Messenger in the Mist

By AUBRIE DIONNE

LYRICAL PRESS

An imprint of Kensington Publishing Corp.

KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

http://www.kensingtonbooks.com/

To my mom, Joanne, for always believing in me.

First of all, I want to thank Lyrical Press for believing in my writing! Next, my wonderful editor, Stef Szymanski, who always pushed me to make my story shine. My critique partners, Christine Rains and Cherie Reich, have provided a wealth of support along with my top beta readers: my sister, Brianne and my mom, Joanne. Lastly, a big thanks goes out to my husband, Chris, for putting up with all my crazy story ideas at the dinner table!

Lost Soul

Star secured her pack bag to Windracer’s saddle, trying not to think about the giant beasts waiting outside the grid. Evenspark’s mist blowers towered over her like giant toadstools, chugging and sputtering wind above the city line. Every journey began with this cacophony, stirring acidic anxiety in her stomach.

She struggled to quell her raging nerves, running a shaky hand through her horse’s mane. She reminded herself of her obligations, her goals and her dreams. Everything she ever wanted lay beyond the metal gate. All she had to do was ride.

The shriek of her superior’s voice shot through the clamoring to rouse Star from her haunted reverie. “On with you, now! No more pestering the collectors. If people’s letters didn’t reach us, they’ll just have to hold their tongues until the next messenger gets back.”

“Yes, Zetta.” Star inspected Windracer’s hooves, each one the span of two of her hands put together. She straightened, meeting Zetta’s cheeky gaze with her own steadfast gray eyes. “I’m ready.”

“Come then. You should ride out before the darkness sets in.”

Zetta shuffled her through the first checkpoint, barely allowing Star time to sign the departure papers for each of the duty guards. Star shoved several bundled messages, rolled scrolls and hasty scribblings into her leather bag, stuffing it full until the front flap barely fastened.

Her superior followed like a fly, instructing her every breath of the way. “Never venture off course, not for anything or anyone. Your job is to deliver the correspondence and nothing more.”

“Yes, Zetta,” Star answered for the 122nd time before her 122nd run. She tried not to be annoyed by customary procedures, even if they took extra time.

“And don’t get caught up in unexpected meetings or activities. We need you back here in two days.”

Star tore herself away from signing the last of her departure papers to bow, her moonlight hair falling around her shoulders. “Understood.”

High-strung as a laundry line, Zetta tapped on Star’s letter bag. Usually her tirade stopped before the ring of mist blowers. However, this time she followed Star to the edge of the grid.

Without the currents of air to keep the mist at bay, the wispy tendrils of fog unfurled between them, obscuring Zetta’s sharp-nosed features in a ghost-like air. Star turned to Windracer, but Zetta’s voice held her still.

“There is one more item to dispatch.” From deep within the folds of her tunic, Zetta pulled out a small letter with an unidentifiable seal. “This goes too.”

An alarm bell rang in Star’s head and she paused. Zetta defied protocol. All letters had to be processed, tracked and signed by the head collector. “But this hasn’t—”

“I know.” Zetta averted her eyes. Star wondered if her superior pretended to be preoccupied with the lands lurking beyond the metalwork of the grid as an excuse to avoid her gaze. “There is not enough time for this letter’s review. I have orders by a higher power to allow it through immediately. My job and yours are on the line.”

Star fought a questioning retort. She took the folded paper in her hand, smoothing her thumb over the seal. The stock looked thick and expensive, stamped with the symbol of a man slaying a great flying beast. The stenciled letters on the front read
Fallon Leer
and the address of a lowly residence in the outskirts of Ravencliff. Star did not recognize the name, but treachery and desperation plagued the destination’s streets.

She mounted Windracer in one swift motion, her body light and agile as a swan taking flight. Windracer’s back towered over Zetta’s head and Star had to look down to address her superior. “I’ll make sure the letter is received.”

Zetta signaled to the guards and the doors of the grid unlatched, the intertwining strands of metal screeching as they pulled apart to reveal a countryside drowned in mist. The smoky wisps choked the moors surrounding Evenspark in an ominous miasma, flowing steadily across the ground like a disease. Star imagined it as an eternal shroud clinging to the land, a looming veil engulfing the heedless wanderer in a world of nothingness where twilight reined supreme.

Zetta’s gaze changed from watchful to pensive. “The queen’s guards reported another disappearance this morning—a man repairing the grid.”

Star tightened the reigns around her wrists. “The Elyndra won’t catch me. I’m too fast.”

Her superior nodded. “Just as well, be careful.”

“You know I always am.” With a shout, Star dug her heels in Windracer’s sides. The horse’s flanks heaved in a whirlwind of motion, springing to a full-fledged gallop. Her massive hooves dug deep impressions in the muddied ground.

The mist swirled in around them as they followed the narrow trail winding into the abyss of deep vales surrounding Evenspark. As she rode, Star clutched her leather bag close to her chest as if her heart beat inside it.

As if her imagination summoned one of them, a distant rustling swirled the wind above her head. Star ducked in her saddle, burying her face in Windracer’s mane. Although she’d never seen one, travelers described the Elyndra as iridescent behemoths spanning the width of two wagons put together. Now she rode through their domain.

Refusing to be frightened by the beasts hovering in wait, Star turned to more alluring thoughts. Every hoofbeat carried her closer to Ravencliff and Prince Valen. The memory of his sharp-edged face and keen eyes brought a rush of warmth to her cheeks, belying the cold.

During her last visit, she caught him watching her in the crowded hallways of the inner sanctuary. His eyebrows had curved in a wistful look, as if he’d known her from long ago. She, too, had experienced a flare of recognition. Although the question of why a prince would ever meet a lowly messenger girl remained to be solved.

She would get a chance to speak to him if she possessed a certain kind of letter. Messengers were only allowed in royal quarters if they held matters of business. Star felt the weight of the leather bag against her chest. Because of Zetta’s fretting, she’d not have the time to identify the recipients. She knew the possibilities of possessing such a letter were slim, but she could always hope. Optimism carried her during these journeys, along with hopes and dreams that someday she would earn enough gold to keep her parents safe, and someday she would steal a decent conversation with the prince.

Star languished in distant daydreams throughout the course of her journey until she rode the last stretch before Ravencliff’s walls. A plaintive wail rang throughout the landscape like the last utterance of a tortured soul. Her thoughts snapped back to the present, returning from rosy diversions to diaphanous mist and waning light. The squeal had been high-pitched and faint, as if something small called out in alarm and played on her heart like melancholy tones plucked from a delicate lyre. How could she ignore it?

Impossible. Nothing could survive outside of the fortress walls, at least not for long, unless it had recently run off. Star balked at the thought of any means of escape from Ravencliff. Carved from the black onyx of Mount Clawmark, the sheer edifice rose hundreds of feet from the earth, impenetrable from inside or out. Anything or anyone who wished to leave would face a regiment of guards and a drawbridge as broad as an ancient Blackwood.

The sound, a definite and desperate call for help, wafted from ahead. The rhythmic beat of Windracer’s hooves echoed in Star’s ears as they trod the damp earth. Usually the hoofbeats were enough to fill the silence. However, now she listened for more.

Never venture off course
, Zetta’s voice screamed in her memory.
Not for anything or anyone.

Despite the dire warning, Star’s interest grew with each galloping step. She chanced a look up at the sky. Nothing but mist hung above her head, and beyond that, endless clouds of gray. Star hadn’t felt the fluttering of the wings for some time now, and assumed the previous scare was probably a result of her wandering imagination.

Cursing her curiosity, Star pulled back on the reins. Windracer’s pace slowed to a canter, the horse’s deep heaves of breath pluming in the air from lungs as big as two pillows. The mist pressed in on them as an omnipresent force. Star listened for the giant undulations stirred by the Elyndras’ wings, the sound deep and airy like the spreading of a quilt, but silence prevailed. She had a few tenuous moments at best.

A raised path of beaten-down soil substituted for a road. Tall grasses and cattails surrounded the mound of dirt, as if the marsh reached out to reclaim the scar of land. She could not venture far. Her boots rose past her knees, but there was no telling how far down the bog sank.

Star did not know what would kill her first: drowning in the sludge or the hovering beasts that could pluck her from the bog with their slew of spindly legs. Suppressing a shudder, she dismounted and edged to the side of the road.

Windracer’s eyes rolled. She could sense danger from long distances. Star patted her on the nose. “It’s okay, girl, I’m not going far.”

Star stepped cautiously along the edge of the road, scanning the tall cattails for any sign of life. Up ahead, the grass shook. Something moved beneath the long stalks. Star took a deep breath, convincing herself the animal was too small to be anything threatening. She crept closer, her boots sticking in the muck. The air reeked of sour rot and dank wood. She covered her mouth with her sleeve.

When Star reached an arm’s length from the thicket, she crouched close to the ground, teetering, and swept back the long stems of swamp weed. An animal she least expected to see huddled underneath a mossy protrusion of rock. “A bunnyfly?”

Was this an elaborate hoax? Star took a step back, disbelieving. What was a bunnyfly doing out in the middle of nowhere, in hostile territory, no less? Originally scavengers, the fluttery animals were bred for centuries as play objects for rich children. They had no innate defenses or known purpose on the planet besides being adorable.

The animal flitted its glittery wings when it saw her and retreated further back in the crevice between the rock and the muddied earth. If she moved too quickly, she would scare the animal away and never get hold of it. Although the wings were more for show than anything else, it could hop large distances in a short amount of time.

Though the lost pet could scurry around fast, it would only survive the Elyndra for so long. Star felt compelled to save the bunnyfly. She checked on Windracer with a glance over her shoulder. The horse’s outline cast a slight black shadow in the mist, making both of them sitting targets. If the Elyndra took her horse, she would have no chance at survival. She could not tarry.

Bending down closer to the rock, Star cooed and sang to the bunnyfly, reaching out slowly with her hand. If only she knew its name. They usually responded when called. The animal edged back farther in the crevice, its floppy ears covering the front paws like velvet curtains.

Star remembered the piece of pastry bread stowed away in her cloak for a snack. Long journeys like this always made her hungry. Thankfully, she had packed provisions. With one hand, Star reached in her front pocket, crumbling the bread into small pieces. The bunnyfly sniffed the sugary scent right away, its large, innocent eyes changing from fearful to intrigued. Its nose crinkled, whiskers twitching.