RA’SA
Ican see the inky dark blue sky above me. There's a poorly patched crack in the crumbling roof, and it reveals the outside world in a way I'd never seen. Usually the open sky is vast and uncomfortable, but this—barely a sliver—intrigues me.
Clouds the color of steel and stone float through the sky, framing the stars. While I lie there, something in my magic stirs. Enduares believed that stars were faraway realms for our goddess to inhabit. Spheres of stone, like the world we live in. Grutabela picked one for her home. She built a throne of stones and began to sing to us across the distance. It was always a comforting thought for me to think of her as bits and pieces manifest in the crystals.
The more I think about it, the more curious I am that we have taken to the underground as much as we have, especially as I realize, looking up at the celestial realm, that I enjoy it.
In small doses.
Strange.
I’d never considered myself so changeable. But perhaps I’ve merely denied myself the space to find out what I really want over what others have wanted for me.
One of the slumbering men on my left stirs with an abrupt snort. I don't recognize him, but the movement causes me to adjust and feel the sweaty, blood-crusted clothes clinging to my body.
I grimace.
My eyes fix on the heavens once again, only to find the shade of blue much lighter. The sun awakens, meaning I must soon work.
Images return—blood-soaked memories—of bodies stacked on top of each other, and the world around us swirling with smoke…
Long ago, we lived in a small village near the old Enduar capital, Iravida. Ruhsavida was a collection of caves in a forest up north. We were in one of the few places that had easy access outside of the mountains.
We'd been home the day the world ended. I'd been helping my father clean the roof from lichen that had started to build up. Mother was downstairs, feeding Tirin, but my sisters weren't home. Sera, Orena, and Anina had gone off to art lessons with one of the painters in the Royal Art Institute.
Our house was covered with their paintings. Bright glowing blues and greens covered every surface. They painted the world beyond the caves, and our family, too. Mother and Father in fantastical clothing. Me, with dancing stones around my head and glowing eyes. Them with swords and ballgowns and books.
When the smoking started, Father recognized the signs. He’d worked with the great battalions tasked with guarding the king’s treasures and understood, so he shoved me off the roof.
He shouted at me and told me to care for my mother. He would get my sisters and join us later.
I didn’t understand what he meant, but my mother was screaming and crying. I took Tirin, and we ran.
Ran until we couldn’t breathe.
Two quiet words are whispered to my thoughts, breaking me from the memory.
Be well.
It's Melisa's voice.
Rushing blood silences the world around me. I sit up and look around. She’s not here, but I hear her thoughts like a mate would hear its other half.
Melisa?
Nothing.
No song accompanies the words.
No marks burn on my neck.
… No more thoughts come.
When I stand up and start to make my way out of the den, I pause at the exit, looking for Melisa again.
Guards are littered around the area outside, but there is no raven-haired woman.
Several guards produce metal pots, and they start beating them with their spears. The awful clanging noise steals sleep from anyone who wasn’t already stirring. I wait for a group to form and follow them out of the sleeping area.