Myra's Point of View

Myra strolled down the beach, a mug of steaming hot chocolate in hand. Waves crashed softly against the sand. Seagulls cawed loudly, swerving through the air.  The sea-kissed, salty scent of the beach carried on the wind. Cold prickled against her skin; being in Miras in the midst of winter was not recommended.

   Jasper walked hand-in-hand with her, already uncontrollable black hair even more unruly in the wind. Up ahead, Kestra whistled happily, chasing after Myra's puppy, Billie—whom she had nicknamed Fox for his reddish brown coat and foxlike snout. Nala, despite declaring a deep dislike for the dog, smiled affectionately. Lysandra, who had taken personal offence to the way everyone fawned over Myra's pet rather than her own, shoved Nala into the waves as a result. Layla and Maia managed to disguise their resulting laughs as coughs, but it was a close thing.

   The moment was so normal, so peaceful, that Myra wished she could capture it and live inside those precious seconds forever.

   The seven of them had gathered in Azul in preparation for Anniversary, the date marking the death of Empress Medea and the liberation of Asriel, Miras and Calore, which was to take place in the valkyrie capital this year.

   Determined to beat Calore's fire festival and Veron's parade of floating ships, Azul had come out in full winter glory, combining TwinBirth—the day celebrating the birth of Sarai and Belle, daughters of Lyra—to make a truly spectacular festival. Great pines, blanketed in snow, decorated the capital. Elfin enchanters had been hired to add to the icy decorations (traitors, the Veronians muttered under their breath). Eggnog, mince pies, warm chicken soup and other winter treats were being sold in little stalls out in the streets. The marketplaces were crammed fill with little figurines of the heroes of the day: mini Kestras, Myras, Gemmas, Jaspers, Laylas, Nalas and even Lysandras were being eagerly snapped up by small children. Choirs performed in the streets, thespians rehearsed desperately, sculptors busied themselves with marble statues of not only Myra and Kestra (in animal and valkyrie form) but also the other rulers of the Alliance (Lysandra was delighted with her own likeness). Hotels hurriedly prepared for an influx of guests, inns squeezed extra beds into already cramped rooms and ordinary city-dwellers opened their homes to the visitors, happily pocketing large sums of money from desperate last-minute travellers who realised that other accomodation were booked out. The whole capital was frantic to prepare for the Anniversary.

   Myra was frantic to get Lysandra out of her palace. Ever since she had moved in (bringing several large trunks worth of clothes, jewellery, perfume, makeup, books and even furniture with her) she had been a pain. Between demanding better food, parties and even weather, she had driven Myra insane. She had a feeling that Kestra and Jasper felt similarly, especially as they had finally gotten the palace in order and were enjoying their private time, thank you very much.

   But that was the least of her concerns. The public and politicians alike were still fuming over Lysandra's latest execution—that duke was more well-known in death than he ever had been during his life—Myra had dozens of speeches and piles of paperwork to get through to help organise Anniversary (Nala and Layla had no sympathy, having gone through the same thing in years past) and her War Council, which had been steadily building up tension for the past four years, had finally exploded in a stream of food fights, name-calling and outright brawling.

   Overall, Myra was extremely stressed in the lead-up to Anniversary. Their morning beach walks were the one solace left in her life. And now Lysandra had decided to join in.

   As grateful as she was towards the so-called 'Saviour of Lysandria' for everything she had done during the Second Crimson War, she couldn't honestly say she liked her much.

   Jasper seemed to have something of a friendship with Lysandra that had no doubt been formed during those five years in Medea's court. Kestra and Maia maintained a friendly relationship with the new empress and of course, Nala and Lysandra were best buds. Myra, on the other hand, didn't trust Medea's daughter as far as she could throw her.

   They hurried inside, trying desperately to shield themselves from the miserable cold. Myra had forgotten how terrible Azul became in midwinter. After all, she hadn't spent a full winter there since she was eight, eagerly awaiting the chance to prove herself worthy of joining the army, the chance that would come on the winter solstice, her birthday, the very next year...that had been the trial that had changed everything. The day that had determined the course of her life, and the fate of not only her country, but three others.

   What might have become of her if not for that day? Who might she have become as a Keeper? She'd likely have taken Dance as her Art, maybe Psychology or Biology as her Logic. Either one would have made her happy. Her mother...her mother might have lived.

   Miras might have fallen in the God-Born War, Medea might never have been truly challenged and you might never have met Viktoria and Vera, adopted Kestra or fallen in love with Jasper, she reminded herself. Still, the other life she might have led was appealing. A simple life. A life when all the scars she bore were replaced with unblemished skin. A world where she didn't have nightmares of the God-Born and Crimson Wars. A Myra who did not have the burdens of a War Queen.

   She didn't often think back to the day when she had been selected for the army. It was so long ago, after all. Over a century had passed since she had been installed into the ranks of the warrior novices. She'd lost and gained and changed so much in the army that her nine-year-old self wouldn't even recognise her. And yet...

   She still remembered that day well. Walking up the temple steps while her mother clutched her hand tightly as though she never wanted to let go. Her child's eye beheld the statues in front of the temple, depicting valkyrie warriors gathering behind Sarai as the war goddess called them to battle. Myra had gazed at them in wonder, but as her mother followed her eyes, she could have sworn resentment flashed there. Myra hadn't understood it. Why would Ferius resent her daughter being called to glory and battle, to fight for her people and her queendom?

   She'd understood later, long after her mother was gone.

   Ferius hadn't wanted to give her up. Her mother, who had spent her whole life fighting for Miras, who had given everyone and everything up to her country. Her mother, who had known that Myra's budding war-gift and powerful animal form would be snatched up immeadietly. Her mother, who had resented Sarai, the goddess who she had worshipped so devoutly and spent all of her too-short life in service to, for taking that last thing away.

   After all, hadn't Ferius given enough? For the army to take her daughter too...it had been too much.

   Myra had only realised what that look of resentment had meant when she beheld Kestra. Beheld Kestra, and wondered if she would follow her mother into that army and risk her life again and again until she faced an enemy she could not defeat.

   Of course, that was not to be. Kestra was the Keeper Heir, and would never know the battlefield as Myra and her fellow warrior did. A great relief had flooded through her the moment she saw the mark on her neck.

   And as she thought of the future she and Jasper had envisioned, when their lives were less chaotic and their countries more stable. A future with another child.

   Would that child inherit her mother's fate? Myra knew that if any son or daughter of hers possessed even half of her power, they would be snatched up by the army to follow in their mother's footsteps, down a path had cost Myra so much.

She would deal with that when the time came, Myra thought, shaking herself from her worries. From whatever regret she felt for the life that she'd been forced to lead.

   Myra walked into the warm halls of the Crystal Palace. Such things only earned her pain. There was no changing the past. She knew that better than anyone.