Chapter 2

Amira

As soon as I met with Mnemon Rai, I sent a letter to our father, informing him of Jaret's death. I knew that it would take several months for him to receive the news, and I wanted my message to arrive on the Blessed Isle before I did. I said nothing of my brother turning on me. His notoriously impulsive son being killed by the fae was something my father would understand. I didn't dare confess what had really happened. In truth, I did not believe that he could stand to lose both of us at once.

I was permitted to rest until I felt well enough to travel, at which point I was responsible for bringing my brother's remains home. Being that ours is a military House, the Cathak cemetery is somewhat larger than most of those in the Imperial City. Even still, it is reserved exclusively for the Dragonblooded members of the family. Jaret would be interred alongside our elder sister and some cousins who'd been killed at Thorns. Our father would deliver a heartfelt tribute to his valor, Aunt Garel would write his story into her books, and every year after Calibration Jaret's mother would bring flowers to his grave. When I died, I knew that there would be no such ceremony for me. I would be buried wherever I fell, and my name would be forgotten.

Had I ever dwelt on my own death before? I could not remember if I had, but I knew for certain that it had never felt more immanent. Someone would learn the secret that I was trying to bury, and since I could not bring myself to raise my sword against a friend or family member, I would be cut down like a rabid dog.

Mnemon Rai immediately promoted me back to my former rank, giving me not only the Scales that Jaret had commanded, but another hundred soldiers formerly assigned to an officer he'd dismissed for insubordination. I said very little and listened obediently as Mnemon Rai explained that he wanted to see how I would handle more power.

In a way, it seemed like he knew.

I did not object to the honor, but hearing soldiers whispering about my substantial promotion did not sit well with me. I barely slept for weeks. Though I carried out my new duties without complaint, everyone from the camp followers who handled our baggage to the Winglord himself knew that I was Jaret's keeper. They were all as kind to me as soldiers know how to be, which is to say that they left me alone. Perhaps they thought that I was blaming myself for his death.

But the truth was, I could not even think of my brother. When I closed my eyes, images flooded into my mind and familiar voices rang in my ears. At first I thought I was hallucinating from the drugs I'd been given, but the feeling that came over me as I drifted between waking and sleep was more akin to accessing an unstoppable torrent of memories, the memories of my past self.

I first dreamt that I was the commander of a great army. That was not unusual for me. Most ambitious young soldiers fantasize about such things. The problem was, in days past I'd imagined myself serving the Realm and bringing great honor to House Cathak. But following Jaret's death… well, I did not know what I was seeing! My lessons in history led me to believe that I was witnessing a time long before the rise of the Shogunate. Still, what I remembered was unlike anything Aunt Garel had ever told me about.

I lived in a staggeringly beautiful city full of towers of white stone and golden glass. My home was a palace overlooking a pristine blue river and rolling green hills. Magnificent flying ships cut through the clouds. Doors would open if I approached them, and if I wanted more light in a room, I only had to speak the word. The food and the wine were indescribable. There was a softness to everything, a luxury that I'd never experienced before. But I was not idle.

My life was was a whirlwind of battles and formal events. The two seemed at odds with one another, although I also had the vaguest recollection of wearing something on my head that felt like a crown. Was I a prince or a warrior? Both? It seemed so.

My fingertips touched the weapon always at my side, a daiklave with a six foot blade forged of a lustrous golden metal. It was made of solid orichalcum, a rare magical ore known for its tremendous weight. No mere mortal or Dragonblood could hope to wield such a blade, which left me with only one conclusion. Had I always been Anathema?

Or... what were the words my past self would have used?

Dawn Caste. Solar.

The first night I slept soundly, I dreamt of a woman. I often sensed her presence in my visions, but she always seemed to be sitting or standing where I could not see her face. Sometimes she would rest her head on my shoulder as I watched the sun rise – the sound of her breathing was unmistakable, and the sensation of her fingers trailing along the back of my neck was intimately familiar to me. I could find no words to describe how those early morning memories made me feel, except that I was more at peace than I'd ever been. There was a "rightness" in the world, as if all things were in perfect harmony.

"Where do you want to go for breakfast?" My lover asked.

I turnedmy head slowly, takingin her appearance.She was dressed in a form-fitting gown of dark blue that accentuated her curves. Her hair was silverand cut so that it made her peculiar ears very difficult to ignore.Like her golden eyes, they would have better suited a wolf than a woman. And yet despite how strange she looked, she was still beautiful to me. Her lips were especially enticing.

"How about Calypsis?" I suggested, naming a place thatI knew was very far away.

"It'll take us all day to get there," she replied. "Don't you have to meet with Perfect this afternoon?"

"I've already canceled," Ismiled, enjoying the expression of surprise on her face. "In fact, I've canceled every one of my appointments until the fifth of Ascending Fire. I've also taken the liberty of clearing up your schedule."

"You took a whole month off?" Shegasped. "Who are you and what have you done with my Alexander?" She demanded,her hands on her hips.

The moment she called me that name, I began thinking of myself as "Alexander" instead of Loren. It was surprisingly easy to do.

"What? Amira, you said you wanted to get away! Ionly arranged it! Though I can't imagine what we're going to do with ourselves with so much free time!"I teased.

"Oh, I' m surewe'll think of something!" She toppled me right out of my chair and onto the floor.

I woke before sunrise. My heart was racing. I actually found myself searching for Amira before I realized that the woman I was remembering had probably been dead for a thousand years. Then my eyes came to rest on a familiar pair of scuffed boots.

"Hey, Boss."

My student, "Roach" was standing a few feet away. He was a short, wiry, Murqai boy with unruly black hair and a smile permanently fixed on his face. I'd found him in the desert five years ago while marching back from Chiarascuro and he'd been following me ever since. By official rule, there were no servants or masters in the Winds, but Mnemon Rai had made a rare exception for Roach, mostly because he had nowhere else to go.

Though in a Wing of a thousand soldiers it is impossible to know everyone, Roach rose to the challenge. Claiming the Winds as his new tribe, he quickly learned the rules of the camp and could track down any man or woman within minutes. Widely recognized as the whore's son "protégé" of the House Cathak "disappointment", Roach was also teased mercilessly. Some of the things people said to him were cruel, but Roach never seemed to mind. His response to everything was to make a joke of it, and his sharp sense of humor won him some peace. From the time of our first meeting, he'd decided that I was the only person he needed to impress. Sometimes, that devotion made him irritating.

"What time is it?" I wondered.

"Fifth bell," he informed me. "Talonlord Ozai thought you looked sick. Told me to keep you in bed."

I'd never slept past fifth bell before. "Ugh. Maybe I am sick?" I groaned, slowly sitting up. "My head is killing me," I confessed.

"So who's "Amira"?" Roach teased.

My face must have gone red at the sound of that name, because Roach laughed. I sputtered, but I couldn't find words to protest.

Roach grinned. "Easy, easy! I won't say anything! She's married, eh?"

I didn't answer that question, but Roach evidently thought that the expression on my face told him everything that he needed to know. Of course, being only fifteen years old, Roach didn't actually know anything about women, but inexperience would not stop him from acting like an expert on the subject.

"Heh. Didn't know you had it in you, Boss!" He helped me to my feet. "How's your wound?"

I slowly stood up. I was still a little dizzy, but I figured that some fresh air would probably clear my head. "Better. I think I'm going to go for a walk," I decided.

"I'll come along! You know, you're not all that steady on your feet yet," Roach reminded me. He followed close to my heels as if he were expecting me to fall.

"Roach, I've been wounded before!" I informed him, though that was an understatement. I'd sustained many serious injuries in my years with the Winds, mostly because I preferred to always be on the front line. "I know what my body can take, and right now I'm going down to the river to take a bath!"

Roach grimaced, and I suspected that it was because I had used the terrible word "bath". Like most Southerners, Roach did not like to wash as often as I considered civilized.

"I promise, I'll be back before the sun comes up!" I sighed. "If I'm not, you can come find me."

As I said that, I realized that I had no need to ask what time it was. I knew. I sensed the position of the sun although it hadn't yet risen, and I was certain that I could make it down to the river and back again before the first rays of light passed over the mountains to the east. The realization was unsettling to say the least.

"You got it, Boss!" Roach gave a little salute and galloped off.

I smiled slightly. My student was shaping into an exceptional soldier. For the first year that he'd been attached to the Winds, I'd used him as a groom for my horse, thinking of him as I thought of all the servants in my father's house. But by the time that Roach was twelve, he'd become fluent in High Realm and had started inquiring about Mnemon Rai's tactics. I made him read all of the books that I'd read at Paisap's Stair and began teaching him how to wield a sword, not like a common thug, but like a Dynast.

Even if he was irreverent and mischievous, Roach was far smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Old Thunderstormer already watched him. Though he would wait for me to suggest that Roach was ready, I did not doubt that my commander would soon see my student put in lamellar and officially sworn into the Winds.

As soon as I was beyond sight of our camp, I ran as if my life depended on it, putting as much distance as I could between myself and the Winds. I followed the river until it began to wind deep into the forest. No one would believe that I'd recovered as quickly as I had. I wasn't even slowed down by the injuries I'd had for years.

When I was sure that I hadn't been followed, I knelt down on the grassy bank and stared into the deep blue water. There was something I had to do that I didn't dare attempt unless I was alone.

My dreams were planting seeds of doubt in my heart. I was beginning to wonder how much of what had happened at the mine was real, and how much I'd only imagined. I had to act decisively or I risked going completely insane. I clenched my fists so tightly that I dug my nails into my palms. I could sense that I still had a power inside of me. Though I wished it would, that feeling had never gone away. But what was it? Perhaps I could speak with the thing that had chosen me as its host.

"Reveal yourself, monster!" I ordered.

Nothing happened. Was I possessed or wasn't I?

I decided not to throw about the names of the demons that I was familiar with, lest I accidentally summon one of them from the bowels of Malfeas.

I sat in silence for a moment, and then I scoffed at my own stupidity.

There was another answer, a much simpler one! If things that I saw in my ceaseless dreams were true, I'd Exalted… and at age thirty, no less! I knew that what made the Dragonblooded different from ordinary mortals was a gift called Essence, a power breathed into them by the Elemental Dragons. Using Essence was an act of will, a conscious decision. Fire-Aspects like my father and brother could burn like torches. Air and Water-Aspects became raging tempests, Earth-Aspects were immovable as stone and Wood-Aspects could poison or heal with only a touch.

The way I felt matched every description I'd ever heard of Exaltation. The thing inside of me was not parasitic or alien. It felt like it belonged there, a natural as my own heartbeat. I knew that I could choose to see the light that flowed through my veins just as easily as I could choose to sit up, stand, or lie down.

Mark. I thought to myself.

I felt a little pinch just above my nose and a sudden warmth. It was almost like blinking, more startling than painful. I stared at my reflection in the slow moving, dark water… the unmistakable demon brand flickering right between my eyes. The shape reminded me at once of a stylized morning sun, being exactly the same soft golden color. Was that truly what I become? Sun-Chosen? And how could such a thing be evil?

For the briefest moment I saw my own face superimposed upon the face of my past self. I was struck immediately by how much I looked like him… or was it he who looked like me?

A rustle in the bushes drew my attention. I looked up at the sound and caught sight of a large silver wolf watching me with fiercely intelligent,familiar yellow eyes. I picked myself up slowly and began to slink away. When I looked over my shoulder to see if the wolf was still following me, a lump rose in my throat.

The wolf was gone, and standing in its place was the woman from my dreams. She was dressed in a short dress of white silk, sandals which laced all the way up to her knees and a fine tailored coat with brass buttons, dark blue. Silver bracelets jangled on her wrists, the exact same color as her short-cropped hair. The tattoos which covered her skin glowed in the fading light of the moon.

"Alexander?" She put her hand to her heart. I didn't respond. What could I have said? Did I dare admit that I was beginning to doubt who I was?

With the grace of a dragonfly, Amira skimmed across the surface of the water, her feet barely breaking its surface. She looked like a ghost to me, intangible until she collapsed into my arms, sobbing uncontrollably. The warmth of her body, and her smell left me convinced that she was no spirit or illusion, but a living, breathing woman. I didn't have the heart to let go of her. I needed her at that moment even more than she needed me.

My Amira.

It wasn't until she stopped crying and our eyes met that I understood. The time that I remembered Amira from was centuries ago. No mere mortal or even Dragonblood could have possibly lived so long. My hand brushed something soft and I realized that she had a tail. I didn't know I'd missed something so important. Amira was a demon herself, a shape-changing Lunar!

"Anathema?" I whispered fearfully, drawing away from her.

"Alexander?" She stepped back slightly herself, as if she feared that she had been deceived.

"Go away, Trickster!" I ordered, shaken.

"It is you, isn't it? Don't you recognize me?" As I started walking, she followed after me. "Have I changed so much?" The desperation in her voice was horrible. I couldn't bear it. If I didn't leave immediately, I was either going to choke on my own words or start sobbing like a child.

Amira looked somewhat older than I remembered, but not nearly as old as I knew she had to be. I didn't remember her tail or her tattoos, but her eyes cut right through my soul.

"I don't know you, demon!" I snapped. While the part of me that was still Loren knew that I had to put as much distance between the Anathema and myself as possible, the part of me that was Alexander did not want to let her go.

Why was I wounding her? Even if she was a demon, what I'd said made me feel like a monster!Amira stared at me as if I'd run a sword through her heart. Immediately, I wanted to apologize. But before I could find the words I needed, she bolted off into the dark.

I went back to camp and dutifully returned to bed. It was difficult to get back to sleep and I woke several times in a state of extreme distress, the name "Amira" still on my lips. Once I thought I heard her crying, but when I got up and tried to find her, she was gone.

Over the course of the next few days, my life returned to normal… or at least as normal as it ever would be again. I'd been serving under Mnemon Rai for years and had many close friends amongst the Winds. If I had wanted to, I could have easily pretend that Jaret was still at home, still infuriating Aunt Garel and making our father threaten to disown him. But I knew that was not the case.

He was dead.

I was dead too, or at least I knew I would be if my family ever discovered what had happened to me. The thought was unsettling. My wounds healed perfectly, my dreams ceased for a time, and I began to ask myself if I was really corrupted. For certain, I could run a longer distance, jump further and I seemed to be breaking a large number of swords... but none of that was proof that I'd actually become a demon. The invisible mark on my brow was another matter entirely, and my brief encounter with the woman from my dreams was even more difficult to forget.

Then, just as I had almost banished her from my thoughts, Amira returned. I was standing watch in the hours just before sunset when a little sparrow suddenly landed in the brush behind me. It followed me in a suspicious manner as I walked the perimeter of our camp and when I finally stopped at my assigned post, I noticed that its eyes were golden.

I blinked twice and when I could see clearly again, the sparrow was gone and Amira was in its place. She did not stand, someone would certainly have seen her if she had dared to… but she did wink at me, obviously pleased that I had noticed her. She wagged her tail back and forth like a dog.

"You again? What are you doing here?" I hissed, my voice no louder than a whisper.

"I came to see you," she replied.

"I'm not who you think," I argued. She gave me a very painful look and I immediately wished that I could take back the words I'd just spoken. Observing the expression on my face, Amira grinned victoriously. Has she caught me in my lie?

"Yes, you are," she replied. "Oh, I thought I was dreaming before! But now I see it." She reached up for my hand, and our fingertips met. The Essence in my veins reacted strangely. I was drawn towards her with a force that felt magnetic. My first conscious thought was that we had been apart too long. Then I remembered where I was.

"Go away!" I snapped, forcing myself to withdraw. "I could sound the alarm right now and have you killed!"

"You won't," she retorted. "You couldn't bear it."

As the perimeter guard turned, she seized the back of my cloak and forced me behind a stack of crates. I nearly retaliated, but then I felt her fingers tight on my throat and decided against any sudden movements. She was very strong and skilled, that much was obvious. If I chose to fight her, there was a good chance I would not win.

Did I want to win? If it meant that Amira would run away again, I found that I preferred defeat.

"I know you better than you know yourself, Alexander," Amira said. She wasn't trying to choke me. She must have realized that I wasn't going anywhere.

"My name is Loren," I argued. "Cathak Loren." I gave the name of my House in the same arrogant tone of voice that my father often used.

"Whatever your name is, you're still you," she whispered, resting her head against my shoulder exactly as she had done a thousand times before. The sensation of her nimble fingers running from my throat up to my lips made it exceptionally difficult for me to resist turning around to kiss her. Nearly tripping over my own feet brought me crashing back down to reality.

"Stop it!" I protested, trying to convince myself that what I felt for the Anathema was the product of some kind of horrible sorcery. I'd never been so weak in the presence of any woman, let alone one that I suspected might kill me! "I swear, I don't know you!"

But I did know her, and I'd never desired any woman with such intensity. In my waking life, I'd had only a few relationships, but each night I was reliving a centuries-long love affair that made all of the legendary romances in novels and plays seem small and insignificant by comparison.

"You do," Amira replied. "The bond between us is as strong as it ever was."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I protested, although denying what I felt seemed very silly.

She snorted. "Gods, you have a thick skull! Fortunately, I have just the solution for that," Amira sighed and slipped a thick bracelet off of her wrist. It unfolded into a silver rod about five inches long. "Does this look familiar?" She taunted, poking at me with her unusual weapon.

It did, but I wasn't about to admit it.

"This is my stupid stick," Amira continued. "It's a kinder, gentler, way of reminding you that you're being stupid, stupid, stupid!" Each time she spoke that word she slapped the rod against her palm and it doubled in size until it was the length of a fighting staff.

"I don't give a damn about your stupid… stupid stick!" I protested, although I was already anticipating that she was about to hit me with it. "I am not Alexander! I'm nothing like you!"

Much faster than I had anticipated her to be, Amira whapped me soundly across the back of the head with her stick. "Stupid!"

"Ow!" I protested. I wasn't injured, but my brains were a little rattled.

"Well, that made me feel better!" She replied with a mischievous smirk. "Although you are technically right. We are complete opposites. But that's why we balance, you understand? That's why we're Mates."

The way she spoke that word made it seem as though it meant more than "lover" or even "wife". I didn't realize how close the two of us had come until Amira reached out and put her hand on my cheek, her trembling fingertips coming to rest again on my lips. Her yellow eyes burned like warm candlelight, and I did not doubt that succumbing to her advances would prove to be an experience well worth going to hell for. That is... if I were actually willing to accept my own damnation.

"Don't touch me, Anathema!" I snapped.

"Feh! You're only upset because I interrupted your sulk!" Amira slinked around behind me. "What if I make it up to you?" She teased seductively. The most skilled courtesan in the Imperial City could not have done it better. I very nearly dropped my guard again.

I took her wrists and forced her off of me, shoving her in the direction of the trees. "Damnit, Amira!" I snapped.

"Ahah!" Amira exclaimed, pointing at me and bouncing up and down with glee. "Liar!"

I realized that she'd never actually said her name, and by speaking it I'd just proven that her beloved "Alexander" was inside my head. I took a deep breath. Amira had won. She'd gotten exactly what she'd come back for... a confession from me. There would be no living with her now.

"Sir?" A young soldier inquired, turning the corner. "Are you all right?"

"It's nothing," I replied quickly, hoping that Amira was gone. Though I did not trust her, I knew that I could not turn her over to Mnemon Rai who would certainly kill her without hesitation. Worse still, Amira was powerfully beautiful. It would have been an unbearable thing to see such perfect skin torn, and those mesmerizing eyes without the light of life in them. I remembered that she had very nearly died in my arms once before, and I felt compelled to protect her.

Or no... that had happened to Alexander! Why couldn't I tell the difference between his memories and my own?

"Continue with your patrol!" I ordered. The young soldier nodded and went on his way.

When I turned back to where she had been, Amira had vanished without a trace.

I slept well that night, undisturbed by dreams of the past. It had been very cold in my tent for some weeks, but when I woke in the morning I felt as warm as I might have been sleeping next to a fire at home. There were traces of silver hairs on my blanket, and I noticed several canine footprints leading off towards the river. Even after I'd cursed at her and pushed her away twice, Amira had slipped into my tent and secretly curled up at the foot of my cot. Clearly, she was incorrigible.

A single red rose lay next to my sword. I picked it up and took in its scent, which was not what I expected at all, but a familiar perfume.

It was very difficult not to be swept into Alexander's love for Amira, especially when she tormented and teased me. It was not only a physical attraction either, although that was the part I found most distracting. I could scarcely keep my mind on affairs of the present, as much as I desired to see her again. I decided I would try to kiss her once before I departed for home, just to see if the taste of her lips was as sweet as I remembered it, like the very first peach of summer.

She never returned.

Five days after Amira's second visit, my ship arrived, and I set sail for the Blessed Isle. I expected that Amira would make an appearance until we were miles out on the open sea. I could not decide if I wanted her to stop me or not.

Although I was fulfilling my duty to my family, I feared that I was running away from something bigger and infinitely more important than the affairs of House Cathak. For lack of a better way to put it, I smelled a touch of destiny in the air.