Shimmerdark Read online

  The Captain introduces us, starting with Sir Calvolin Nelvaso (Clicks’s true name) and ending with me. “This is… Xylia Amoreah Selvantez.”

  Because he hesitated and didn’t use my title, I clarify things. “I was once the Predrae.”

  The lead Shieldbearer, a man with a blocky mustache and rather flushed cheeks, says, “I’m afraid I must ask you to prove your identity.”

  My shoulders tighten. Not only have I lost my position, now people think I’m an imposter?

  Fedorie snorts, clearly also offended. “Of course Xylia’s the Predrae. I escorted her to Outer’s Cove when she was a child, and I haven’t left her side since.”

  The Shieldbearer frowns. “There have been pretenders in the past.” He gives me an appraising look. “We simply need to see a demonstration of your cagic abilities.”

  Fedorie takes an angry step forward. “This is unacceptable. Xylia survived seven years in the wilderness. You should be—”

  “It’s fine,” I say, putting my hand on her scarred, sunburnt arm. “I’ll do it.” I don’t want to waste any more time here. So I summon shimmerlight and sculpt the glittering energy into a small, but not too small, replica of a nearby ship. Creating such a complex shape should be more than enough evidence that I’m the lost Predrae. My cagic control is why Drae Devorla selected me. Most Shimmerlings can only create small, simple shapes like spheres, pyramids, cones, and cubes. I can make much larger and more elaborate energy sculptures.

  Several of the Shieldbearers breathe in sharply, impressed, and the crowd on the dock applauds.

  “Now please take us to the palace,” I say, and with a snap of my fingers, the glowing cagic ship bursts into a cascade of sparks.

  The lead Shieldbearer nods and even awkwardly bows. “Yes, immediately. Although, I’m to bring only you to Triumvirate Hall. Your companions will be reunited with their families.”

  Fedorie makes a soft, pained sound. “I’m not leaving Xylia.”

  “It’ll be all right,” I tell her. “And this way you can see Markos.”

  Fedorie bends down and gives me a lung-crushing hug. “I’ll write you, and as soon as they let me, I’ll visit.”

  “Contact me if you need anything, my dear,” Clicks tells me in his gentle way. “Anything at all.”

  Hugging him goodbye makes me realize just how skinny and frail he is. Our time on the Grimshore was surely hardest on him.

  As for Kary, he takes my hand and whispers, “Be safe.”

  What a strange thing to say. “Of course I’ll be safe,” I assure him. “Triumvirate Hall is one of the safest places in the Connected Lands.”

  He and I briefly embrace too, but it feels like there’s already distance between us. For the millionth time, I wish I hadn’t tried to kiss him during the last Dark Month. That spoiled our friendship in a way I can’t quite define.

  When I’m finished saying goodbye, the Shieldbearers escort me down the gangway, through the crowd, and over to a cagic-powered palace chariot. Sitting inside is Matron Isme, the Maternal Superior of the Courtyard of Youth. I’m disappointed she’s still in charge. We never got along.

  “So it is you,” she says as if she also suspected I was an impostor. She wears the traditional cowl and matching blue robes of a Maternal, and she has a lot more lines around her eyes than I remember. “Where were you all this time?”

  I join her on the cream-colored chariot bench. “Captain Morrowmay found us on an island off the coast of Lowland Tilber.”

  “How unlikely.” Matron Isme takes firm hold of the safety bar as our driver starts the chariot’s cagic engine.

  I grip the bar too, and soon the chariot is whirring through Lower Topdwell, past colorful shops, tall insulae housing, and crowded streets. We then drive through Upper Topdwell with its fine homes, lush gardens, and gilded coaches. My heart swells as I see familiar buildings. First there’s the tall Foundry, where Kaverlee’s energy is stored and refined. Then I spot the gleaming, copper roof of the Sabeline Tower, the tallest part of Triumvirate Hall—my home.

  Home.

  I’m truly home.

  I’m so happy, tiny sparks of shimmerlight crackle down my arms.

  Matron Isme gives me a sharp look. “I hope you haven’t been wasting your gift.”

  “Of course I haven’t,” I say, willing the energy to fade.

  For the rest of our brief trip, Matron Isme asks me questions about the Grimshore: what did I eat? How did I avoid the nocturnes? Who was with me and did they treat me well? And most mortifying of all; could I possibly be with child?

  “Absolutely not!” I say.

  When she finishes her interrogation, Matron Isme is quiet for a moment, and then says through pursed lips, “Lingersleeping; how clever.” I think she’s grudgingly impressed with me. Hopefully Drae Devorla will be even more amazed.

  When we finally reach Triumvirate Hall, I tear up as our chariot rolls beneath the huge, brass gates and slows to a stop. A large crowd of courtiers, servants, and Shieldbearers has gathered to welcome me. I don’t see any sign of Shimmerlings or the Great Drae, but they must be waiting inside. The people watching me now don’t seem overjoyed by my arrival, but that’s understandable. They’re probably as confused as I am about what my return means. Perhaps they even expect to see a broken young woman stumble from the chariot. Well, I’m definitely not that, and as soon as the driver turns on the stabilizer, I stand up and give the crowd a confident wave. I’m pleased to hear scattered applause.

  Triumvirate Hall is just as beautiful as I remember, with pale yellow marble walls, tall trees lining the plaza, and vibrantly colored flags representing the nine Citylands flapping along the roofline.

  Head held high, I stride toward the steps that lead to the Gather Wing. Beyond that is the Three Crown Forum, and just beyond that is the—

  “Slow down,” Matron Isme calls. “I’m here to escort you, not chase after you.”

  So I stop and impatiently wait for her, and then we enter Triumvirate Hall together. Ah, it even smells the same—like velvet, waxed floorboards, and dried flowers. And of course, there’s iron detailing everywhere. Nocturnes don’t manifest near iron when the Dark Month begins, so it’s used heavily in all settlements and shelters. We only had a few pieces of iron in our Grimshore cave, salvaged oarlocks and a medallion, and we always worried it wouldn’t be enough to keep us safe.

  Even though most of the palace’s residents seemed to be at the front gates, we do pass a few servants and nobles, and they all greet me with stunned amazement.

  “It is you; it really is!” one elderly woman says, clinging to my sleeve as if she pulled me out of the Silkord Sea herself. “I can’t believe you survived! And you’re so grown up!”

  At the end of the central lobby, Matron Isme turns left instead of right, and I realize she’s bringing me to the Courtyard of Youth, not to the Great Drae’s apartment. It’s possible Drae Devorla will greet me in the courtyard, but just to be sure, I say, “I must speak to the Great Drae immediately.” The sooner I resolve my Predrae status the better.

  Yet Matron Isme presses her thin lips into an even thinner smile. “That isn’t up to you. The Great Drae is busy preparing for the Dark Month. She’ll summon you when she’s ready.”

  I frown. I know Drae Devorla has a lot to do during the sunset days: reservoir levels to check, gates to seal, periphery town reports to read, but surely seeing me would be just as important.

  We soon reach the Courtyard of Youth, where I used to live. And as we cross the circular lawn surrounded by tall walls and protected by a domed, glass roof, Shimmerlings gather to gawk at me. Just like the crowd at the palace gates, they stare at me as if I might collapse in a fit of madness or reveal a gruesome scar from a nocturne attack. They are all so small and young—a few are little more than babies, wearing frilly gowns and clinging to the hands of blue-clad Maternals. As an eight-year-old, I fit in here. I was one of them. But now I’m nearly an adult, and it’s clear I don’t belong. The
re are only a couple of girls my age, and they’re watching me closely, warily. They look familiar, but I can’t recall their names. Even when I did live here, I spent most of my time in Drae Devorla’s workshop.

  Like the Shimmerlings, the courtyard is smaller than I remember but otherwise much the same. There are still a dozen colorful cottages, plenty of winding footpaths, a wading pool, and of course, the activity terrace. I only notice a few small differences; the amphitheater’s seats are red instead of blue, the library has two stories now, and there’s a small, charming building where the pastry tent used to be.

  Thank the realms my Colossi are still here, although I don’t like that they’re sitting in flower beds. The Maternals used to keep them clean and oiled for me. Now the huge, metal figures might as well be oversized garden decorations.

  I suppose their cagic-tempered bodies won’t rust, but the soil still might damage their joints. At least this must mean no other Shimmerling can operate them—not even my rival.

  “Where is she?” I ask Matron Isme. “Where is the new Predrae? I want to meet her.”

  “She’s busy helping Her Eminence,” Matron Isme says primly.

  And of course she is. It’s what I’d be doing.

  “Perhaps you’d like something to eat, and…” Matron Isme eyes my stringy hair and baggy sailor’s clothes. “You should also see to your appearance.”

  I bristle at that, but I do want to look like a Shimmerling again, so with a group of girls shadowing me, I head for the bathhouse, an elegant building decorated with wooden carvings of tropical fish.

  And oh, it is glorious to sink into a huge pool of warm, perfumed water, and once I’m clean, it’s just as delightful to wrap myself in a fluffy towel. After spending seven years carefully maintaining every scrap of fabric I possessed, it feels wonderfully extravagant to simply dry off with such a large piece of material.

  I then enter the wardrobe room, where a Maternal shows me a selection of finely made stolas, underclothes, stockings, and shoes. I choose an impossibly soft, pale blue gown, and once I’m dressed, another Maternal ties up my hair, trims and paints my nails, and dusts color onto my cheeks and eyelids.

  “Ah, there,” the woman says, running a thin brush across my eyebrow. “I knew you were in there, Mistress Xylia.”

  And looking into a full-length mirror, I feel the same way. The haunted, ragged girl from the Grimshore is gone, and good riddance to her. My reflection is now polished and confident; the person I always imagine myself to be.

  Freshly transformed, I make my way to the dining pavilion and claim a table beneath the latticed roof, leafy vines, and twinkling cagic lights. As curious Shimmerlings gather around me again, a Maternal brings me a large platter of food. And even though my meals on the Duskrider were far better than the endless fish and crab we ate on the Grimshore, these are the dishes I’ve been dreaming of: fresh cherrilynd relish, seed cheese, sauteed wild mushrooms, and briny tucker muscles. And in true Triumvirate Hall style, the spread is also pretty to look at, artfully arranged into a wreath and garnished with bright green mazeberries.

  It’s strange to eat with an audience, and I’m relieved when the girls start asking me questions. “Did you ever see nocturnes?” “What did you eat?” “Did you think you were going to die?” “Can you still summon cagic?”

  “Of course I can,” I say, although I struggle to answer the rest of their questions because I’m distracted; the lunar day is ending and there’s still no sign of Drae Devorla. I’m more impatient than angry, but my impatience still coils up inside me, hot and anxious.

  When I’m done eating, my Shimmerling inquisitors show me a fishpond, which I suppose is also new. And before long, a Maternal rings the sleeping chimes.

  The girls scamper off to various cottages, and Matron Isme soon finds me. She’s holding nightclothes and a small vial of cloudy, white liquid. “This will help you adjust to the lunar sleep cycle. No need to rest bimonthly anymore. I also expect you to generate cagic before heading to bed. You’ve missed seven years of contributions after all.” She eyes me sourly as if I avoided donating energy on purpose.

  I wish I could haughtily say I already visited the collection ports, but the truth is I haven’t even thought about them. So I head to the nearest port and hold my hands over the brass donation tube. Energy sparkles and crackles down my arms as I summon seven spheres of shimmerlight and tuck each one into the opening, which hums with suction. Despite being irritated by Matron Isme, it is satisfying to do my part again. I’ve always liked knowing that our cagic protects and provides for others, flowing through the star net, reinforcing the city walls, and powering every home and shop. Our energy supports the periphery settlements too.

  When I’m finished at the port, I instinctively turn to my old lavendrine-colored cottage, the one beside the library. But it doesn’t belong to me anymore. “I suppose the new Predrae sleeps there,” I say.

  Matron Isme nods as she hands me the sleeping serum and nightclothes. “You’ll be in cottage nine with Paislene and Auldora.” She points to a pale green building on the far side of the lawn.

  I recognize those names, although my memories of Paislene and Auldora are covered with years of dust. I remember Auldora always hanging off the Maternal’s robes and Paislene often getting in trouble for sneaking out of the courtyard.

  As I cross the neatly trimmed grass, I wonder how Fedorie, Clicks, and Kary are doing, and I feel slightly guilty that this is the first time I’ve thought about them since we parted. I hope Fedorie’s husband was happy to see her. She told us so many stories about “her little Markos” that I feel like I know him. She especially enjoyed telling us how they met; she was a lonely Maternal who never quite fit in, and he was a Shieldbearer who told too many jokes. And even though their relationship was forbidden and they lost their jobs, Fedorie always insisted she’d “pay any price for love.” Then there’s poor Clicks. His wife died when the ferry sank, but he has two sons. I hope they’ve had a good reunion.

  Finally, I think about Kary. I’m still certain there was something else bothering him about our return—something he didn’t want to tell us. Hopefully I’ll speak to Drae Devorla tomorrow, and hopefully she’ll grant Kary land justification, and hopefully that will solve whatever’s troubling him.

  Auldora and Paislene are waiting for me in cottage nine’s pastel-colored parlor.

  “Welcome,” Auldora says, smiling warmly. “Matron Isme told us you’d be staying here.” She’s thinner than I remember, and she’s dyed her hair a rather decadent pink, but she still has the sad eyes and wilting presence of someone who’d follow Maternals around.

  “I’m surprised you’re not angry,” says Paislene, picking her teeth. She’s hardly changed, with her square body, long nose, and abundant curls. “Isme’s being cruel, sending you to the Shimmerfade Cottage.”

  “The what?” I ask, although I’m not surprised that Matron Isme would find some subtle way to insult me.

  Paislene lifts an eyebrow. “The Shimmerfade Cottage: where old Shimmerlings wither away—you know, Shimmerlings who are about to wink out, turn quench, dry up… however you want to say it.”

  But I shouldn’t lose my powers yet, I’m only fifteen. I want to know more, but like everyone else, Auldora and Paislene also have questions: Where was I? How did I survive? Who found me? So I hastily tell them about the shipwreck and the Grimshore, and then I say, “But surely we won’t wink out until we’re nineteen. I’m only fifteen, and you two are what, sixteen?”

  “Seventeen,” Paislene says grimly. She stands up and crosses the room with short, impatient steps as if she’s an animal examining the boundaries of a cage. “Shimmerlings wink out much earlier now, which isn’t exactly surprising.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  Paislene pivots sharply and crosses the parlor again. “We donate energy five times a day. That’s a lot of energy.”

  “It used to be three,” I say, and now that I’ve pictured this cott
age as a cage, I feel trapped too. “That’s terrible.”

  Paislene gives me a sideways look. “But you don’t have to worry. You haven’t spent years filling energy reservoirs.”

  Yet fear still skitters through me. I may not have been visiting donation ports, but I have summoned a lot of cagic; I made plenty of shimmerlight shapes in order to move rocks and knock down trees on the Grimshore. I sometimes used cagic to heat the cave, and I regularly trapped crabs and small birds in shimmerlight cubes.

  And because I might as well fret about everything, I ask who the new Predrae is.

  “It’s Tah Roli Miri,” Auldora tells me.

  I shift in my chair, a padded, teal piece of furniture that, like nearly everything in the Courtyard of Youth, looks like a child’s toy. “I don’t remember her.”

  “You might not,” Paislene says. “She’s younger than us, and well...”

  They share a look, and then Auldora gently says, “She’s not like you.”

  “Not like me how?” I ask.

  Paislene tips her head back. “Hmm… how do I put it? Maybe think about it like this: you were a gamble, and she’s a safe bet.”

  I look from Paislene to Auldora, still confused.

  “The rumor is,” Paislene adds, “you weren’t easy to control. She is.”

  Again, I long to speak to the Great Drae.

  Matron Isme’s serum makes me sleep deeply and dreamlessly, and the next morning begins like they always used to; I wash and dress in the cottage, eat in the dining pavilion, and then visit a cagic collection port. Now that I’ve talked to Paislene and Auldora, though, I approach the port reluctantly and I’m tempted to tuck smaller spheres of shimmerlight into it. Who would notice? But then I feel ashamed. Kaverlee depends on the energy we summon.

  As I send my final glowing orb into the humming tube, I have an idea. Forget waiting for Drae Devorla to remember me. I’m going to do something to get her attention. And I’m pretty sure the flashiest, most noticeable thing I could do is pull my metal Colossi out of their grubby flower beds.