Evelyn I

The door smashes open with the anger of the intruders who barge into my room. I can feel the wall rattle from the force of wood smashing against the wood, and the floor rumbles from the intruders’ heavy boots storming in.

I do not dare to peek out of my closet. These intruders want blood, and they are not going to spill mine.

“Where’s the girl?” Something crashes in my room. From the shattering glass permeating the crash, I am going to assume it is the sculpture of a tiger Muriel gave me for my birthday last year. It is all I can do to keep my anger contained and not burst out of the closet.

Yet I know I am hopeless against these intruders. Even though I am a Level Five, and they are Level Fours, my healing magic will never hurt them. You cannot heal a person to death. At most I could constrain them, but that would come at great risk to myself.

“The princess ain’t here,” says a gruff voice.

“She has to be! I saw her run in here with my own two eyes!”

I steady my breathing. I need to stay calm, or they will hear me. My closet may be perfectly camouflaged against my wall for situations like this, but one suspicious sound and my cover is blown.

“Leave her,” says a deep female voice. “We’re not here for her. The queen is more important.”

“But what about using the princess as bait?”

“No matter. The royal guard is already on alert. My darkness barrier can only hold them at bay for so long, so we must not waste time. Come. Let us seize Northern Aldridge for our own.”

The heavy boots storm out of my room. I do not dare take another breath until I am sure I am alone.

I burst out of my closet, half expecting one of the Level Four intruders to sit on my four-poster bed in wait for me. But I know I cannot hide forever. They spoke about the queen, my mother. I cannot allow them to do anything to her.

I verify my fears as I examine the glass covering the floor. The tiger’s paw lies near the shattered remains of its tail, and its eye has split in a million pieces. I suppose once this is over, I will have to bring in to a Level Three artisan for repair.

I unlock my trunk and pull out my staff – a gnarly old walking stick my mom gave me for training years ago. Tomorrow, when I turn seventeen, Conor will give me a weapon worthy of not only and adult’s hand, but my hand.

But I must not waste any precious time. I run past the shattered remains of my door to the castle hallways. Several bodies lie on the ground – maids, guards, and retainers alike. From their icy injuries, I can only conclude the main assault force are Level Fours specializing in cold and ice.

Several windows blow in cold, snowy air through their damaged panes. These Level Fours really destroy everything in their path. We will need to contract several Level Threes to make the due repairs. In a country such as Northern Aldridge, where we have snowfall 300 days a year, we cannot afford to lose any heat to escape our dwellings. I grip on the thin fabric of my long red dress. I must wonder why the Angels from the south give us such thin clothes for such cold conditions.

My mother’s chambers are at the end of the hall, but she should not be in them at this moment. She should be in the throne room, preparing for her judgment over the sinners and lawbreakers of the country. She always claims of how hard such a process is, but to me it has always seemed easy. She hears about some person disobeying the laws of the church, or the laws of the land, and then she sentences them to death. What is the difficulty of such a task?

The throne room’s door has suffered the same fate as my room. The Level Fours have surrounded the throne itself – their dirty boots staining the pristine golden floor. The sole woman of the group steps forward and throws her raven hair aside, out of her face.

The woman seated on the throne, my mother, stands up and casts her golden eyes at raven-haired woman. “What business do you have with me, Clara?”

“You know exactly why I’m here. I, Clara of the Northern Reaches, have come to claim what is rightfully mine – the throne you now sit on. I ask you, Gwendolin the Cursed, surrender peacefully. You are horribly outnumbered.”

Indeed, there are at least twenty Level Fours in the room, compared to the puny force of my mother, my father (who sits on a lower throne, as my mother makes all the decisions), and their two retainers.

My mother examines their forces. “What do you mean by rightfully yours? This throne has passed down from mother to daughter for generations, and I intend to keep it that way.”

“A real leader is one the people choose, not one born into the role. Your people are starving, and they may not speak it openly, but they desire a new leader who cares about their wants and needs. You are being deposed. We shall ensure you every right and privilege you currently enjoy, but ownership of the castle and the kingdom shall pass to me. I shall negotiate fairer rates with the Angels, and we shall enter a time of good and plenty.”

My mom slams her foot on the ground. “You fool. Angels are not to be trifled with. You cannot negotiate with an Angel. They provide us with what we need, and have created us. They control our very lives, and are to be worshiped. They are divine beings, and your blasphemy will cost you your head!”

Clara points her finger at my mother. “Then I sentence you to death for your crimes against the country. Men, please teach this failure of a queen some manners.”

My mother smirks as they charge in at her. She is going to get hurt! She cannot fend off twenty men at once.

I have to save her. I grip my staff and charge in. But I barely make it to the middle of the floor when an arm of solid muscle wraps around my neck. The man puts a silver blade on my neck, threatening to spill blood if I so much as move against his wishes.

Clara whistles, which stops the charging Level Fours in their tracks. “It seems we do not have to fight you directly anymore. Your daughter has made the task easier for us.”

My mother’s confident pose changes to one of sheer horror. “You leave Evelyn alone!”

Clara saunters over to me and lifts my chin. “Evelyn, huh? I never thought I’d get to meet you face to face. You have your mother’s eyes.” Of course I do. Golden eyes are the symbol of royalty, passed down from mother to daughter. They are so much more beautiful than those wicked black eyes adorning Clara’s brow.

She lets go of my chin. “I shall give you a choice. You shall peacefully release the kingdom to me, or your daughter will lie dying in a pool of her own blood, like all her retainers and maids before her.” My heart thumps when I think of Muriel lying dead in the hallway. No, she is out in the slums again with her family. She is not a victim. She cannot be one.

That is all of a trigger my mother needs. “You shall release her, or your families will not even have a corpse left to bury.”

“Then you have made your decision. Brady, show this arrogant queen what happens to her daughter when she defies us.”

My assailant, Brady, steadies his knife on my throat. A drip of blood escapes my neck and runs down his blade. Another few seconds and I shall die, returning in spirit south of the Gate of Heaven to my true heavenly home of Aldridge.

And then he bursts in flames.

I back up, lest the flames catch hold of my robe. He cannot even scream, as the flame is so hot and white it incinerates him nigh-on instantly. Clara spins to face my mother.

“Well, isn’t that a nice little trick you’ve got there. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you use magic before. But you’re only one Level Five, compared against twenty, or now, nineteen Level Fours. How do you intend to destroy us?”

My mother smirks. “You really have no clue, do you? Do you understand the true power of a Level Five? You assume because five Level Threes can overtake a Level Four, the same must be true for me. That is what makes you a fool.”

She lifts her hands up, which causes even Clara to stagger back in fear. “You think there is a limit to my power. You would be correct, as I cannot dream of ever destroying the Gate of Heaven – nor should I ever desire to. But within the realm of humans, the world is at my command. Should I desire for all of Northern Aldridge to crumble to ash, it shall. And so, the same goes for you.”

Sensing the danger, Clara thrusts her hands in front of her face. A thick black wall forms between her men and my mother, so thick it seems to suck at my very soul.

“You think your puny Level Four magic can stand against me?”

The moment she speaks the words, the assaulters burst in flame. Even Clara, with all her grandiose mannerisms, cannot get so much as a scream out. The barrier collapses, along with them. Their ashes sprinkle on the floor, all which remains of the Level Four intruders.

My mother’s eyes raise to me. “Evelyn, are you all right?”

“It is Eve, mother. Do not call me Evelyn.”

“I named you Evelyn, and I shall call you Evelyn so long as I live in this castle. But seeing how you can pipe up such insolences to me, I suppose you are uninjured. Then we shall discuss the more important matter as to why you entered my throne room uninvited.”

I tug at the collar of my robe, knowing full well what she means.

“You are a reckless fool who cannot understand her own danger. I built that closet for you to hide in should something like this occur, not for you to burst out of it and throw yourself in harm’s way!”

“But you were in danger. I had to help.”

She returns to her chair. “You saw my power. It’s the same power my mother had, and her mother before her. The form may change – my mother had been a master of darkness similar to Clara – but the power is always enough to destroy the entire continent. Or in your case, save it.”

I grip my staff.

My mother leans back in her chair and closes her eyes. “We have much to discuss tonight at the dinner table. You are to return to your studies for the remainder of the day and not disturb me. I shall forgive your foolish act, but you must remember that your foolishness will cause your downfall one day. We will speak later.”

As much as I wish to continue, I understand her sentiment. I exit the throne room, but I have no intention of returning to my studies. The snowfall doesn’t seem to be too heavy out there – typical for October – so maybe I can take my horse, Hayley, out for a ride.

A sweet smell wafts through the castle from the kitchens below. From the unique scent of ginger, I understand this is not one of the kitchen maids hard at work. This is a real baker’s daughter, putting her skills to work. She truly was not hurt in the raid.

My heart flutters, and I rush down the stairs to meet Muriel. I cannot wait to see the love of my life again.