stairs to the first floor, approaching the door that led into the meeting hall. A guard of the Royal Defense Patrol stood outside it.

“Evening, Ordin,” Jistan greeted the tall, white-skinned man. He’d made it a point to learn the names of as many RDP soldiers as he could, hoping to earn their respect.

“My lord,” Ordin replied, bowing his head.

“Is my father done with his meeting?”

“The Treasurer is still inside, so I’m not sure. I could go ask if he’ll speak with you.”

“Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

Ordin nodded and opened the door, walking inside. Jistan stayed out in the hallway, leaning against the wall. His father had taught him proper etiquette about never disturbing adults during important meetings. Although at the age of seventeen, Jistan himself was now considered an adult in the country of Casland.

Please, he prayed to the Goddess as he stared up at the high ceiling, let Father see the benefits of my leaving this place.

If he had to sit and listen to a bunch of lords arguing about trading prices and farming land one more time, he’d be tempted to throw himself from his bedroom tower.

He pushed away from the wall and straightened as the door opened again. Instead of Ordin, it was Father who walked out first, followed by four guards of the RDP, then finally Ordin came out to resume his position by the door.

Jistan bowed his head. “Father.”

The emperor, Akeil Oriando, peered at him with brown eyes under thick eyebrows. “Son. I heard you wish to speak with me. Come, let’s walk together.”

The guards fell in step a few feet behind them as Jistan and the emperor began strolling down the corridor. Jistan had no trouble keeping up with his father’s long strides; their tall height and bronze skin were the only traits they had in common. While Jistan had strong legs and a slightly muscled torso, his father had a considerable paunch. While Jistan barely had any hair on his head or face, Akeil had a full salt-and-pepper beard and shoulder-length black hair. His hair was always straightened by hairdressers so that his tall kente headpiece could sit atop it.

“You’ve changed since the parade,” Jistan noted as he inspected his father’s red and black doublet, pants, and boots.

“I must appear formidable in front of our allies,” the emperor responded. “That gold uniform was for display purposes in front of our people.” His lips pressed together as he regarded his son’s attire. “Are you wearing that to the feast?”

Jistan stared down at the black pants and sleeveless white tunic with a kente pattern he’d changed into. “Yes. Do you disapprove?”

The only reply he received was a grunt, and Jistan decided he would change into something more opulent after this talk.

“Are you here about the recent report on the Crossover War?” Akeil asked.

“Yes. The fighting is killing our people. I need to take action before it gets worse. We don’t want another devastating Mancer War.” That war had lasted for years, with over a hundred thousand casualties. Jistan would keep that from happening in this century, even if it took his last breath. “Father, if we can’t get the countries surrounding us under control, not only will the death toll be over that of the past war, but our country may even be conquered before this is over.”

Emperor Akeil huffed. “Nonsense. If anything, our forces will invade the other countries. As long as the other emperors continue fighting each other as well, we’re the stronger.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. What if the other countries decide to ally with each other? Last week’s report contained speculations about a meeting between the emperors of Zanteos and Estovia. If that’s true, their combined armies may be enough to overwhelm ours.”

Akeil frowned deeper. “You’re right, we need to put a stop to it. Any suggestions on how to do that?”

Jistan tried not to beam like a kid with a sweet treat at the fact that his father wanted his opinion. “I need to visit the borders. I need to meet with generals and possibly broker peace deals.”

Akeil shook his head. “None of that is guaranteed to work any better than what the RDP is already doing. Your presence won’t make them win battles any faster.”

“Then what would you propose?” Hopefully something that lets me escape this place.

The emperor eyed a servant they passed—an herbimancer coaxing the vines of a hanging plant to grow—then put a hand on his son’s shoulder, guiding him around the next corner. He lowered his voice. “I have an idea, but it’s radical and risky. However, if you succeed, it could turn the tide of this war in our favor and end all strife.”

Jistan’s brows rose. “What would I have to do?”

“Well…” Akeil’s face shifted into a smirk, his eyes gleaming with mischief. The expression made Jistan’s stomach twist. “First, you’re going to need a team. A team of powerful mancers.”