Empty Spaces: Three weeks earlier

Sometimes Dahlia considered herself lucky to go to Editoria Academy. Sometimes she considered the school a curse. Sometimes she regarded it with enough indifference people questioned her.

But ever since one of her best friends had left, she tended to lean towards curse more often than not.

Beside her, Pine inhaled his sandwich and flipped through the pages of his book. Pine had taken the loss harder than Dahlia had. He’d mourned as if Eagle has died rather than been selected to one of the highest honors anyone could receive.

“Hey,” she said, trying to make conversation. It wasn’t what they normally did. Usually, they’d be content to eat in silence, enjoying each other’s quiet company.

Now, there was a hole where Eagle used to be. A gap that threatened to teat apart Dahlia and Pine, even though they’d known each other for longer than they’d known Eagle.

Pine looked up from his book, a mildly surprised expression on his face. “Hey,” he replied. “How are you today? Doing well, I hope.”

“Wonderful,” Dahlia said.

Pine nodded, then turned back to his book. The two of them were back to the silence, which seemed stilted compared to the joy of just a few weeks ago.

A part of Dahlia wanted to hate Eagle for leaving. She was ashamed of that part. Why should she hate Eagle for being who he was? He would be an absolute fool to turn down the opportunity to finish high school in the Institute. She had supported him then, and she would support him now.

Even if he left destruction in his wake.

Caught: Five weeks earlier

The sky was lightening as Mallow raced down the streets of Elesron, her pale hair flying behind her. She was going to be so late. So, so, late. That would be bad.

With a rush of relief, she saw the rows of neatly trimmed garden hedges that marked the border of the Lidpool Quarter, with its bleached white houses that rose so far above the ground Mallow had to crane her head to see the tops.

Just beyond that would be the Trophis Quarter, and after that the Osamary Quarter. Then, she’d be home. She’d be tucked into her bed, and her mother would never know where she’d been.

As it had been for the past seven weeks.

Unfortunately, it would continue no longer if Mother pushed open Mallow’s door to find an empty room and an open window.

She raced by the majestic iron gates that barred the entrance to the Lidpool Quarter. Up ahead, the fences of the Trophis Quarter were beginning to show their metal tops. Good, for Mallow was beginning to feel a stitch in her side and a pain in her lungs.

She rushed by that too, casting glances at the sky, the traitorous, treacherous sky, that let the sun rise freely through its depths. Dawn was far gone by now.

Finally, finally, the gates of the Osamary Quarter were visible. Mallow stopped for half a second, just to draw in a few breaths. She listened to the rattle of her lungs, quivering.

She made a mental note to never leave this late again.

She started to run, pushing past the gates, not caring whether they swung shut with a crash or not. By the time of the people who lived around came to investigate, Mallow would be long gone. Anyone who could recognize her figure wouldn’t have the chance to.

She turned down Copper Way, praying that it wasn’t too late. That she could still jump into her room before anyone figured out that she was gone.

Her house came into view just as the last streaks of sunset had faded away into blue. Her heart calmed at its white paint on faux wood, the black shutters and door, the smoke rising from the chimney. She would make it time.

She had to believe that.

Sneaking around the side, to the blind spot of the camera she knew was there, Mallow searched for the oak that hung below her bedroom. To her relief, her window was still open. No critters – or family – had closed it during the night.

She swung up onto the lowest branch of the tree. After steadying herself for a moment, she continued her climb until she was level with the window. From it, she could see her room, the door still closed, every carefully placed object still in the same spots she left them in. Thank goodness. She’d made it, though it would mean nothing if she was standing on the window when Mother came in.

Mallow quickly jumped inside. She scattered a few of her old toys – safeguards, so if anyone came in, they’d move the toys, and then she’d know.

A sudden crash made her freeze. She grabbed a book off her nightstand and leaped onto the bed, settling her head against the propped-up pillows and opening the book to a random page.

…and even though science has claimed that no such thing exists, many persons across the world, including some scientists not associated with the Institute, feel differently. If it were true, then no dragon would ever be safe, and the Guardians sworn to protect them would…

The door to her room creaked open, and Mallow risked peeking out from behind her book. It was Mother, her pale hair – an imitation of Mallow’s own – falling in waves down her back.

She pursed her lips. “Mallow,” she began, and Mallow could have sworn her mother could hear her rapidly beating heart. She feared Mother could sense the lies wrapping around her daughter like a spider to a fly.

“What?” she asked.

Mother leveled her with a gaze of blue steel. “No need to get snappy.” She drew out a pair of pamphlets, a pair of pamphlets that she shouldn’t have. “I was just wondering where you went during the night.”

Mallow’s heart stopped.

troubles of a stormy sky

There’s just something about the clear June sky that makes me nervous. It’s not the ominous clouds looming in the distance, the promise of a storm on the horizon. It’s not the sweltering, scorching sun beating down on dry brush. And it’s most definitely not the wild wind that whips my hair around until it tangles.

No, I can’t put my foot down on what it is. The feeling makes me nervous. After all, my garden had been torn to the ground the last time I ignored something so blatantly fey.

And after, a whole world of trouble had been unleashed.

I sigh and continue to sprinkle fairy sand over my roses. The smell, like fireflies and clear summer nights, calms me somewhat. Reminds me of Rosaline and her own calming demeanor.

I miss her. I miss Jack too, and Willow and Ember. My heart has ached ever since I stepped through my garden gate and into my own world. It calls me to my friends, even while my head pulls me back to my own real world. I want to see them again, I realize. And though my heart yearns for the prospect, my head reminds me my garden gate had burned. I can’t, even if I tried.

My head and my heart have conflicted often since I returned.

I move away from the roses and try to ignore the sky. It’s so blue, like the waves of the shore. Like the sapphire caves or the trailing blue silk of Willow’s favorite gown.

I dust the lemon tree roots with the fairy sand and try to push the memories away. It would do me no good to dwell on them now. Just more heartbreak for my head to point out.

Before I move to the slowly recovering violets by the ruins of the gate, I’m startled by a sudden clap of thunder on the horizon. A quick glance upwards reveals the storm clouds are almost upon me. While normally, I’d be grateful for rain during a dry spell, now I know for sure fey magic is at work. No storm could travel so fast.

I hurry up with the fairy sand. I don’t want to be caught outside during any storm – though especially not a fey one. Those usually end up with worse outcomes for me.

Retreating into the safety of my apartment building, I stare at the encroaching clouds. Magic was blocked off when my gate burned, taking the portal with it – so why had magic been let loose again?

I wish I could talk to Rosaline. She’d know what to do. Or even Ember, with her cool confidence and sharp eyes. Willow would comfort me while Jack would try and cheer me up.

The sorrow in my heart crescendos into a wave that threatens to swallow me whole. More than anything, I want this storm to be magic. I want Jack and Rosaline and Ember and Willow to come and collect me. I want something to happen to me, just so I can see them again.

But it is a selfish wish, and I have had enough of those.

frozen lake

The lake is clear and icy and so, so blue – the figure standing delicately at its edge seems to glow with a halo of white. As they step forward, the ice bows but does not break.

“Where to now?” the figure muses. Their voices shivers and stills in the chilly winter air. The same cold nips at the figure’s fingers, threatening to whisk away a delicate piece of white parchment tucked away amongst reddening fingers.

The figure senses something. The parchment is tucked away into a pocket; the now empty fingers grasp the hilt of a crystalline hilted dagger. The figure turns, gently, carefully, but a sudden wind whips their hood back in a movement too fast for them to catch.

“It is you,” breathes a voice. A young girl appears out of seemingly thin air – air that is shimmering like smoke, air that is not obeying the call of the wind.

The figure by the lake sucks in a sharp breath. The dagger is drawn out of its sheath to reveal a blade that screams sharp. Even the lake bows to it. Reluctantly, but the soft creaking of the ice says it all.

The girl retreats a few steps, eyeing the dagger wearily. “I’m not here to hurt you,” she says. Her palms lift upwards. She has pale, pale, skin. Her face, apart from the tip of her long nose, looks as cold and unfeeling as the moon, shining above them despite the bright blue sky. Yet she seems to burn brighter than the sun – fiery and just as dangerous.

The first figure tightens their grip on the dagger. With a swift movement, it’s fully unsheathed.

The girl runs backwards, her eyes never leaving it. She trips over something unseen, and when she gets up, her hands are lifted again. Her eyes, shadowed by her hood as to hide their color, are filled with fear.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” she tries again.

The figure points the dagger outward. “I don’t know that.” They step further out onto the lake. Their boots click against the ice. The silence in between each step is yawning.

“Don’t go,” the girl says, desperation edging her voice. Her still lifted hands are trembling now, though the cold has died down. Her gaze never leaves the dagger, or the person holding it. “Please. I can explain.”

The figure shakes their head. “I don’t want your explanations.” They turn halfway, until they are facing the vast expanse of the frozen lake. They finger the dagger’s hilt, as if in thought, though the set of their shoulders tells the girl all she needs to know. “I don’t need your explanations.”

The girl cries out as the figure makes the first true steps away. Purposeful, striding, with no sign of the wavering taking hold of the girl.

She stumbles to the edge of the lake, falling to her knees. “Please, Estelle, don’t do this.”

Estelle pauses. They sheath their dagger in one fluid movement, whipping around until they are a mere step away from the girl. With a delicate yet trembling hand, they lift the girl’s chin until her hood falls away to reveal shimmering purple eyes. They twirl with a thousand different faces in the light.

Estelle must recognize the crystal eyes, for their hand falls away as if burnt. After a long moment, they reach for their dagger again – and the girl scrambles away, onto the packed snow and away from the blue shine of ice. She draws her hood up again.

“Amryze,” Estelle whispers. Their voice turns bitter. “I should have known.”

Amryze keeps her gaze on the dagger as she replies. “I told you I can explain. Give me a chance, Estelle, and I promise you I will tell you everything.”

“I don’t want your promises.” The bitterness in Estelle’s voice has spread to their smile, and it creeps down into their stance like frost spreading across open water.

Amryze clasps her hands together. She’s not hopeful, but the desperation in her voice has leeched away. If her eyes were bursting with color, they’d be sparking with a thousand shades – though for anger or resignation, or the devasting sting of failure is unknown.

When it’s clear Amryze has said all she needs to, Estelle turns away. They take one step onto the frozen lake, then hesitate for a brief moment. A spasm, a twitch, and the dagger slides neatly into its sheath.

They turn over their shoulder, revealing green eyes just as bright and unnatural as Amryze’s own. Brunette hair spills out from under their hood, but Amryze’s gaze is fixed firmly on those eyes. She lowers her own hood. Estelle flinches.

They sigh. “Thank you, princess. For finding me. But I do not need your apologies or promises, gilded cages wrapped in layers of your magic.”

Amryze hauls herself to her feet. “Estelle.” She hesitates. “Sister. Please reconsider.”

“This is why I’m leaving,” Estelle says. They turn fully, taking a deep breath, seeming to relish the cold winter wind as it reappears, twining around the two and their cloaks.

“Please,” Amryze repeats, though her heart has left her voice.

Estelle doesn’t answer. They start their stride across the frozen pond once more, bathed in the soft blue glow of the ice. Their strides are sure once more.

This time, they don’t turn back.

The travelers have hardly gossiped about anything else, after all.