by Violet Grace
‘You do not understand me, child. They are an aberration where the Art is concerned. Should they contaminate the Art they may destroy our language, our power, our way.’
She makes it sound like the mermaids are a nasty infection, as if I might catch fish flu from them or something. I can’t decide how much of this is just prejudice and how much is a legitimate warning.
‘Your Majesty, you will not mind me saying that when it comes to the Art, you are but a novice. You possess great power, yes. The former Luminaress foretold this – and she was correct. But there are depths to the Art that are still closed off to you. Contaminating the Art with a lesser power would do untold damage to you, and to the Art on which we all rely.’
I’m finding it hard to breathe. I had assumed that it was the Agency’s radio wave weapon that had damaged my Art. But what if I was wrong? What if it was the mermaids?
‘When I took your hand last night, I detected a change in you. I fear the nereids have already begun their work of ruining you.’
Not trusting myself to speak, I give her my best ‘what the hell are you talking about?’ face.
‘I will leave you with one final thought about your misguided sympathies for the nereids. Without the Art, you are not a queen. You are nothing.’
The night stars are still twinkling above me when I wake from my restless sleep. The warm well of energy that swirled in my core has still not returned.
I hoped it would come back after time and rest. But three days have passed now and there’s nothing. What if it never returns? And then I stumble on a thought that makes me feel even worse. My wings. Do my wings need the Art to work? What if I can never fly again?
I bound out of bed and with barely a thought my wings burst from my back. I sob with joy and relief as I lift off the ground. My wings are not magic; they are like limbs, part of me.
Hovering above my bed in my nightgown, I reach up and touch the magical ceiling. My fingers trace along the constellation of Hercules, the great warrior, kneeling in the sky. It’s oddly inspiring. Maybe I just need to keep trying to get my magic back.
The apartment is quiet as I touch back down to the ground. I control my breathing and still my mind. My wings fold back within my body as I look down deep within myself. It’s an image that has shattered into jagged little pieces. I concentrate, bringing the pieces together. I try to hold them in my mind’s eye, but as quickly as I gather them, they slip out of sight again. It’s like trying to hold a string of numbers in your head; as more numbers are added you keep losing track of the first ones.
I try again.
And again.
Two hours later I’m pacing my room, still struggling to reconnect with the Art. The best I can manage is pale blue sparks around my fingers, accompanied by a mild metallic taste in my mouth. A light knock on the door has me guiltily hiding my hands behind my back.
‘Come in,’ I call as I compose myself, wiping away sweat from my forehead.
Maria wears a shy smile and wordlessly hands me a folded note before making a quick curtsey and hurrying away. The paper is thick and creamy, affixed with the black waxen seal of House Grigio. I rip open the seal and read the handwritten note.
Bella,
I have cleared my entire schedule to spend the day with you. Come to my apartment. I await you.
Yours, V.
I’m instantly lighter, less frustrated and, inexplicably, more optimistic.
Deciding to skip breakfast and the usual morning rituals with my maids, I dress myself quickly in a pale yellow lace gown with a high neck and sheer sleeves. I’m about to search out Jules to accompany me, but that would take time. And after stretching my wings this morning, I just want to fly – a long, unrestricted, free flight.
I walk towards my balcony but stop when I eye the smoky green glass pendant Victor gave me sitting on my dresser. I should wear it. I clasp it around my neck as I step onto the balcony and look out over the main islands of Serenissima. Brilliant morning sun glistens off the lagoon. A soft wind plays with my hair, which I’ve left hanging loose around my shoulders.
My wings burst through the hidden flap in the back of my gown. I sigh with the sheer pleasure of the release, the freedom. I extend them out in full, flexing them up and down for a few seconds before launching over the balcony.
I soar into the morning sky, darting high above the castle into cloudless blue. The air is cool and fresh, exhilarating. I pull my wings tightly against my back, somersaulting in the sky, and then free-falling towards the water. Metres from the lagoon’s glassy surface, I pull back and skim just above the dark blue water. Salty spray tickles my face and hands.
I haven’t felt so free in days. Flight allows me to forget, for a moment at least, my dad, the Agency and the loss of the Art. Even Tom.
I pull up and look in the direction of the castle, now in the distance, in time to see six massive unicorns flying in formation towards me. A sick feeling wells in the pit of my stomach. I am alone and defenceless. If this is Damius’s crew then I’m in trouble. As they come nearer, I make out the full battle attire, the House Grigio crest imprinted on their black barding.
Grigio security. The realisation makes me giddy with relief.
I hover mid-air with gentle sweeps of my wings, waiting for them. The unicorns slow as they near me.
‘We are to accompany you, Your Majesty,’ growls the lead one.
I bristle. ‘I prefer to remain unaccompanied.’
‘Those are our orders, Your Majesty.’
‘And whose orders are those?’
‘Prince Victor’s.’
‘Tell him I’ll be there soon,’ I say. ‘I just want to stretch my wings first.’
The unicorn snorts in frustration. ‘We are to accompany you immediately.’
I swirl a full 360 degrees, looking across the water to the main islands of Serenissima as the morning sun flares on the terracotta rooftops.
Victor’s guards remain in formation in a weird standoff. It’s clear they aren’t going anywhere. For a moment I consider making a break for it, testing my speed against Grigio’s finest. But that’s not fair. I can’t blame them for following orders.
‘Okay then,’ I concede. ‘After you.’
I fly back towards Victor’s apartment, the guards surrounding me on every side, including one above me and one below.
As we near the apartment I see Victor standing at his balcony door looking like he’s just walked off a yacht: white jeans paired with a shirt and blue blazer.
‘I do not need to be babysat.’ It’s not until words are out of my mouth that I realise how annoyed I am.
Victor’s guards branch off and disappear. My wings retract into my body as soon as my boots touch the balcony.
He looks at me, unflinching. ‘I will always look after that which is most precious to me.’
‘I am not your possession,’ I fume. ‘I will go wherever I want, whenever I want.’
‘Bella, please,’ he says as if I am being unreasonable. ‘I have already found you broken and bloodied one too many times.’
The concern in his voice ferments my anger into shame. And that just annoys me even more.
‘I don’t need to listen to this,’ I say, flaring my wings again, readying to launch back into the sky.
‘Bella, calm down. Can we talk about this like adults?’
I remain on the balcony but don’t retract my wings.
‘Do you know what I felt when I saw you lying by the canal? Primal fear. Terror like I have never known before. I thought I had failed in my duty to protect you.’
He takes a step towards me, exhaling. The sight of his shoulders slumping takes the edge off my rage.
‘I am about to lose my mother and there is not a thing I can do about it, but I will not – I will not – lose you too.’
I open my mouth to tell him that it is not his duty to protect me. That I am responsible for my own actions. But my voice catches in my throat when I see the shadows in his e
yes. There’s something in the unguardedness of his emotions that tears me to pieces. The only word I can force out of my mouth is ‘Sorry’.
‘Let’s start over, shall we?’ He instantly reverts to his charming, playful self. ‘Good morning, my Queen.’
My heart is pounding faster than it should as he leans in to kiss my cheek. I silently tell myself to get a grip. I was calmer and more composed when I was staring down a pack of blood-thirsty griffins. At least with the griffins I knew where I stood. Their intention was perfectly clear: to rip me limb from limb. With Victor, I’m never quite sure. I hate to admit it but the confusion is oddly intoxicating.
‘Come, I have something to show you.’ He takes my hand and pulls me into his apartment.
I follow but my mind is still back at the door. Fixated on the feeling of his lips on my cheek.
‘Don’t be so worried,’ he chuckles. ‘My motives are pure.’ He flashes me a mischievous smile.
I stop walking. ‘Victor, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. We’re, you know, we’re just talking. Right? As friends.’
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘Whatever you say, Your Majesty.’
He winks and turns to lead me down the vaulting hallway towards the library. I can’t say I’m unhappy to be going back there. If I can’t be flying in the skies, this place is the next best thing. I feel his eyes on me as I walk into the library, disarmed by the way he looks straight into me, as if he’s absorbing every detail. It makes me feel, well, seen. I want to hate it. Not all of me does.
He directs me to a stack of books piled high on the coffee table.
‘Sit,’ Victor says, indicating one of the tawny leather sofas.
As I do, he kneels on the floor beside the sofa.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Removing Her Majesty’s boots,’ he says, beginning to unlace one. ‘We could be here for a while so it’s best to get comfortable.’
The idea of anyone, especially His Royal Highness Crown Prince Victor Grigio, kneeling down to remove my shoes has me in a fit of giggles.
‘What?’ Victor says with laughter in his eyes. ‘It is so hard to impress a queen these days.’
With my boots eventually removed, I curl up on the sofa, tucking my feet under my gown. Victor sits on the couch opposite, removes his boots also, and then reaches for the first book.
‘Venus?’ I recognise the imagery on the cover. ‘You’ve been researching the scroll for me.’
‘Of course,’ he says with a casual shrug. ‘But you must forgive me, my Latin is a little rusty. The last time I practised, I was in breeches and knee-high socks.’
‘Now that’s something I’d like to see.’ What is wrong with me? I’m flirting with him. And from the way he’s looking at me right now, he knows it – and likes it.
Victor clears his throat and begins to translate.
‘The Goddess Venus, mother of the Eternal City – you would know it as Rome,’ he adds, ‘is known as Venus Verticordia, the changer of hearts —’
‘Through song?’ I interrupt. ‘Is that how she changes hearts?’
He stops, pondering for a moment. ‘It is possible,’ he says, before continuing. ‘She is the Goddess of love, fertility and nature, and the protector of women.’
I settle back into the soft curves of the couch and am surprised to find myself relaxing. Victor skips from page to page, selecting and translating the passages he thinks are the most relevant. He tells me that Venus emerged fully formed from the froth of the seas. Her symbols are rose and myrtle.
‘That’s all pretty much the same as what the humans say about her,’ I say after a while.
‘This surprises you?’
‘I figured the Fae might have a different take on her – a different relationship with her.’
‘The Goddess transcends humans and Fae alike. None of us write her stories.’
‘I like that,’ I say, stretching out my legs on the sofa. ‘Venus speaks her own truth. It is up to us to choose to listen.’
Victor looks up at me through thick eyelashes. ‘You’re adorable when you’re trying to be philosophical.’
‘Adorable?’ I snap, sitting up. ‘I’m a queen, not a kitten.’
He laughs. ‘You are a wildcat. And you’re even more adorable when you get angry.’ When I don’t share his laughter, he says, ‘Bella, I am only teasing. You must not take everything so seriously.’
My stomach twists and, even though I’m interested in the research and really want Victor to keep translating for me, I get an overwhelming desire to leave.
I sit up and reach for my boots but Victor leans forward and takes my wrist.
‘Tell me, what is the matter?’ he says, his hand lingering on mine.
‘I don’t know,’ I say. And it’s the truth.
‘You are missing Trinovantum?’ he says quietly.
‘Parts of it, yes,’ I say, my voice hoarse.
‘Tell me what I can do to ease your homesickness, my love.’
The escalation from ‘Bella’ to ‘my love’ has me breaking into a cold sweat. I pull at the bodice of my gown, which all of a sudden feels like a straitjacket.
‘Anything,’ he prompts. ‘Anything at all.’
I can’t tell him what I’m missing most about home. Besides, he’s not there anymore, anyway. I don’t know where he is.
‘Do these books give any clues about the scroll – about where it is?’ I ask, eager to change the subject.
‘If they do I am not aware of it.’
I can’t hide the disappointment and frustration on my face.
‘There are some other works – curiosities, you might say – that are said to contain the wisdom of the sea. They’re not really books as such, more folk art, covered with hydroglyphs.’
‘Can I see them?’ I have no idea what hydroglyphs are, but with a name like that I’m curious to know more.
‘Of course. But we will have to go to the Hall of Treasures on the other side of the castle.’
He stands, offering his hand. Victor pulls what looks like an antique fob watch from the top pocket of his suit jacket. Using it as a wand, he mutters an incantation and, in the blink of an eye, our boots are on our feet. He uses the fob again to carve out a portal and holds his hand out, gesturing for me to go ahead of him.
We step out of the portal into a huge room with sunbeams streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The light catches and reflects off the treasures, jewelled and golden, making the whole room sparkle. A giant fresco covers the side wall behind three glass cases, lined up in a perfectly neat row, each containing a wand. The other side is lined with glass cabinets filled with assorted jewellery, marble statues and shells.
Our feet echo on the hard marble floor, inlaid with precious stones. I follow Victor across to the cabinet containing the shells. As we get closer, I see that they are clam shells, the stunning iridescent colour of mother of pearl, each one engraved with letters or symbols. Some of the markings curve around in a spiral, others run horizontally, and others appear to be vertical.
I’ve seen symbols like this before – or something very similar. In scanned pages of the Voynich manuscript that I found online. The Voynich manuscript that I saw on my father’s desk.
‘What are these symbols?’ I say.
‘That I do not know,’ he says. ‘No one does.’
‘Your best guess?’
‘Honestly, my love, until today I have not given it any thought at all.’
That’s when I realise that all that Victor has done – singing the nursery rhyme, the reading and translating to me in the library, bringing me here – it’s all been for me. He doesn’t care about Venus or these artefacts or even the scroll. He only cares for me.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For helping me.’
‘It is my job,’ he says, smiling. ‘And I do enjoy my work.’
I feel my cheeks redden.
‘I will let you explore,’ he says to my relief, and leaves me with the shel
ls to take in the view out the window.
I lean over the cabinet and reach for the shell with the swirling pattern of symbols. As soon as my fingers touch the shell there is a blinding flash, the room gives way and I’m face to face with jagged rock in a raging ocean. A squall is wailing overhead and I feel sea air stinging my cheeks, taste salt on my tongue. My wet hair whips around my face.
I lurch back, releasing the shell, and instantly I’m in the room again. I look over to Victor, but he’s staring out at the lagoon as if nothing happened. I touch my hair. It’s dry. The salt taste from the sea has disappeared.
Feeling a little foolish, I wait a moment, and then, my heart pounding, tentatively reach out to touch the shell again. Once more, I’m instantly blinded by a flash of white. I take my hand away before anything more can happen, and I’m back in the room.
I’m too curious to leave it there. I draw a deep breath and reach out my hand one more time. I touch the shell and see the blinding flash again, but this time I’m ready. Below me is jagged rock, the angry ocean. I watch as a hand rises up, conducting the waves as a conductor leads an orchestra. I realise it is my hand. I blink and the vision disappears and my perception returns to the Hall of Treasures.
I look down at my hand, still holding the shell. I bend down to examine it more closely, and see a flicker.
I look again.
The symbols on the shell. They’re moving.
The sunlight is refracting through the glass of the pendant Victor gave me as I lean in, making the symbols lift off the shell and dance through the air.
I unclasp the pendant from around my neck and angle it so I can see the shell through the glass. I move the pendant away from the direct light, experimenting. The symbols stop their dance, instantly snapping back to their original position in the shell, as if they’d never moved. Tentatively, I place my finger on the symbols, but they’re perfectly still.
I angle the pendant again, maximising the beam of sunlight shining through it. The symbols begin their little dance, coalescing with each other. I watch, transfixed.
I’m so absorbed, I barely notice the movement behind me.
