The stables were present behind the castle. It was a massive building on its own, filled with hundreds of horses. Vayu scrunched her nose, trying to avoid the smell. The stable smelled as good as any place could smell that housed hundreds of animals.

  “I would not want to be downwind of this place,” she murmured.

  “No one does,” Cheran said. “The price we pay for these beautiful beasts.”

  She remembered her old horse, a dappled gray mare that had stayed behind at the castle when she was sent to the monastery. Her aunt had discreetly purchased Misty, and the horse had lived out the rest of her life at her aunt’s estate. The monastery had a few pack horses for carrying supplies to and from the village, but she never rode the horses.

  She never told anyone at the monastery of her love of horses. It seemed like a rich girl’s passion, owning and riding horses. Her mare had been bred only for riding. There was no practicality there, just pure frivolousness. So she had let other novices ride into the village. Maybe it was needless loyalty that kept her from getting close to other animals.

  Cheran chose two horses for them. They were both riding horses, one a pure black and the other a chestnut with a white star on her forehead.

  “You choose,” he said.

  She picked the chestnut one. The mare was docile.

  “Are you a good rider?” he asked. “I can help you if you are not, or if you are out of practice.”

  In the few memories she had of her mother, she and her mother had nearly lived on horses. Her mother was a warrior, a horsewoman, and Vayu wondered if anyone could ever truly forget the feeling of being on a horse, whether fear could crawl into the place where there should only be joy at the feeling of wind in her hair and the speed. The lovely velocity of riding, with the drumming beats of hoofs against hard ground.

  “I’m a good rider,” she said, swinging herself up into the horse’s saddle. They rode out of the castle compound, a small group of soldiers riding a few hundred yards behind them. The castle stood at the very end of the city, and behind it there was only fields, farmland, and a small woods for hunting. She urged her mare into a gallop, not caring as strands of hair came loose from her plait.

  The air was cleaner outside the castle, and the absence of other people was refreshing. She did not have to care about her posture or the way she spoke. While Daivians and Nouminese both spoke the common language of the Fessian continent, there were distinct differences. Her accent was different from Cheran’s, and as she spoke to him more, she realized the millions of minute differences in the dialects. They had different idioms, different ways of saying the same words, and different spellings as well. Each country was convinced that their form of the language was the correct one. As they reached the end of the field, near the border to the woods, she slowed her horse down and waited for Cheran to catch up with her.

  “You are a good rider,” he said.

  “It seems I haven’t forgotten my lessons,” she said.

  “And you like her, the mare?” he asked.

  Vayu stroke the mare’s neck, and the animal whinnied in response. She was a friendly creature, eager to please and docile, but willing to run like the wind.

  “I do like her,” she said. “She’s sweet.”

  “Her name is Iola,” he said. “Although you could rename her if you want.”

  “Iola is lovely,” she said, leaning down and wrapping her arms around Iola’s neck.

  In the distance, she saw a speck racing towards them. As it approached, she saw that it was a man on a horse, in a full gallop. For a second their guard stiffened in response to a possible attack. On seeing that the man wore Daivian livery, they relaxed slightly.

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  “Your highness, we need you at the castle immediately!”

  “What happened?” Cheran asked.

  The messenger stopped for a moment to take a deep breath. It seemed that he had run to the stables and raced to find them.

  He began again once he caught his breath, “Queen Raval has passed away.”

  “What?”

  Raval was not even forty years old. She lived with a fury that couldn’t be extinguished, or so Vayu had thought.

  “What?” Vayu asked.

  “We’ve just received word from Noumin. The emperor has called for both of you to meet him in his chambers.”

  She urged Iola back into a gallop, towards the castle. By the time they reached the emperor’s chambers, both she and Cheran were out of breath. From inside, she could hear hushed conversations and the rustling of robes. The guard at the entrance announced their arrival, and opened the door for them to enter. Inside, the emperor was poring over a massive table. It was a recreation of the continent of Fessia, accurate down to the topography and the roads. Little toy soldiers stood in neat squares in places along the path. Every flat surface was covered in a thin layer of sand.

  “Yes, daughter,” the emperor said, calling Vayu to his side. “You might help me.”

  As an afterthought, he met her eyes. “My condolences for the queen’s death.”

  “Thank you, your majesty,” she mumbled. The emperor, after his brief display of sympathy, was again razor focused on the miniature continent before him.

  “I am trying to understand what happened,” he said.

  “Understand what?” she asked, looking at the stretch of land that he was looking at. It was a path along Noumin’s coast, bordered by woods on one side and the beach on the other. She remembered the area from her childhood. It was an isolated area, where the coast dipped quickly and unexpectedly. It wasn’t a safe place for swimmers or sailors, and so most people left the segment of coast alone. As a result, there were no villages or towns nearby.

  “Queen Raval and her entourage were discovered here,” the emperor said. “All of them were washed ashore, drowned. Their horses and carriages were found a short distance away, unharmed.”

  “They were attacked?” Vayu asked.

  The emperor shook his head. “No, none of them had any wounds on their body. Most of the soldiers still had weapons at their waists, sheathed. None of the horses had any wounds. The carriages were left in good working conditions.”

  The emperor took a long wooden pointer and drew a circle where Queen Raval had died. He drew lines outwards to possible nations. There was Verne, which bordered Noumin to the west. They also wanted access to Noumin’s coasts, but they were not in such dire need as Daivia. They had a small amount of coastline themselves, and they would not make such a risk against their neighboring, and especially not after Noumin had acquired such a powerful ally.

  “I cannot think of who could have done this,” the emperor said. “Or how. Bandits would not be so clean. Queen Raval’s jewelry was apparently still in the carriage. Her handmaids’ belongings as well, have been undisturbed. Other nations gain nothing by killing the queen.”

  “I think,” Vayu said. She wasn’t sad about Raval’s death. For some reason, she had always that expected Raval would not live to see old age. Raval did not seem the kind that would like living to be old, and she made more enemies than friends on a regular basis. However, she was worried for Eshal. “I think someone wants to create chaos. I don’t know who that is, but the queen dying throws doubt on a lot of people. We’ll see each other as suspects, all of us.”

  The continent was already in strife, nations on the verge of war. Fessia had limited resources, and as the empire expanded, smaller nations were warring for whatever was left. It was a good time to cause trouble.

  “But the how, I cannot understand it,” Vayu said. “It’s like they all walked into the ocean.”

  They all walked into the ocean, she thought to herself. It reminded her of the book from the morning. The myth would explain what had happened to Queen Raval, but Daivians were skeptical of the old stories. Sirens were lesser known than the mer people, and they were supposed to be more rare as well.

  However, one siren would be all that it took. One song and all of them could have walked into a watery end. Vayu was almost tempted to explain her theory, but she stopped herself. She was still new to the castle, and while the emperor and Cheran appeared kind, perhaps they wouldn’t be so kind to her whimsical fantasies.

  “Well, it only means that we must move ahead with our plans all that much sooner,” the emperor said. “Whoever did this has done us a favor.”

  “A favor?” Cheran asked.

  “From what our Nouminese sources tell us,” the emperor said. “The country is in chaos. There is a power struggle, as the young king is now only protected by his elderly grandfather. His mother’s allies have shifted allegiances to other factions. There are cousins who are proclaiming their right to the throne. Their logic is that as King Eshal is not the firstborn, he is not legitimate.”

  “What?!”

  The emperor looked at her again, and placed a hand on her shoulder. “It is time to put the next part of our plan into action.”

  “What plan?” Cheran asked.

  “Son, did you really think I would let you marry a woman without power or any promise?” Emperor Avyan asked. “You are married to the Lady of Noumin, the leader of our soon-to-be province.”