Halcyon Days: The City in the Sands

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Eight Years Before the Rise of the Azure Colossus - Rosewood, Aurelia

Lyla sat cross-legged on the velvet stool. She tried not to fidget while Abby, her attendant, wove copper threads through her braids. Each strand caught the lamplight like tiny flames. The new girl polished Lyla's boots with a reverence usually reserved for holy relics. Lyla, for the life of her, couldn't remember the girl's name. It had started with a K. Her half-brother had sent her. Lyla made a mental note to ask him once the parade was over.

He was always doing things like that. Sending someone when she needed help, stopping by unannounced to check on her. He even listened when she vented about Mother and Noel, which was more than either of them ever did. Mother told her to stop telling him all their secrets, but Lyla didn't see the harm because he was family. Sure, he wasn't her full brother, like Noel, but they had the same father. Half was close enough to full for her.

Noel had been upset with the new girl when she turned up that morning, but Mother had said Lyla needed a second attendant. He finally dropped it when Mother gave him a look Lyla couldn't quite read and ordered the girl to stay at the manor for the night. Lyla wanted to ask him about that later, after the parade.

It was Lyla's fourteenth parade. She had been going her whole life, and as far back as she could remember, it was her favorite time of the year.

Her mother's perfume drifted through the room: vanilla and something else, something that smelled like the desert wind just before dawn. Lyla breathed it in deep. She wanted to remember it. When everything else about today had faded, she wanted to close her eyes and summon that exact scent.

Her mother was nearby, arms outstretched as attendants fastened the final clasps on her dress. Mother was wearing the locket Father had given her last year with the portraits inside. She laughed. Not a laugh meant for show, but a real laugh, full and unguarded. One hand drifted to the signet that adorned the locket, a habit Lyla had seen a thousand times.

Noel leaned against the window, the last light turning his hair to copper. He wasn't smiling. His eyes were narrow as he watched the street. It was the same way he watched the dunes when the wind charged. Lyla squinted at the horizon and saw nothing. He still wasn't in his Rosari under-armor. Just a quarter-button shirt, sleeves rolled, ribbon half-tied at the collar. Noel had always been lazy with buttons.

"You're going to sweat through those boots before we even get to the square," he said with a smirk.

Lyla made a face. "They're new."

"They're impractical," he replied, still not looking at her.

"They're beautiful." She scowled.

"They're going to give you blisters. Don't come begging me to carry you when you can't walk."

Their mother made a noise of mock exasperation. "Leave your sister's boots alone. You'll both be late at this rate."

"I'm already ready," he said, arms wide.

"Yes, and unacceptably underdressed," their mother replied. "You're not escorting a patrol. You're escorting us."

"Well, you look beautiful, Mother."

She smiled at Noel. "Flattery means nothing in the mouths of liars and thieves. Now get dressed."

He sighed dramatically and turned to get changed. As he passed Lyla, he leaned in and whispered, "Psst, take the knife Mother had forged for you. The craftsmanship will impress Father."

"Where would I hide it?" Lyla asked.

"Isn't the answer obvious?" He pointed to the boots.

"I'm not hiding a knife in these boots," she whispered back. It came out as a hiss.

"Then get more practical boots, Lyla," Noel hissed back.

She thought about it, but didn't want to bring the knife to show her father. She wouldn't need it, not while they were together for the festival. Especially not with her brother there. He had always been her shield. Someone she could stand behind and know she'd be okay. All her brothers had been. She had been lucky in that way.

Although the luck had started running out. She'd lost three half-brothers in the past year alone. All had come home from the front, only to pass within weeks of their return. Noel said war could follow a warrior home. Lyla wasn't sure what that meant, but the faces on her family as they watched the funeral pyres held more than just solemn mourning.

She grabbed her brother's hand in the foyer while they waited for their mother. He pretended to pull away, as though Lyla's grip was too strong.

"Noel, I thought I told you to stop teasing your sister," her mother said as she walked up.

"She's the one who's gripping my hand too tightly. I'm going to have to prime to get out of her vise grip."

"Do you take anything seriously?" her mother said with a smile and a huff.

"Honestly, the only thing I don't take seriously is Lyla."

"Hey!" Lyla said with a smile that turned foxlike. "I'm going to choose to take that as a compliment."

"Don't let him get to you, Lyla. That'll only go to his head. If it grows any larger, he won't be the most handsome man in all of Rosewood."

Noel rolled his eyes. "Mother, please."

She kissed Noel on the forehead and then held Lyla by the chin to inspect her face.

"You'll be a beauty too." She winked, and Lyla couldn't help but smile. "Now, let's not make the crowds wait any longer to see your beautiful faces." She nodded to the group behind her, and the two guards at the front opened the doors.

The trio, a few guards, and the attendants, minus the girl with no name, left the manor just as the sun dipped behind the red sands. She looked to the skyline and saw the Scarlet Keep. She had gotten lost in there many times, but rarely unintentionally.

Her favorite part was the holding cells beneath it. They were rarely used, but she had made one or two friends down there. One even told her about his plans to escape. He had been clever, and Lyla kept his secret because she admired him. Even after he passed in his cell, she never told another soul about his escape plan.

Getting lost in Rosewood was one of Lyla's favorite pastimes. She would sneak out and explore the city. Her third favorite thing in the whole world, after her family and the holding cells, was finding shortcuts. Between buildings, over hedges, and through holes in walls. The smaller and more secret, the better. She knew the back alleys of Rosewood better than her own room.

Tonight wasn't about the alleys; it was about the streets, and they looked incredible.

Lanterns floated above the street like low-hanging stars. They were paper globes strung between rooftops. They swayed in the breeze, each one painted in reds, golds, and indigos that shimmered in the lamplight. Lyla danced beneath them, one hand clutched in her brother's, the other lifting a skewer of sunmelon to her mouth. Juice ran down her fingers with every bite. It was sweet, but with a tart edge.

Sunmelons always bloomed with a single brilliant red flower called the Desert Rose. Her father had nicknamed her that when she was little, saying the fruit reminded him of her. Sweet, but with a bite. She never understood why he didn't just call her Sunmelon, but Desert Rose sounded better, anyway.

The Festival of Sands was in full swing. Fireworks exploded overhead, each burst reflecting off mirrored tiles in the street like shattered constellations. The dunes beyond the city were lit with streamers and banners that rippled like fire. Glass-flute melodies twisted through the air, high and sweet, while fire-eaters juggled flame as casually as coins.

That was Rosewood. Lyla heard it said that it was the center of the world. Festivals made her believe it.

Lyla was in awe of the street performers. She always was. She had asked her mother if she could be one when she grew up. Her mother had just laughed. Becoming a street performer was romantic, but not realistic.

Admire the spectacle. Don't become part of it. 

That was her advice.

Her brother always had fast hands. He had taught her all he knew. She could already tell she was better, but he was the only one bold enough to actually use his skills in public. One second, the fire-eater's kit of oils and sticks was on his belt. Next, it was in Lyla's hand.

She smiled, and once again, she felt lucky to have him.

He winked. "For fun later."

It was a perfect night.

Her mother walked just ahead, resplendent in a dress of shimmering silk, and nodded politely to passersby. Lyla's brother was older, taller, and already inducted into the Order as a Rosari. He kept close to her side, answered her teenage questions, and always grinned when she giggled. She felt safe in his shadow.

"Stay close," he whispered. "Crowds like this can swallow you." He gave her an exaggerated chomp.

She nodded, still too naïve to understand what kind of warning he meant.

The attack came quickly, like a Rosewood sandstorm. A single scream from somewhere ahead, near the fountain where her mother had paused to wave at a merchant. Then a suda appeared in the crowd. It soon became dozens. Crimson blades flashed through the festivalgoers. Noel shoved Lyla behind his back with one arm and transformed into a Rosari. The crowd surged between them and their mother. Lyla tried to see past his shoulder, but the press of bodies swallowed everything beyond ten feet. Someone pulled a flute too tight, and it cracked in half as the player fell. Blood sprayed across the tile where Lyla had been standing a breath before.

Her brother shoved her down just as a suda's blade missed her throat.

"Run," he said and drew his weapon. His face was all fire, his Rosari form all she could see. Red crystalline fur erupted around his face as a blade bit into his forearm.

She didn't run. How could she? She crawled back on her hands and feet under a table of fruit. She sat there and watched. Noel held the street like a fortress. He blocked every strike, even as they swarmed. Ten, twenty men and women, then more.

Suddenly, she felt a tug and fought. She looked up to see her mother's face, her clothes torn. Her mother pulled her up, but Lyla had to watch Noel. The last thing she saw before her mother pulled her into an alley was a splash of blood red across his face, and the glint of suda hilts buried in his torso under Rosari claws. Still, he stood.

Lyla screamed as they rounded a corner, and he was out of sight.

Her mother didn't flinch. She carried Lyla through the chaos like a wraith, eyes forward, skirts torn. They ducked into a side gate, a forgotten passage to the docks.

Her mother stopped and looked Lyla in the eye. "Take this." She pressed something into Lyla's belt. "If anything happens to me, get somewhere safe. Don't trust anyone. Use your eyes and head. You're clever, Lyla, use it."

"What do you mean, if anything happens to you?"

"Don't argue with me, Lyla. Just say you understand."

Lyla's eyes welled with tears. "I understand, Mother."

Her mother kissed her on the forehead, grabbed her hand, and moved further into the passage. They descended an ancient stone staircase to the docks. Lyla had to skip steps to keep up.

Her mother stopped at a railing and surveyed the docked skyships. "There." She pointed to a vessel at the far end. "That'll do."

Her mother grabbed Lyla by the wrist once again. The movement hurt, but Lyla wasn't about to say anything. Besides, she was already crying. What was a little more pain? She glanced back, but saw no one following them. Her legs hurt, and she stumbled.

They passed a shipment of fish from Saltimere. She would normally tell her mother how she hated the smell, but she did not hate it at that moment. She didn't know if she hated anything. The men at the table worked without noticing her. Knives flashed through the slick bodies of fish. It was disgusting work, but it meant nothing to Lyla then.

She turned back just in time to see one of the workers step out from behind the table. His apron was clean. Too clean. He moved straight for her mother, and Lyla saw the panic bloom across her face. Her mother lifted her hands, but too late. The knife went in just below the ribs. She staggered, knelt, then pushed herself upright again.

"Don't look back," she wheezed and lunged at the attacker. "Go, Lyla! Run!"

Lyla froze, torn, but she remembered what her mother had told her minutes earlier. The last image Lyla would ever have of her mother was her fighting beside that fish stall. Her face was full of determination even while the blood ran down her side.

Lyla did as she was told; she ran.

She didn't know where to go. The docks felt unsafe. Too many eyes and uncertain motives. So she ran to her half-brother. They had different mothers, but he was still blood. Up a staircase, under the balcony with the gargoyle, and past her three friends made of stone. She burst into the hall like a wild thing. Her boots were gone, her dress was shredded, and her belt still held the tiny flask her brother had snuck from the fire-eaters.

For fun, he'd said.

Lyla's half-brother turned. Surprise flickered across his face for a half-second before it vanished behind a calm mask. "Lyla?"

She ran to him and threw herself into his arms with a sob. "They're dead. They're all dead."

He held her briefly, his hand in her hair. Then he stepped back. "Easy, Desert Rose. What's this?"

"Mother and Noel. We were attacked, and they're, they're…" She couldn't finish.

"Attacked? Are they alright?" His gaze flicked to the guards, always at his side.

"Mother was stabbed in the chest. Noel was surrounded by Rosari along the parade route."

"I'll send my guards." He looked at one pair. "Go check the parade route. You two, go check the fish market."

Lyla froze. She had never mentioned the fish market. She let the tears continue to flow while the wheels in her head spun. The man in front of her knew about the attack. All of it. Luckily, he somehow thought she was still too young, naïve, or stupid to piece it together.

"Is there someplace safe I can go?" she asked through sobs.

"You can stay here. I'll keep you safe."

"No. They'll know you're my brother. They'll come looking here."

"True. Very clever, Lyla." He motioned to the remaining guard. "See to it that my sister is taken care of. No more pain."

Her brother had done it subtly. He probably thought she didn't see it, but she saw the shadow creep across his face. His words were not what he meant. He wanted her gone. His decision to have Noel killed was a step along the path. To have someone kill Lyla meant something different.

The mask returned.

He bent down to give her a hug. She shuddered, but played that off as part of the performance.

The guard took her by the arm and led her out of the well-appointed house. The crowds continued to swarm around them, but the guard's unrelenting grip held her. They pushed through the shifting tide toward a back alley. Lyla knew it wasn't far from the docks she had just fled.

The guard's grip tightened further, and it reminded her that the danger was there. She didn't know when it would strike, but she knew it would come soon. The alley was too perfect a spot. Rosewood was huge and old, but the alleys had always existed, for better or worse.

She needed to escape or die. Those were her options, and Lyla knew her choice almost immediately. She thought of the knife she had left in her room, the one her brother had told her to smuggle in her boots. He had been right, as usual, but he had taught her other things. Like the streets and how to navigate them. She knew the alley from her time exploring Rosewood, and she knew there was a hole in the wall she could squeeze through in twenty-odd paces. She would need to break the guard's grip. Her hand brushed the kit her brother had given her.

She reached in and felt the soft flask of oil. The sparker that used a Rose shard. It would be enough.

She filled her mouth with oil and then sprayed what remained in the flask across the alley, into the man's face. She pulled out the sparker and flicked it to life in the mist of oil she exhaled. The flames roared. The man let go of her arm, staggered, and swatted at the blaze.

The smell hit her first. Then the sound. She had never hurt anyone before, and for one terrible second, she wanted to take it back. Then she thought of her mother's face by the fish stall, and the second passed.

He shifted into his Rosari form to withstand the fire. The flames did not stop, but they no longer bothered him.

Lyla ran. 

Use your size to your advantage. You're smaller, find small openings. They won't be able to chase you if they can't fit.

She sprinted to the wall and slid through the opening. The Rosari was too large to follow and still on fire. He couldn't punch through, not here in the upper ring. He couldn't revert or risk the burns. He would have to go around, which would buy Lyla precious seconds.

She bolted toward the docks and grabbed a loose cloth to cover her red hair. Lyla avoided the fish market and passed the dock merchants who hawked their wares. She made her way to the skyship her mother had pointed to.

The ship would be mostly empty because cargo was only ever imported to Rosewood. The Rose shards were the only export, and those were controlled by the Imperial family.

Lyla slipped past two crewmen who chatted about the parade while they lazily stacked crates. She moved between the stacks and leaped aboard. Lyla hid in a corner behind one of them. She kneeled and remained quiet.

The stacks rose around her as the dockhands set the crates down. They never noticed the red-headed girl who hid in a pocket. Eventually, the bay doors sealed, and the skyship pushed off.

She held the sparker with trembling fingers. 

Never open these, Lyla. Never. 

Her mother's voice had been sharp with worry the day she'd caught ten-year-old Lyla trying to peek inside one. 

The shard isn't meant for children. Ingesting a crystal outside the Ferro Cathedral is heresy. Be patient, it waits for you.

The ceremony should have been the next year in the Ferro Cathedral, attached to the Scarlet Keep. She'd be fifteen years old. White robes, incense, the whole city celebrating as she joined the ranks of the Rosari with the initiates. Noel would have been there, grinning as she took her first transformation. He promised to train her afterwards. Instead, she was alone in a cargo hold, covered in blood, about to violate every sacred tradition she'd been raised to honor.

Her mind lingered on the word: patience. Lyla almost laughed, but it came out as a sob. Her mother was dead. Noel was dead. Her half-brother had looked her in the eye and ordered her execution with the same tone he'd used to request tea. That was what patience had given her.

Her fingers found the threads and unscrewed carefully. The shard rolled into her palm. It was sharp, warm, and felt alive. She thought of shard sickness, of initiates who burst into flames. She had never witnessed either, but the consequences held her there. It was her blessing and curse, a mind that would never allow her to act without first weighing the cost. She thought of dying there, forgotten and alone.

She remembered Noel teaching her about shards after his ceremony. He had told her about the danger, the pain, and the power. Her mother's smile surfaced next, and her warmth as she told her there would be nothing to fear when the time came. Only twenty percent failed the Rite, and besides, Lyla was special.

Then her half-brother's cold eyes and colder smile crept into her thoughts. His words, but mostly, the voice behind them. She closed her eyes, breathed deep, and swallowed before the fear could stop her.

The pain was immediate. It seared down her throat, bloomed in her chest. It felt like a terrible fire was raging in her belly, spreading out. Then, it stopped hurting and became a friend, giving her warmth. For a moment, she thought she heard a whisper, but maybe that was just the shock of the night. When her body unseized and her breath released, she looked down at herself. She was a Rosari.

White?

It was her favorite color, but she hadn't expected it for her fur. She brushed it, pulled at it a bit. She didn't know why it was white, but one crisis at a time.

She wasn't sure if she felt stronger, but she felt steadier. Her body had stopped trembling. That might have been the Crystal, or just the shock fading.

She still remembered the horror and could still see the knife in her mother's side as she lunged beside the fish stall. She remembered what the fear felt like then, but it no longer seized her. She would learn from it. It wasn't a friend, but with whatever she had just become, it was no longer her enemy.

Those thoughts belonged to Lyla, but she was someone else now. She thought of the pretty girl who had polished her boots that morning. The way she had moved through the room without belonging to it, like a ghost, like someone who could go anywhere and never be noticed.

Kenzie.

That was her name. It would be the first and last thing Lyla stole, and she would never answer to her old name again.

Kenzie reverted and suddenly felt cold. She curled in the dark between the crates and listened to the skyship groan as it climbed. When she closed her eyes, she saw his smile.

No more pain.