THIRD BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘈 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴. 𝘈 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘺. 𝘈 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳. 𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘧𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘴.
Two sides of the same coin are brought to the light...
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You declare war. Xanthy snapped awake as sweat turned her skin cold. Her chest heaved. Her surroundings were unfamiliar and...normal. She knitted her eyebrows. Where was she?
Xanthy swung her legs off the bed, rumpling the covers. Someone had removed her boots, which were now propped against her bow and quiver by the wall to her left. She looked down to find that she still wore her blood-stained tunic and trousers. A relieved breath tore off her lips.
She cradled her head in her hands, focusing on steadying her breathing. What happened? Why was she sleeping? How long was she out? What about Canelis and her friends? Why couldn't she remember how she got out of the Imperial Palace?
You declare war. That's the last thing the Heiress whispered on Xanthy's ear before the Heiress was ripped away from her. Xanthy's fingers dug into her scalp. What war? What did the Heiress mean? Why would Xanthy declare war? She could barely stay alive now.
You declare war. The statement pulsed in her head like a persistent bell clanging. The Heiress must be playing with her head, making her think she was doing something until she actually went on and did it. No. Forget that. She had more things to worry about.
Xanthy sucked in a shaky breath, taking the room's lack of windows in. Simple furniture like a desk pushed against a corner, a wooden stool accompanying it, and a circular rug at the foot of the bed were Xanthy's only companions. Her bare feet contrasted against the floor's chestnut brown parquet. A lone door stood directly within the bed's line of sight.
June...
She shook her head. Now was not the time to worry about him. She failed. Not only was she unable to help Peltra in their distress, she brought about the Imperial Palace's fall. Was Canelis still alive?
Xanthy buried her head in her hands. It's all her fault. If she didn't suggest going to Lanteglos for help, June wouldn't end up fulfilling his prophecy. The Heiress wouldn't have almost gotten a hold of her legacy again and the Imperial Palace wouldn't have been in shambles. Worse, she's doomed Nyxis into a life of a fugitive she's now destined to live.
He didn't deserve that.
Memories raged through her mind—the High Queen getting possessed by the Heiress, the Heiress absorbing her magic, June plunging that dagger into the High Queen's chest. Xanthy squeezed her eyes shut but the images burned brighter against her lids. She gasped as tears streamed from her eyes again. Gods, she really did it. She's gone crazy.
"Xanthy? Are you awake?" Nyxis's voice was muffled by the door but it's him.
Xanthy sniffed and wiped at her eyes. Gods, not now. He couldn't see her now. She opened her mouth but closed it again. Her garbled voice would give her away.
"Xanthy? I am going in," Nyxis said. No. She couldn't have him seeing her descend into madness. Too late. The door swung open, blinding Xanthy a little because of the sunlight streaming from the windows by the foyer. Nyxis stood there with the light forming a faint halo around him. How come he was still perfect?
