Tijah

The palace was empty.

Claws clicked the floor at a brisk, well-poised pace. A prim sentinel pushed through halls and rooms, scanning every space with storm-blue eyes for survivors. Drawing rooms with overturned tables and kitchens powdered with broken porcelain showed nothing. Libraries contained no living souls, only a thousand thousand slashed and shot-up pages, some still fluttering in the air. As the Pearlcatcher strode through room after room, the broadsword at her hip dragged its edge along the floor. In the utter silence of the place, her stroll carried her over fallen tapestries and her sword disturbed broken glass as she tiptoed among it.

Her pace slowed as she entered the room where she began. Her tail stirred in thought over the floor and her eyes passed over the space one last time, just to know for sure.

The palace was empty.

She pivoted on her toes, gracing a massive fresco with her attention. An entire wall had been painted with her family tree, gold-leaf branches reaching into the heavens with name upon name, title upon title... At the center was a massive, gilded mirror, and just to its right was her own name.

Lady Vivienne Cumberland.

Twin eyes of lightning rose up the Cumberland tree, crackling with fury, with indignation. Not every name was within reach, but the ones that mattered were. The names that laughed at her, the names she’d once spoken fondly, the names that burned an unbearably molten gold in her vision... With an air-splintering roar, she whirled and drew her sword. The blade carved up oak and plaster, skated sparks along metal and stone, and flung out shavings of paint like sanguine until the fresco and all furniture and infrastructure surrounding it was unrecognizable. Chest heaving, the Pearlcatcher stood still. Only her eyes moved, surveying the damage as if to ensure her enemy was dead.

Delicate gold was cloven and branches were severed, dozens of family members now disinherited and adrift on a swath of kelly green. Names were unreadable, with gouges punctuating where vital letters once stood. Higher, higher her gaze drifted, realizing she’d slain the names of family she didn’t even recognize. One—whose name she doubted she knew before this—had been butchered until the remaining letters spelled “Ti j a h.” It’d be rude not to apologize to her more innocent ancestors, so she showed a curtsy and uttered a silent vow. She’d take their remnant name as her own.

Tijah almost sheathed her sword. After all…

The palace was empty.

But the gilded mirror caught her eye. It was cracked, yes, but not so much that she couldn’t make out her own reflection. Tijah stared, and a pretty face with cold eyes stared back. Royal blue blood ran down the wound that lined her face. Fresh cuts mapped her wings with cyan and bit deep into her tail. Some would heal. Some scars of gold would form on her noble body, as it did for all those in her bloodline. In a very unlady-like manner, Tijah emotionlessly wiped blue blood from the corner of her mouth and adjusted her ovalcrown over her horn. Each splintered line on the glass mirrored the new lines riven in her skin.

Tijah considered breaking the mirror—more than it already was, that is—for no Cumberland was to be left on this wall. But no...slowly, Tijah sheathed her sword and turned her back on the mirror. She’d abandoned that name already, so no Cumberland was.

She alone stood in the shattered estate. She alone strode from the battered foyer. She alone left its halls alive.

By the gods, the palace was empty.