Page 2 of This Dark Descent
Her brother had never gotten the chance to run—because of her.
Mikira leaned forward to scratch behind Iri’s dark ears. “Someday we’ll ride in a real race. For Lochlyn.”
The horse’s ears flicked at the sound of her brother’s name. Iri had been his, once. But Lochlyn had died in the war, and all Mikira and Iri had left of him was each other.
They emerged from the tunnel into the early morning light of Ashfield Street, where preparations for the upcoming Illinir were already underway. Hosted once every ten years by House Kelbra, the Illinir was a brutal series of four magical races that would take place throughout the month alongside the Illinir festival, all in celebration of the day the Goddess Sendia sent the four Harbingers to bring magic to humanity.
People would visit from all over the continent, from southeastern Kenzeni merchants selling new technologies to Vynan politicians desperateto keep the Eternal War from spreading northward. She’d heard there was even an entrant from as far south as Yaroya, where enchants were fast growing in popularity.
Soon, vendors and performers would swarm the street, children and adults alike donning sinuous tails reflecting the Harbinger Lyzairin, or masks made to look like hammered metal in honor of Rach, the Armored Bull. Already she spotted a young girl bearing Skylis’s crimson wings, her arms outstretched as if to carry her into the air like the great bird she mimicked.
A memory tumbled loose, taking her back ten years ago, when Lochlyn had gone as Aslir, the Bright Star. Mikira, displeased with her Skylis wings, had cried until he placed his mane of white feathers about her neck and said, “There. Now you shine too.”
An enchanted coach blared its horn, startling her and Iri, but she kept him steady as the horseless vehicle jerked around them. The tumult was enough to spook any country horse without a docility charm, and Iri was enchanted to sense danger: to him, that meant everything in this cursed stone jungle.
Eager to escape the noise, she took a shortcut to the Traveler’s Road encircling the city, where they passed only the occasional messenger or cart full of coveted grain heading for the military outposts near the border. A short ride later, she diverted Iri up the gravel path to her family’s ranch—and nearly pulled him to a halt.
Something wasn’t right.
She knew the ranch like her own heartbeat. The rich, earthy scent of it. The sounds of horses and gentle feel of the place that always calmed her like nothing else.
Instead, as Iri trotted up the winding drive, her family’s white two-story farmhouse was quiet—too quiet, like the deafening moment after a gunshot. Her father ought to be in the pastures already, her sisters chasing each other through the long grass beside him, clinging to their last moments of freedom before they went to school for the day.
But the yard was empty.
She leapt off Iri’s back and sprinted up the front steps. Throwing open the door, she staggered into the foyer, stumbling over Ailene’s carelessly discarded shoes.
She’d barely regained her balance when a voice called, “Kira? Is that you?”
“Father?” Relief swept through her as he appeared in his study doorway, clutching a pale gold verillion stalk. Dark shadows rimmed green eyes heavy with sleep, his simple vest and shirt rumpled from another late night spent poring over old books. He blinked at her, then at the open door letting in the daylight.
“Is it morning already?” he asked. “I must have lost track of time.”
Mikira choked out a strangled sound. He’d lost himself in his research again. That was why he hadn’t been out in the fields.
“You can’t keep doing this,” she said tightly.
“I’m getting close, Kira, I can feel it.” He held up the verillion plant. “I think the answer is in how the verillion’s magic binds to things. Actually, can I borrow your knives? The stone—”
“Stop it!” Mikira snapped.
The silence that pooled between them was deep enough to drown in. Mikira adverted her gaze to the plant in her father’s hand, its glow of magic gone. Like this the verillion was harmless, but when plucked fresh from a field, the stalks burning with a golden light, they were full of magic people craved. She’d seen the way it consumed people, poisoning them from the inside out like it had her mother years ago.
Her father was convinced the ranch’s salvation lay in innovative enchantments, using the verillion to harness new wonders, rather than just breeding what enchants remained in their stables. But with every night of research, he put his life at risk. As an unlicensed enchanter, all it would take was one hint of magic to the wrong person, and the Anthir would come for him. The Council of Lords claimed the enchanter registry was meant to prevent a repeat of the Cataclysm, when the four Heretics destroyed the kingdomof Kinahara in their pursuit of magic, but Mikira knew the truth: it was all just for profit and power.
“I left you dinner in the oven,” he said as if she hadn’t just all but spat in his face. He didn’t ask where she’d been. Where his seventeen-year-old daughter went every night and why she returned with bags of coin. He simply smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that never failed to warm her. She let it, because being angry at him was more than she could bear.
If only her father could use his magic openly, they could diversify and strengthen their breeding lines, save their failing ranch. But every horse’s origin was closely tracked, and people would question it if they suddenly possessed a powerful new enchant. All they could do was rely on the careful game of legal breeding and hope they made enough sales to purchase new stock.
That, and Mikira’s races. Without her winnings, they would never make their monthly tax payments to House Kelbra.
“Kira!” A high voice barely preceded the girl bounding down the stairs, her alabaster skin flush with excitement. At thirteen, Ailene was already taller than Mikira, with a lean, athletic build that she put to use besting the boys in backyard races. Part of Mikira always longed to warn her that soon they’d get tired of her competitive nature, her excitability. That a time would come when instead of loving her for these things, they would judge her, like they had Mikira. But she couldn’t bring herself to break her sister’s spirit.
“Kira, can I stay home from classes today?” She clasped her hands together. “I’ll help you with your chores.”
“Don’t listen to her!” Nelda appeared on the stairs, her lips pushed to the side in what Ailene called her “mothering scowl.” Despite being four years younger than Ailene, she’d always had the disposition of an old lady, something their brother had often teased her about. “She just wants to go to the races with Era Keene.”
“That’s not true!” Ailene shot back.
