Page 4 of Hearts Lost

So she’d shown them. And they’d taken her away to the palace, to use her gifts for the glory of the Kingdom of the Summer.

My mind snaps back to the crystal chamber, back to the now, to the humming buzz of fear from the mice and the low, soft ripping sound. The air in the room is shimmering now, dancing like a mirage across the sun-baked flatlands. And that ripping sound, it’s coming from the air. The air itself is being ripped apart.

Something cold and heavy grips my chest, and my first response is a desperate, fleeting wish that my sister was here. Magic is her domain, her gift and her curse. She would know what could rip air apart like this.

A gust of wind buffets my face. Someone gasps. For a moment I think it’s me, it must be me, there’s no one else in this room.

But there is someone else in this room.

I spin away from the window, away from the strange, undulating tear in the air itself, and toward the bed. Where the Princess Elanerill, the granddaughter of King Grathgore himself, the woman who has been in an enchanted sleep for my entire adult life, is now awake.

Elanerill gasps again. It’s a wet, heavy sound, a sound like ripping and tearing and breaking.

“Orryen,” the princess says.

The word means nothing to me. The mice in the walls are in a state of panic now, waking the sleeping ones, carrying the babies away. Another gust of cold air rustles the curtains on the princess’ bed and tightens the skin on the back of my neck.

It’s summertime. There is nothing cold in the Kingdom of the Summer, not at this time of year. Especially not now, with the dust storms off the plateau ravaging the kingdom.

But the legends say it’s always cold in the Lands Below.

The princess gasps again. There’s a heavy rustling sound as she struggles with the yellow silk blanket wrapped around her torso.

“Orryen!” she cries.

My heart beats inside my throat. The mice are leaving this room, climbing steadily down the narrow spaces between the stones of the tower. Even the sparrow is gone, although I feel the dull, distant pulse of its alarm.

Alarm.

I’m across the room before my mind can catch up to my body’s actions. Then the little hammer is in my hand, and I’m smacking the brass alarm bell like my life depends on it. The clang of the alarm echoes off the walls and down the stairwell.

“Backup!” I scream. “Crystal chamber! Guards, magicians. Backup!”