Page 1 of The Sundered Realms

Chapter 1

Serenthuar: I could recite every relevant statistic in my sleep when I was a child. Home of the best glass and silkwork and the most desperately brilliant political maneuvering in the Sundered Realms, a consequence of devastatingly bad metaphysical luck.

And at the rate I’m going, it’s the only realm I’m ever likely to see.

Liris had a secret.

If she were truly the dutiful apprentice she was supposed to be, if she believed in her elders’ judgment no matter what it cost her, she probably wouldn’t have a secret. So the fact that she did at all was probably a test she’d failed.

Since the very first time she’d failed as a child, she’d been as careful as she could not to fail again. Yet here Liris still was: alone, dragging herself down this same corridor again and again.

Once upon a time, every summons had set her heart to pounding, the honor of having been chosen impressing itself on her from the very walls. The path she trudged through now was a far cry from the usual austerity her people lived with. A tribute to Serenthuar’s renowned craftsmanship, the corridor was draped in silk tapestries with intricately embroidered patterns and showcased the unique shaped glass no other realm could match.

A faded tribute. No outsiders had darkened these halls in months, and so they remained dark: the glory of days past gathering dust, glimpsed only in shadows by the light of the candle Liris carried with her.

They were supposed to be Serenthuar’s pride, but just like Liris they’d been left to molder.

Once, Liris had answered every summons expecting to at last be given the duty she’d trained all her life for.

Now, the walls pressed in on her as she breathed the ossified air and did her best to look only down at her feet.

Not at the symbols of the Serenthuar she would never escape.

Not toward the future she’d never be allowed to reach for.

And while no one else cared, at least Liris would know she had not faltered. She’d done everything right that it was possible to do.

At least she would have that.

Along with the twisted, painful hope inside her that she no longer believed but couldn’t quite let die in case maybe, finally, it was her time.

It only felt like it had taken forever to arrive at the vibrant, shimmering mosaic glass chamber at the center of the Citadel, a crowning achievement of a Serenthuar craftsmanship Liris didn’t know what spells made it possible for a room made of glass on all sides to stand in a sandstone castle; spellcraft was the only discipline she expressly wasn’t allowed to study.

She entered with the traditional bow she’d perfected as a toddler.

“You may rise, Candidate Liris,” Elder Omaqil informed her in the same measured tone she’d only once heard him deviate from. The shadows and folds of his many wrinkles stood out against the colorful glass backdrop, and sweat glistened on his bald head.

Then another man echoed, “Candidate? A candidate is not what I was promised, Honored Elder.”

Liris was too well-trained to freeze at the sound of a person she’d never met, but her heart pounded as she straightened. Had she been wrong to doubt after all? Would they finally let her go?

She ignored the swirls of color in the glass around her, the clear glass round table and chairs in the center; it was the people seated in them that mattered right now. Elder Omaqil sat in one, but the newcomer stood on the opposite side, a monochrome slash in sharp relief whose presence dominated the room without looming.

Liris fixed her attention on him, taking in his profile at a glance; that, too, had been part of her training, even if she’d had little opportunity to practice with foreigners.

He was a study in edges: taller than her, though his leanness made him look even more so. High-collared, asymmetrical fitted black coat; tight, dark gray pants leading into expensive but serviceable boots; black hair, artfully, jaggedly, cropped around his head; a golden tone to his skin where Liris’ was a warmer brown; bright eyes with an epicanthic fold.

Everything gave the impression of intensity—but what she really noticed was that all his choices were generic enough to not clarify his realm of origin. The hairstyle was the closest giveaway, and even that left several options.

He had very carefully and deliberately constructed an appearance of anonymity. Why?

And what in the realms did he mean by promised?

“Candidate Liris is one of the finest ambassadorial candidates Serenthuar has ever trained,” Elder Omaqil told the mystery man. “She is not only highly accomplished—“

“So why is she still here, and not off bringing glory and food to Serenthuar?”

His gaze cut to Liris, a clear challenge in it.

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