“No, it can’t be,” she mumbled, shaking her head. Her hair was sticking to the nape of her neck, damp with sweat. A swarm of hypothesis crowded her head, but it was easy to ignore them when her fury rose and filled her to the brim.
“Leave. All of you,” she heard Diocle say from a great distance.
The last of her self-control broke when the door closed and banned the voices of the Council, the nervous shifting of the guards. She closed her fist around the broken collar, its edges sinking into her skin, and turned to stare at Alcmena.
The wretched hag was still chuckling.
“It was your doing,” she hissed. The room was darker, dimmed by the enormity of her anger. “You! You did all of this!”
“No. Gaiane is infinitely more powerful than you could ever imagine, she…”
Cibele threw the collar away. It smashed against the library, and she grabbed the old woman by the pale lapels of her grey tunic.
“How did you do that? You filthy traitor, you liar!”
She was screaming, her voice an undignified shriek, too high pitched for her role. She twisted the silk of Alcmena’s tunic in her fingers, closing it around the woman’s throat until a red ring appeared on her skin. Until that despicable grin turned into a choked spasm.
“Your highness, please…”
Diocle's words bounced against her ears. It was easy to ignore them. She half lifted Alcmena from the floor and pushed her closer.
“I’ll see you hanged and quartered! I trusted you! And for all these years you…”
“Cibele! Stop it!”
Diocle grabbed her and pulled her back. His hands hurt, too harsh on her arms, a touch she wanted to erase from her skin. But he was stronger, and she was beyond the point of using her magic to throw him against the wall.
There was no deference in the way he shook her and forced her to let go of Alcmena. As the old woman crumpled on the carpet in a coughing pile, Cibele found herself in the tight circle of Diocle's arms. She buried her face in his chest and let out a long, throat-wrenching cry. He held her until her ragged panting calmed down, and then some more.
She was still shaking when she pulled free from his grasp. The black pigment on her forehead had left a clear circle on the silk of his uniform, and his arms were still on her shoulders.
“Let me go and don’t touch me,” she deadpanned. To her relief, he complied.
She couldn’t stand to look at Alcmena, so she took some time to adjust the crown on her brow and smooth her hair.
Not quite herself yet, but enough to stand up and summon her coldest tones, she eventually turned around once more to stare at the traitor. She clenched her hands in front of her, under the long sleeves of her gown.
“Alcmena, you were princess Gaiane’s tutor, in charge not only of her education but of her safety, too.” Better. Almost good. “I hereby accuse you of high treason. For your insubordination, I hand you over to Lord DiocleLord Diocle.” The man shuffled behind her, and Cibele continued. “He will interrogate you in the ways he’ll see fit, and I expect you’ll give a full confession about my daughter’s fate and whereabouts. After that, you’ll be allowed to die.”
Silence filled the room. Alcmena wasn’t laughing anymore, but wasn’t shaking with the expected amount of dread either.
Cibele pressed her lips together and turned to Diocle, finding he was looking at her with intention.
Are you sure? He seemed to ask, but the queen was more than sure.
“Don’t come back to me without answers,” or else you’ll be the next to walk to the gallows. She gestured him to the door with her chin, and with a sigh Diocle bowed.
“As you command, my lady.”
It was done. Cibele looked out of the window, to the blue sliver of sky above her kingdom - Zafiria and Epidalio, all united under her rule. Her doing, her choice. The result of Gaiane’s power and a long strategy.
Soon she was alone. Diocle was gone, and Alcmena’s ragged breaths with him.
She could cry, now. She knew she needed to, but a deadly exhaustion was weighing down her limbs.
It was wrong. The broken collar, the blood, the empty bird cage, the silence. She’d built her throne on the certainty that Gaiane was obedient and safely locked in the most impregnable tower ever conceived.
And now Gaiane was nowhere to be found. In a jolt of tragic hope, she peeked down the window, but she saw no bodies on the grass below.
Of course, Gaiane was not that foolish. She would never jump out of the window, falling to her death.
She was out there. Somewhere, alive.
They needed to find her.
* * *
Hours later, Cibele was sitting in her room. A luxurious place, as one would’ve expected for a queen, with portraits of the Asares family glaring at her from their frames and a profusion of silks and cushions and jewels in every corner. Mirrors covered the walls, making the room seem bigger than it actually was.
She’d never hated them so much. It was nearly impossible to miss her own reflection and the farce it represented.
The pink light of the sunset danced on the crystal chandelier and the silver decorations embracing the tall, elegant windows. Everything glimmered, from the precious embroidery in the soft carpets to the countless butterflies on the wallpaper.
Cibele sat in a brocade chair, wrapped in a pale shawl and cradling her hands in her lap.
Empty. Her palace, despite the distant echo of people talking, of armors clattering, felt empty.
Her heart, now that her daughter was gone, and the safety of her rule with her, twice as much.
The door opened with a creak, snagging her from her bleary reverie. She turned sharply to the noise, and outrage filled the void in her chest.
“I didn’t send for…”
Diocle, of course. Who else would’ve dared to enter their queen’s quarters unannounced, without so much as a knock?
She snarled and bore his stare. She was wearing no makeup, the ring on her brow was pale and interrupted after years of consuming her power; very few people had seen her like that. No crown either as it was abandoned on her dressing table.
Diocle walked to her and pushed a padded footstool in front of her. He sat down, his chin on his fists, and tilted his head to the side.
In the stretching shadows, she remembered why she’d chosen him. An accurate selection of different candidates, picked for the abundance of their power, had ended in an exhausting stream of miscarriages, failures and discreet exiles. Only Diocle, that snarky bastard with more magic than decency, had lived up to her expectations.
Two years after he’d signed his contract, Cibele had Gaiane in her arms. A beautiful, perfect baby with her eyes and freckles, her father’s dimples, and an unlimited magic potential. Her power would never wear out like that of any other mage. She had been designed as a weapon, but when Cibele held her for the first time, Gaiane became simply her child.
“So?” she asked, emerging from her past.
Diocle cocked an eyebrow. In his forties, he was handsome enough to raise some whispers. ‘The queen is lucky to have him at her side and in her bed,’ the court said. Cibele couldn’t quite confirm, because she avoided his attentions with strict care, with some rare exceptions when she was bored. She couldn’t stand him, but he was a necessary evil.
“So what?”
“After almost twenty years one would expect you learned some manners, Diocle. Like how to properly introduce yourself to your queen’s presence.”
“I have more pressing matters to attend, my dear. And don’t look at me like that, you know that I’m not here to enjoy your company.”
On this at least we agree.
She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
“How did your interrogation go?” She looked at his hands and quickly averted her gaze. There was still blood under his fingernails.
“Smooth as silk. You don’t keep me around just for my good looks, do you?”
“If you
trying to make me slap you, then you’re doing an excellent job.”
Diocle sighed and smiled.
“If only… but you know I’m good at making people talk, and Alcmena is no exception. But let’s start with addressing the real problem, here.”
* * *
“Oh, you mean the fact that our daughter, who could burn a castle to the ground with a bat of her lashes, is missing?”
“That, too. It’s the second princess we lose in the past eight years, it’s not a good record.”
Cibele frowned, and then it struck her.
“Ligeia Laskaris? Sweet Mother of the Crops, she’s dead. It’s quite common when your whole castle collapses on your head, you know?”
Diocle shrugged.
“If you say so. I’m pretty fond of corpses--they tend to stay dead and prove they’re gone for good. Anyway, if you…”
“Diocle, if you came here to waste my time then I fear you caught me in a very bad spot. Tell me what information you got from Alcmena and leave me!”
With a smirk that made his dimples even deeper, Diocle ran his fingers through his greying hair.
“As you wish, then. Apparently, Gaiane had been planning this whole mess for years. Since the Spring Slaughter, if…”
“Don’t call it that. I won’t tolerate to hear the most significant moment of the Asares’ history turned into a peasant saying.”
“Still, that’s how the people of Epidalio call it. And with good reason--no, fine, I won’t insist. Eight years in the making, then, and it was all Gaiane’s thinking.”
Cibele jumped to her feet.
“What? She could never do it on her own!”
“Except she could. Apparently, and I’m inclined to believe Alcmena wouldn’t lie when her own wits were at stake, Gaiane’s been studying your gestures every time you took the collar from her. She learned the steps and replicated them.”
“Impossible. Only I could…”
“She has your blood, Cibele. Your soul. And she’s a woman now, so her power is ripe and too much to be contained by a trinket.”
Her knees gave way, and Cibele sat back in the chair, bouncing on the pillow.
“No, there’s more. It can’t be that easy, I…”
“It is. Gaiane has grown too powerful for your--our cage, and… well, if I’m to be entirely honest, I think Alcmena saw through her better than we could.” He got up and started to pace around the room. “Gaiane was shocked after the Spring Slaughter. She had nightmares, woke up crying and said that she never meant to kill anyone. Alcmena was the one to dry her tears and listen to her confessions.”
“Preposterous! Gaiane knew she was meant for greatness, I made sure her education took care of it!”
Diocle picked up Cibele's crown and rolled it around his fingers.
“That you did. Still, she was a child when you unleashed her upon Epidalio, but old enough to remember.” He dropped the crown with a jingling sound. “She’s wanted to escape since then.”
Cibele took her head in her hands.
“There must be more. That damned old woman must have told you something else, it can’t be!”
“Oh, she did. Alcmena loves Gaiane, and…”
The queen jerked her head up, shooting Diocle a fiery stare.
“I love my daughter! Nobody loves her as much as I do! I wanted her, I sacrificed my own happiness to have her, to keep her safe, to make her the greatest…”
“... weapon that ever existed. Don’t lie to yourself, darling: Alcmena loved her like a mother. You cherished Gaiane like an insurance on your lands”. He popped open a perfume bottle and sniffed its content, then put the crystal cork back in place. “I could say the same for me, I’m not accusing you.”
Tears swelled in her throat, and she breathed hard through her nose to fight them back.
“But Gaiane loved us--loved me, and…”
“Sure, sure. Anyway, Alcmena found out about Gaiane’s will to escape early on, but never mentioned it because she didn’t want her to be punished. She watched as Gaiane learned her way around breaking the spell. She is very proud of our girl.”
The turn of phrase sent a shiver down Cibele's spine. Slowly, grabbing the armrests so hard her knuckles protruded white under her skin, she rose and stared at Diocle.
The embers of her rage were still burning, and it took very little to ignite them again.
“What did you say? She is very proud? I thought you…”
“Oh, that. Right. I ignored your order and spared her. She’s in the dungeons right now.”
“I told you I wanted her dead!”
“I’m well aware, dear. But we need that woman alive, for now. Soon we’ll find Gaiane, I swear to you, and we could use a lever to eradicate any further fantasy of freedom.”
“What if Alcmena manages to escape?” She knew the objection was pointless the moment she made it. Diocle narrowed his eyes and gave her the coldest of smiles.
“She won’t, I made sure of it. You can trust me on this.”
Pictures of broken bones and dripping blood flashed in Cibele's mind. She allowed herself to look at him in earnest, and not with her usual contempt. The mark on his forehead was darker than hers, and around him she could still sense the remaining tingle of magic.
Diocle's fingers brushed her cheek, and she wasn’t quick enough to pull away.
“We’ll bring her back, I promise,” he whispered.
“If word of her disappearance should spread to the country, our peace would shatter…”
“Peace, you say? No. if we want to find her, we need to prepare for war.”
It was tempting to lean into his hand and let him comfort her. Just once, when nobody was looking.
But Diocle dropped his hand, and his voice returned to the good old practical tone.
“Keeping the secret is pointless. Let’s work with fear instead. We need to send patrols through all of Zafiria and Epidalio. Up to the borders of Saistos and the glaciers of the north. And we won’t stop until we have the answers we need.”
“Whatever it takes,” she said to herself. Diocle heard her, though, and he nodded.
“Whatever it takes.”
She didn’t seize her throne by kindness or diplomacy. It was time to be ruthless again. Not for power: for love.
Chapter 3
She was stone. Her flesh was not hers anymore, her power drove her spirit through the cracks in the plaster, a myriad of fragments melting with the white limestone and pink granite of the tower. Slowly, out of the stream of time, in a spell few had attempted and even fewer had carried out successfully, burning their whole potential in the effort.
She was moist soil. Water and roots and rotting wood. Her magic shifted and changed her, and her mind was but a tiny pinprick traveling with her spell. No time to fear, to think, only the absolute focus to escape her prison.
Just keep going. Inside and down and out again. Slow and steady, until hours turned to days, until she was sure they wouldn’t find her.
She was leaves, brown and yellow and dead.
Eventually, she felt air on her skin again.
Gaiane emerged from the ground in a dark green and golden mist. First, a gust of warm wind tousled her hair. Then it caressed her arms, and her legs formed beneath her.
She could feel her heartbeat again, loud and quick. Her whole body was back in one piece, and with it all the tension she had kept at bay during her escape.
A surge of sickness gripped her jaw. Closing her eyes against the whirlwind of light and shadows that surrounded her helped very little, and her legs wobbled. She doubled over and collapsed on her knees, retching and coughing.
It seemed to last forever. This was new--all of this. The soft, damp surface under her hands, the rustling of the branches above her head, her own ragged breaths dispersing in the vastity of the forest.
There was no echo. No walls.
Her arms gave way and she rested her cheek against the undergrowth, breathing in its scent. Dread
and confusion bled slowly into consciousness.
She was free. She did it! The dizziness was a passing thing, unsurprising after such a powerful spell; she’d endured it that horrible days so many years ago, when her magic had won her mother’s war. And taken so many lives.
A nervous giggle bubbled on her lips. Before she knew it, it had turned to proper laughter, heartfelt and loud, jumping in her chest and breaking into hiccups.
She flopped onto her back and kicked the air in ecstasy, throwing her hands up to the sky, wiggling her fingers.
When she slowly opened her eyes the confusion resumed briefly, but it was just a shadow of her previous horror. Blinking against the sun, she took in the canopy of the trees and the patchwork of black and green of the summer afternoon.
She’d never set foot in a forest before, and the richness of the smells, the variety of colors, the ubiquitous voices of endless birds were overwhelming.
After some moments, her heart slowed down to a quieter rhythm, and her joints stopped feeling like melted wax. She sat up and sunk her fingers in the green cushion surrounding her. Moss, she reminded herself. Her books were decently accurate when it came to color and shape, but told little about how it felt under her palms.
She ran her fingertips among the tiny stalks. Her rings, and even the elaborate pendant dangling from a thin silver chain on her chest, looked darker in the dancing shade. The sparkling of metal carried along a different kind of memory; Gaiane touched her throat, and her damp fingertips only found warm skin.
The collar was not there anymore. It was gone for good.
Her giddiness was veiled with tears. For the life she’d left behind, for a safety she’d willingly forsaken. But it was a brief thing, and the loud buzzing of a green beetle caught her attention again.
This was the world. Hers to discover and make her own. She crawled to her knees and leaned to inspect the vegetation more closely. The dry leaf dangling from a stalk was the finest of lace, its veins a pale golden gently rocking in the breeze. And behind it, a tiny slug moved slowly on a rock, leaving a shiny trail that shone like rainbow.
The Other Side of Magic Page 4
