I believe this is the last chapter before things really pop off this book. Enjoy!

Chapter 19 - Samn

"Ow!"

I try to twist around to shove Spottalia away, but she's pretty dexterous despite looking like a doll.

"Hold still, Samnath—" she murmurs, but I cut her off, aggravated.

"Do not call me that."

"Samn. Hold still or they won't fit properly."

I bite off a growl in my throat and surrender, dropping my arms to my sides. The bindings pull across my chest again, tightening like a snake. "I need to be able to breathe!" I wheeze.

Spottalia hums disapprovingly to herself, pulling them tighter, inch by painstaking inch, until I'm acutely aware of every breath I take. Ow! Blessed Starlaxi!

"Samn," she mumbles reproachfully. I think it's the most confrontational I've ever seen her, and she's still staring at the floor. "They need to be adjusted. You're a growing young woman, and—"

There's a knock at the door.

"Shit!" I spit and before Spottalia can get over the panicked-doe look in her eyes, I snatch my shirt off the table and bundle myself into a storage closet behind Spottalia's desk.

My heart is pounding in my ears as I crush myself against some kind of bundle of fabric or something. The door doesn't close perfectly, so I'm just going to hope that whoever's at the door doesn't notice it bobbing slightly.

"I was just coming for some poppy seeds—are you okay?"

Of course it's Fiyr.

I repress a sour laugh. Why wouldn't it be? Of course.

"The Starlaxi is restless," Spotallia tells him and I can just picture how she's fluttering her hands around and going white and sitting down and fanning herself. "What do you need the poppy seeds for?"

"Graie's leg is acting up." His voice is weirdly gentle. We've ribbed him about it plenty in training, but… does he actually have a thing for the healer? Because… I mean, one, she's twenty, and two, like the code?! Hello?

"Oh, of course."

Some rustling. Fiyr clears his throat awkwardly. Can they hear my heartbeat? Because it sounds pretty damn loud to me. What if he found out? I swallow. Brindellia's instilled it into me at a young age to conceal as best I can, but Fiyr is an outsider—he didn't have the same ideas around him when he was really young. Surely he of all people wouldn't raise a fuss about my training?

Then again, there's the whole Sir Cawle thing.

It sends a chill down my back just remembering Ravne's colourless, anxious face as he choked out He shouldn't be captain! He can't be! before Sir Styrp interrupted us. I've picked the words apart over and over again since then. I even told him, Then say something!

I don't know what to make of Ravne's cryptic outburst, but I've known him since before Brindellia explained to me that I was going to hide my gender and I know that he wouldn't be raising a fuss about nothing. Sir Cawle scares the shit out of him, but I'm starting to think there's a lot more to it than just that. I know that Fiyr respects Sir Cawle a lot—can I really trust him?

"Fiyr, before you go…"

I suddenly have the weirdest flash of terror that she's going to kiss him or something. No!

"I have to tell you something…"

I'm right in the damn closet! Do I burst out? Do I make noise or something? Maybe I can convince them there's a ghost and they'll—

"The Starlaxi told me something a long time ago, and I believe that it may pertain to you."

Oh. I want to punch myself. What in the Blacklands, Samn? Get a hold of yourself. Why would you assume she was going to—to do something like that?

"Fire alone can save our kingdom."

My teeth close around my tongue, hard. I reel back, mouthing every cuss I know, but somehow manage to not make any noise. It doesn't seem to be bleeding at least.

Of course Fiyr has a prophecy or something about him. Why wouldn't he? Of course, I seethe internally. Of course. He's going to be the damn saviour of Thundria, of course he is! Why would you have a prophecy about some regular old squire that worked her damn ass off for everything she has when you could just hand destiny to some ginger prick that strolls in?!

"Uh—okay?" Fiyr mumbles, but Spottalia Lief doesn't seem to intend to elaborate and a moment I hear his footsteps as he walks out of the healer's wing.

The closet creaks open.

"Are you for real?" It's more venomous than I meant it to be, but oh well. "'Fire alone'— he's a fucking god-toy!"

Spottalia's mouth collapses into a little tight line. "I do not presume to know the mysteries of the Starlaxi—"

"Well you clearly thought you had a pretty good idea of what it meant if you were going around telling squires it!" I spit. I don't even know who I'm mad at—the Starlaxi, Spottalia Lief, Fiyr, everyone.

I want the Starlaxi to stop with the vague prophetic mutterings and not make their chosen one some god-toy that the queen adopted off the streets, I want Spottalia to stand up for herself for once in her Blacklands-damned life, and most of all, I want Fiyr to—to—I don't know.

I get one wish at least.

"Samn, you will not speak to me that way!" To her credit, her voice only shakes a little. "If you have an issue with the prophecy that I was given, don't shoot the messenger. Ride to the Lunar Temple and ask them yourself!"

Still seething with disappointed anger, I fold my arms over my chest defiantly. "I'll come back for the bindings later."

Spottalia averts her gaze, playing with her hands. Guess that one outburst took a lot out of her. "Fine. But they need to be adjusted. Don't leave it too long."

Waving a hand dismissively, I pull the mercifully loose-fitting shirt on and head out into the throne room. Everyone's still rebuilding after the battle and I didn't get more than a couple of hours of sleep in the last twenty-four hours. Dealing with Spottalia Lief has worn down my patience more than a little bit as well.

"Why don't you go help with the east wall repairs?" Sir Darriek suggests, oozing up beside me.

Why don't you piss off?

"I didn't sleep after the vigil," I inform him.

"And?"

He sneers at me. I glower back.

Eventually, he backs down and heads off to find someone else to pester. I make it back to the squires' wing in peace and yank the curtain shut on my nook. In the privacy of the broom closet-sized room, I let the tears come as I change into a shift to sleep.

I've put off thinking about it, but...

Rozel Tali was the last living member of my father's side of my family. My real grandmother died long before I was born, and she filled the space for me with wisdom and kindness. And what was it worth? Nothing in the face of the knights of Shodawa. I pray to the Starlaxi that she went out fighting at least and will be gifted many seasons of rest.

Sleep comes fitfully.

…

Usually, I'm up first of the squires, but tonight, my sleep dragged on longer than usual and I'm awoken by Fiyr rapping sharply on the beam framing my nook's doorway.

Well, as long as he's not trying to dump water on me.

"I'm up," I snap groggily, rolling over and fighting a whine. The light of the torches is too bright for this morning.

"Extra training; queen's orders." When he pulls his head back out of my nook, I suddenly remember yesterday. Prophecy god-toy. The scorn I had for him when he first arrived lessened over the next few years, but Spottalia's revelation yesterday has brought it surging back up.

Sighing, I swing my legs over the side of my cot and stretch. Well, training with the queen is okay, I guess. As long as it's not history or forest survival training. I'm good at the latter, but it's beyond dull and I'd take sword-fighting 'til my fingers are stiff over it any day.

As Fiyr goes about rousing the rest of the squires, I dress quickly.

Spottalia was right, I realize irritably. They're not tight enough anymore. Looking at the profile of myself in the mirror and casting a harsh eye over myself, I wonder if any passerby would actually assume I'm male. It's no guarantee. I have the advantage of a sharp jaw and uncommon height, but the gradual swell of my chest seems like it's trying to betray me more and more by the day.

Maybe I should cut my hair. Smoothing back the strawberry blonde locks, I sigh. It's the only feminine thing Brindellia Faise doesn't kick up a fuss about. Then again, long doesn't exactly equal feminine where my hair's concerned. It only really brushed the back of my neck when I was twelve, but it's grown into a reddish-gold stream to rival Sir Hartef's since. Or… it would've rivalled Sir Hartef's.

Right. No use dwelling on appearances when Shodawa grows stronger by the day. Besides, I'm hardly the most feminine among the squires, I tell myself firmly. Graie's soft around the features, Duss is shorter than lots of the women of the court, Fiyr has like... a pointy face like an elf, and Ravne is… well. Ravne is Ravne.

With that, I stuff the last bit of my tunic under my pants and secure my belt. Man. Boy. Guy.

I leave the squire's wing. I don't think Graie, Ravne, or Duss are even up yet. As I walk out into the throne room, I wrap the twine around my fistful of blond curls on the back of my head.

"Where's Graie?" Sir Cawle demands, standing by the entrance of the castle with Sir Styrp and the other knights with squires.

Fiyr fluffs his hair, his freckly cheeks going red. "Eh, he took some poppy seeds last night, so he might—"

"He can get up at the same time as every other squire," Sir Cawle cuts him off coolly.

Fiyr goes silent and dips his head deferentially. "Yessir."

For some reason, it makes my fists curl. I already have good reason to think that Tigre has something he's hiding and him being a jerk to Fiyr for no reason isn't helping. Well, I mean, I'm sure that Sir Prophecy God-toy can handle being knocked down a peg or two. Then again, Sir Cawle should know that he's not supposed to… well, be… ugh, whatever.

As I muse, Sir Cawle walks over to me and Fiyr follows him, head down.

"The queen will be ready soon," Tigre says coolly, regarding me with sharp amber eyes. "And Ravne, Graie, and Duss have finally deigned to join us. Good."

As the trio hurry over to us, I step away to scan the throne room for Queen Bluelianna, but it doesn't seem that she's left her room. When I hear Tigre Cawle's cutting voice, I glance back at the clump.

"Just try to keep it together for one training session," Sir Cawle mutters, his chin jutting up and his dark eyes staring down at Ravne. The squire pales.

What is going on here…?

But I don't get an opportunity to interrupt as Queen Bluelianna leaves her private room and heads towards me. My gaze darts between Sir Cawle and his group of squires and Queen Bluelianna, but the knights are already leaving.

I sigh. I have to grill Ravne later about what's up with Sir Cawle. He'll tell me if I show him I can help him.

"Ready to train?" the queen asks. She's a little better-looking than she was right after the battle, but there's still a strange hollow look in her eye that makes me uncomfortable.

"Yeah… Where are your guards?" I ask, glancing at the doors where Sir Cawle is leaving with the other knights and their squires. Wasn't Sir Darriek hanging around them?

"They're helping with castle repairs," she replies dismissively.

My gaze flickers towards where Sir Cawle used to be standing and then back to the queen. Maybe… maybe I can say something now that Sir Cawle is out of the way. Then again, I don't know… I have no proof.

I look up at the queen searchingly. The lack of warmth makes my stomach churn uneasily. And… if she knew that one of the strongest knights in the court might be a traitor…

I swallow hard. "Let's go then!"

The queen doesn't move. After a long moment, her hand creeps up to rest on my shoulder. The intensity of her pale blue eyes makes me shrink back a little. What…?

"We aren't going to do the normal fighting training today," Queen Bluelianna informs me raspily.

I frown a little. Okay…? "So history then, or forest survival training? Or…"

"Meditation."

"What?"

"We're going to meditate. It improves our connection to life-force and increases our ability to communicate with the Starlaxi," the queen murmurs. "Follow me."

As she turns and swiftly heads towards one of the doors leading off of the throne room, I waver, then follow. We're meditating? Why are we meditating? There's so much training to do. We've barely covered half of Lieting Teil's Ancient Thundrian Texts on Fighting and I'm probably only going to be training for a couple more years!

But the queen offers no explanation as we climb the stairs of the castle's north tower, up, up, up. I can only remember being up here once; I was exploring the castle as a child and I raced up the spiral staircase, escaping Brindellia Faise as she chased me down until finally, a cougar grabbed me gently by the shirt, carrying me like a cub back to her.

I never made it to the top and after seeing Brindellia's disapproving face, I never really wanted to.

I only remember a glimpse of the long stretch of foliage and sun and clouds and sky before I was brought back to my mother like a pesky toddler.

"Why are we meditating?" I ask to silence the humming in my ears. There's something strange about the north tower, I know there is. There must have been a reason Brindellia didn't want me up there and there must be a reason that the queen is taking me there now.

The queen glances back, her eyes cloudy but determined. "It improves our connection to life-force and increases our ability to communicate with the Starlaxi," she repeats as though she's reading it off a tin from one of the villages on Thundrian territory.

I stifle an eye-roll and just follow her silently. Alright. I guess this is one of those 'see it when you get there' things.

And boy, do I ever see it.

It's the same as I remember from my single glimpse as a kid. The sky is awash in blue and golden sunshine rains down from the Starlaxi to illuminate the expanse of foliage below. The treetops stretch for kilometres in every direction, a dappled ground of green.

"It's beautiful," I mumble, squinting in the sunshine.

"It's not only beautiful, it's the highest point in the castle. Aside from the Lunar Temple, this is the closest Thundrian place to the Starlaxi," she murmurs reverently, gripping the white stone banister.

Once the shock of the luxurious landscape fades, I examined the balcony that we stand on. There are swirling engravings of swans and water and stars. "Wh…"

"It changes for each leader," the queen informs me before I can even ask. "The King in the Trees had an eye for beauty and strength, and what better way to show that Thundria has a rich well of life-force than to waste it on frivolity? Of course, no knight from any other kingdom has ever been up here, so I suppose it was more the thought that counted."

The King in the Trees. The epithet is familiar. I think back to historical texts and then remember him. King Peyenoran Star. It's an archaic rule, but one the queen observes, which means I will too—after a monarch passes away, their life's achievements are summed up in a title that is used to refer to them thereafter. Their real name is consigned to history.

I nod, acknowledging what she said about the life-force up here. I can feel it. It's… so strong. I'm tempted to see if I can lift sand from the forest floor far below from this distance.

"Sit with me," the queen instructs, and then to my horror, begins climbing over the balcony.

"Your majesty…?" I stammer, but she's grabbed the banister and has perched herself atop it, her legs swinging into the void that stretches down fifty metres or more, then trees, then more to fall.

I swallow hard as I step over to where she sits, her legs kicking back and forth like a child.

"It's perfectly safe," she assures me. "If you fall, it will be onto the soft leaves below. Besides, my life-force is especially good at catching people…"

I've heard tell of her demonstration; she was being sung a nursery song by the window when, as a baby, she wriggled out of her mother's arms and fell out the window. It was as she was plummeting that a slide of ice began to appear, slowing her descent before curving back upwards and dropping her back into her traumatized mother's arms. It was unusually precise for a demonstration, which is usually just a total unleashing of raw power. Then again, the queen is nothing if not poised.

"Right," I say nervously, but I hold the marble tightly as I swing one leg over, then the other, my grip tightening on the banister with each tiny movement until my knuckles are as white as the stone, and then ease myself into a sitting position next to her.

"Hm. Perhaps this was a mistake. It won't work if you're not relaxed, and you don't seem to be relaxed here, but this is the best location…" the queen says.

"No! I can relax!" I insist, taking a deep breath and trying not to choke on my own tongue. I could be a Samn-shaped splat on the forest floor within seconds. And nobody would have even known I was a girl. Well, except the queen, Spottalia, and Brindellia. Both Rozel and Redde, the only other two, are… gone.

"Very well." My conviction seems to amuse her. "Then keep taking those deep breaths, but try not to move your shoulders too much. The air should come from your belly, not your chest."

I squint, but try to push out my breath with each inhalation. It's actually starting to make me shorter of breath.

"Imagine you are a well, swelling with water, but it is power and air. Can you feel the Starlaxi?" she murmurs.

I take a deeper breath. This time I don't feel so out of breath; my chest creaks a little, unused to such deep breathing. I can feel it, I think, but say nothing, worried to ruin the moment. They're all around me if I just reach out a little bit.

When I open my eyes, I realize I've gone to the fifth dimension.

I gasp and the world returns to normal. "Oh! I—dang, I lost it, but I—"

"You won't be caught unawares again," she encourages. "Try again."

I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing in the fresh air and feeling the sun shine on my face. My family. Stretching back generations upon generations, all bringing me, my single self, to this one moment… I'm suddenly hit with a dizzying wave of wonder.

This time, when I open my eyes to see the fifth dimension, the Trace, I don't flinch away. "Amazing…"

"Well done, Samn." I flush with triumph at the pride in the queen's voice. "Not many can find this level of the Trace so soon."

Even in this strange, murky reality, the world around me is beautiful. The sunshine filters in shades of green and purple, the trees below almost black, and yet there's still breath-taking tranquillity about it all. A thousand traces, speaking of water and leaves and wildlife, swirl through the air around me, waiting to tell me about when they passed through and where they are.

I can feel the sand on the floor of the forest with a strange acuteness. It's almost as though I can… smell it isn't the right word, it's more like… I can sense it. The same way you'd feel heat or the wind or the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. It's there, just waiting for me to ask something of it.

"Bring some sand up to us," the queen tells me and I nod, concentrating on the bright, hot feeling.

Come up to me, all of you, surge up and spiral.

Thin streams of yellowish-gray begin to shoot up from the foliage, then wider, then it's almost as if pillars of sand are erupting from the forest floor. They glow in the Trace and I concentrate.

The strength of it surprises me, but I hang onto the concentration, seizing the threads of power inside me and braiding them to my will. Come up to me.

"Well done," the queen murmurs at the edge of my senses as I pull the sand all together into a giant swirling sphere above our tower, quivering with effort. "You've already realized what you and Fiyr can do together, yes?"
I falter and a couple of handfuls of sand rains down on us. Together? She doesn't mean as a couple, right? Because I—

"His fire and your sand?" the queen pursues.

Oh. Our life-force. Obviously. I redden. "Um, yeah. I made a bird out of sand and then he sort of blasted it with fire and it turned into glass. It took a lot of time."

"His fire isn't very hot yet. He has incredible control and summoning ability, but he will require refinement to truly harness the power of the heat within him," the queen comments. "I was the same way. Any knight with ice life-force can make spikes sharp enough to puncture a single freckle and nothing more, but they crumble easily. To push it past the point of brittle and icy, to the true wrath of winter requires much more effort."

I can't help glancing at her sword. "Is that…?"

"Indeed. It was to remind me to aspire to more than spikes. To raise the Blacklands in the form of a blizzard, to protect my kingdom with the fierceness of the depths of winter," she says reverently, tapping the sword. "You remember my simple steel sword?"

Icicle. I've never seen it, of course. The simple steel was forged long ago into the metal sliver that lies at her side, but I've heard tell of it. "Yes. Icicle."

"It was my first goal. To reach the precision to create a single, long spike," she tells me, laughing a little. "Shooting low. When I became a knight and received Bluefur, I realized there was more to reach for. So when the King of the Sun appointed me captain of the guard, I knew that there was more for me in store and that my ambition would carry me through. That's why my true-steel bears the name of my ultimate goal."

I try not to clutch my face and squeal, but it's a pretty good story. I wonder what my true-steel sword will be.

"You have Bolt, named for Thundria, I presume?" she continues.

I nod, tapping the simple steel blade. "My loyalty."

"You know that no knight, squire, or otherwise would dare question it," the queen observes, her eyes sharp, "and yet you so named it nonetheless. Why?"

I scratch my head thoughtfully. I guess 'it sounds cool' isn't going to fly when she has a whole backstory. "Er, I don't want anyone to doubt my commitment to Thundria when the truth comes out," I confess. It's not entirely untrue. Not necessarily why I named my sword that, but still.

The queen nods. "I see. But straight loyalty is a bare minimum. What more do you aspire to?"

I swallow, tilting my head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"You're an exceptional squire," she compliments, "and it seems strange that all you want from the court is their understanding of your loyalty."

"I want to make Thundria strong," I venture uncertainly. "I want the court to recognize that I can make us strong. I want to be an asset. I want more than loyalty, you're right. I want to be needed, to be necessary to the court. I want to be the knight that squires look to for guidance, that other knights shake their head at and wonder what they'd do without me."

The queen's face lights up in an almost gleeful grin. "Excellent, Samn, excellent. I knew it was there. You're not the bare minimum and it is a shameful waste of talent to construct goals as such. Your loyalty is strong, no knight will challenge that, but you ache to prove yourself as a valuable knight."

I nod fiercely. Being a girl has jack to do with kicking the butt of every last knight that comes to try to harm Thundria. I can have lady bits and still put an arrow straight through the eye of a doe.

"Is it related to your secret?" the queen wonders aloud, and I hesitate. "Or does it stem from it? Or perhaps it has nothing to do with it at all."

I flush, running my hand through my hair out of habit. "Uh, I actually… There's a part of me that wants the court to know. I want them to see me succeed, and then have to grapple with the fact that I did it all as a girl."

Queen Bluelianna's mouth hitches up in half a smile. "I had the same drive as a young knight, though I hadn't been hiding it. It was the King in the Sun's open mind that allowed me to—"

I can't help cutting her off. "No! You did it on your own merit alone!"

"Merit is nothing in the face of prejudice." She laughs sadly. "I could have been the greatest Thundrian knight that the kingdom had ever seen—"

"Which you were!" I insist.

"And there were knights that continued to refuse to believe I could lead."

My fists curl at the injustice of it all. "But you were obviously a better choice than any other member of the court!"

"Ah. There was actually another knight that fought long and bitterly for my position," the queen tells me with a sigh. "Thissel Cawle. The Sir Cawle you know was named for him; he was Thissel's squire. Thissel was also Sir Strommer's father. He was a knight full of burning need to prove himself, to achieve more, to rise above us—me."

"But the king chose you," I press.

"Indeed." Her blue eyes glimmer in memory. "He made some... unsavoury accusations that day. Said it was because I was his squire, because I was with him for my own gain—"

I choke. "What?!" The idea of any member of the court challenging Bluelianna's right to serve as captain is so outlandish I have to stifle a laugh, but the insinuation makes me so mad I could spit. "What a—what a—dillweed!"

Queen Bluelianna can't help a cackle at that. "Indeed. He was a rather… disagreeable fellow. Not to mention… well, that's irrelevant. I simply cannot tell what Snowlia saw in him."

Her sister, I recall. Hang on. "Thissel and your sister were—"

"Well, where do you suppose Sir Strommer came from?" she teases. "Yes. They… had relations. It is in the past though. What's important is that Thundria is strong in the present."

But her eyes are troubled. I fall silent, knowing it isn't my place to press, but I can't help curiosity at… "What about the prophecy?"

The queen falls off the balcony.

"Your Majesty!" I yell as she begins to plummet, but a sparkle of blue illuminates the air beneath her as a curved beam of ice begins to form beneath her, stretching faster than she can fall and hooking itself around the balcony. She slides, then it begins to send her upwards, then she is thrown from it and is flung back towards the balcony.

The queen lands heavily, but she braces well and doesn't seem to be injured.

"Your Majesty!" I repeat shrilly, scrambling off the balcony and hurrying towards her.

"I'm quite alright," she says, a hint of amusement in her voice despite her heavy breathing. "A little—shocked."

"A little?! I—I'm so sorry! I never should've—it wasn't my place—I wasn't thinking—" I babble, but she silences me with one pristine white glove.

"No, I reacted… er, poorly," she says, still sounding amused. "You gave me a scare. I should have known that Spottalia would tell you, however. You are friends, aren't you?"

I stifle a snort. "Er, yeah, kind of."

"Then I suppose there's nothing for me to try to conceal." She shrugs. "Yes. Solo el fuego salvará nuestro reino. Fire alone can save our kingdom."

I nod, trying to beat back the same surge of jealousy as from when I first heard it. "And you think it's about Fiyr?"

Queen Bluelianna strokes the pommel of Winter's Wrath thoughtfully. "The Starlaxi is rarely so clear as that would imply—yet it was my own doing that named him Fiyr. His life-force, still, would indicate that it could be the truth. The simple answer is, I don't know."

I swallow. But it's too much to hope that it's indicative of me. What does sand have to do with fire? I berate myself. It's not me. I've got no destiny, just a secret and a lot of drive. I don't need a destiny. I'll make my own path.

"'All will become clear in time' is probably what Med Vhiskar would've told me," she admits. "Never cared for that sort of the answer, however. If they desire to tell us a clear outcome, they would be specific. As it stands, I choose to believe that the outcomes are numerous and the future is in the hands of the present."

It's philosophical, but it makes a lot of sense to me. Fire could mean anything, not necessarily in the literal sense. It could mean anything or anyone. But I don't dare let myself hope.

Thanks for reading chapter 19! Please follow and favourite this story and leave me a review with what you think!

~Akila