Mina turns back to us, this time looking at me. “Who are you?” she asks, her voice sharp.
“This is Queen Theodosia,” Sandrin tells her.
Mina scoffs. “There is no Queen Theodosia,” she says, her eyes locked on me. “Only a frightened little princess under the Kaiser’s thumb.”
“I told you the Queen came, remember?” Sandrin asks.
“Of course I do. The entire camp wouldn’t stop talking about it. That doesn’t change anything. You aren’t a queen,” she says to me. “You can’t be a queen of a country that doesn’t exist.”
It’s the same thing Dragonsbane said to me, more or less, but there’s no bite in her voice. Instead, she sounds sad.
“Sandrin said you could help me,” I tell her. “And he was right. I didn’t know there were any Guardians here. I thought the Kalovaxians had killed them all after the siege.”
Mina holds my gaze a moment longer before glancing away and shaking her head. “I’m not a Guardian, child,” she says.
I frown. “But I just saw you—”
“You’ve seen Fire Guardians before, no?” she asks. “You’ve seen them create fires with a snap of their fingers, seen them hold a ball of flame in their hands like it’s a toy, seen them touch it without ever getting burned.”
I nod. I’d seen Ampelio do all of that and more when I was a child.
She nods toward the fire. “That is the most I can do. And even that was a struggle,” she says. “What do you know about Guardian magic?”
I shrug my shoulders. “There’s magic in the caves that ran under the old temples—in the mines now. Some people who spend a prolonged amount of time there are blessed by the gods and attain gifts—like the Fire Gift. But most aren’t. The power turns them mine-mad. They have feverish skin, they don’t sleep, their gift is unstable, until it kills them.”
Mina purses her lips. “You are more or less correct, though you have a very juvenile understanding of it—all sharp edges and black-and-white rules. Nothing in the world is as simple as that, and magic certainly isn’t.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She considers it for a moment, casting her gaze around until an idea lights up her expression. She beckons me closer. When I’m standing just in front of her, she takes a pail and lifts it up so I can see the water sloshing around inside. “Some of the last of what your friends brought when you came before,” she explains. “Now, imagine the water is the magic in the mines—this exact amount is what imbues whoever stays there for an extended amount of time. And now imagine that the pot is a such a person.”
She pours the contents of the pail into the pot and it fills it almost three-quarters of the way full.
“We would call this person blessed,” she says. “The magic fills them up but doesn’t overflow. Were the person a smaller container, so to speak, the magic would be too much and they would be, as we call it, mine-mad.”
I frown. “But that doesn’t make sense,” I say. “I have a friend who’s a Guardian and she’s close to my size. Surely bigger people than that have gone mine-mad.”
“It isn’t physical size she’s referring to,” Sandrin says.
“It’s something internal, some unknowable thing that determines it, unrelated to genetics or any other factor, as far as we could tell,” Mina adds.
“ ‘We’?” I ask.
“Before the siege, I studied the caves with a group of people who were curious. I wanted to know what had happened to me,” she says.
“And what did?” I ask her.
Mina turns back to the pot. “Imagine a larger pot,” she says. “The magic is still there, but it doesn’t fill the person up as much. It doesn’t come to them so easily. For me, I could feel the magic, but bringing it to the surface was difficult, and it was rarely worth the effort when I did. People like me—we weren’t strong enough to serve as Guardians, so we went back to our normal lives. It was shameful, in a way—not to be chosen by a god, nor killed by one, but merely overlooked. No one liked to talk about it. I would imagine it’s the case for many in the mines now—why they haven’t gone mine-mad but why they also don’t present any gifts. The magic is in them, but it’s too small a concentration to allow them to do much—if anything at all.”
I struggle to make sense of it. “So to be blessed by the gods, you must be precisely the right size vessel?” I ask.
“Some believe the gods still choose those capable of carrying the volume of the magic,” Sandrin says. “That they are still the ones who bless certain individuals above others.”
“And some believe that it is all more unpredictable and random than that,” Mina adds with a shrug.
“You don’t think the gods have a hand in it at all?” I ask, surprised.
Mina doesn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admits finally. “But to consider that they choose those who are blessed means that they are also responsible for all of those who don’t survive it. I don’t believe the gods are capable of that kind of cruelty, and if they are, I certainly don’t wish to worship them for it.”
Sacrilegious as it may be, I have to agree with that sentiment.
“So what about someone who has a gift—a strong gift—but they can’t always control it, especially when they’re angry? And if they don’t sleep and their skin always runs hot, but they’ve been like this for over a year?”
Mina glances at Sandrin, who shakes his head. “She claims it’s hypothetical,” he explains, to which Mina gives a derisive snort before approaching the pot.
“So, when it comes to using magic, imagine this flame is the energy you’re exerting to use magic. What would that do to the water?”
“It boils,” I say, an understanding slowly taking shape.
“Yes. For me, the harder I strain to use my magic, the stronger it is. Just as boiling water bubbles to the top of the pot. For your average Guardian, using their power for big things, for long stretches of time, would bring them just to the rim. You say your hypothetical friend is more powerful than most, yes? So when they use their gift too strongly or for too long—”
“It boils over,” I guess.
She inclines her head. “There were old texts where I read of such people, but I never encountered one myself.”
Sandrin clears his throat. “From the stories I read, they often appeared in times of trouble. A drought in the West brought about an unusually strong Water Guardian who could produce enough water to satiate an entire village without growing weary. A famine one year was offset by an Earth Guardian who could turn barren soil fertile once more. Scholars remarked that it was as if the gods had answered their prayers.”
“What happened to those Guardians?” I ask.
Sandrin and Mina exchange looks.
“They used their power and saved thousands,” Sandrin says.
“Until they boiled over,” Mina finishes.
It’s too much to think about right now and there are still so many questions to ask, so I push Blaise from my mind and look at Sandrin.
“What we spoke of before, the Encatrio?” I ask. “Is that related to this? I know that it’s water from the Fire Mine and people have survived it before, but how?”
“We’re getting out of my field,” Mina says, shaking her head. “But as I understand it, Encatrio is a very concentrated dose of magic. More than the water that was in the pail—double that, maybe. Very few can handle it.”
“But when they do, they’re as gifted as if they’d gone into the mines,” Sandrin says.
“More gifted,” Mina corrects. “It’s difficult to know without performing tests, but I imagine it would be possible that this hypothetical friend and your other hypothetical friend may in fact be in similar situations.”
For a sharp second, I don’t think about how this means that Cress is vulnerable, or eve
n more dangerous because of it. I don’t think about how much power she must have, how many people she could hurt. I only think of how she must be suffering, just as Blaise is. I wish I could help her, before I remember that I can’t.
“One more question,” I say, forcing my mind clear. “How is it possible that someone who had never set foot in the caves—the mines—or had a drop of Encatrio…how could they have a gift?”
Sandrin looks bewildered, but something flashes in Mina’s eyes.
“This person,” she says. “Would they—hypothetically of course—be around your age?”
“Yes,” I say. “Why? What does that have to do with anything?”
“There was a phenomenon starting, just before the siege. Rumors and reports of children with gifts—small gifts, nothing like a Guardian’s power, not even like mine. A mother once told me her son’s temper tantrum had caused a glass of water to tip over. Another swore her daughter cried the leaves off of one of their trees. It was all secondhand accounts, things that could have been caused by other things. But there was a pattern forming. Before we could dig too deep into it, the Kalovaxians came.”
There could be others like me. The idea is both blinding and comforting.
“Did you learn anything else before they came?” I ask.
Mina shakes her head. “But if this hypothetical friend of yours ever wants to find answers, I may be able to help them.”
Part of me wants to ask her for help right here and now, but I hold my tongue. It isn’t the most pressing concern. I’m fine and I haven’t had any real outbursts since the ship. Though I know better, I can’t help but hope that whatever was happening to me has gone away on its own.
“Thank you,” I say instead.
THE RIDE BACK TO THE capital is harder than the ride out. The sun is high in the sky, beating down so hard I can feel it burning my skin even through my clothes. We have to stop halfway, beneath the meager shade of a group of large boulders. Artemisia uses her gift to produce a stream of water for each of us to drink, but even her powers are faltering in the dry heat and the effort leaves her winded. She sits down, leaning against the side of the boulder.
“I just need a few minutes,” she says, but she barely manages to finish the sentence before dozing off.
We decide to rest in the shade ourselves and wake her in half an hour. With Mina’s words still haunting me, I take the opportunity to follow Blaise when he goes to check the horses, even though the idea of leaving the shade is nearly unbearable.
“Do you need help with anything?” I ask him as he gives the horses the last of the water to drink.
“No, I’ve got it,” he says, not looking at me. “You should stay in the shade.”
“I found someone in the camp,” I tell him, the words rushing out before I can stop them. “Someone who studied the mines and the magic in them.”
He glances at me, brow furrowing. “Did you tell them about me?”
“No,” I lie. “I just asked about Crescentia, like I told you I would.”
Blaise nods, though his eyes are still troubled. “And?” he asks.
I tell him about Mina and the theories she and Sandrin shared about the gods and the mines. I tell him about the boiling water and what it meant—that he wasn’t quite mine-mad, and that if he kept calm and didn’t use his power, he could stay that way. I tell him that he isn’t the first, that there have been others, but that they worked themselves to death. Blaise stays quiet while I talk, running his hands over each horse’s back to spread the extra water to cool them down.
I lay my hand on top of his and squeeze, smiling so widely my face hurts. “So all you have to do is refrain from using your gift,” I say. “You’ll be all right. You’ll survive it.”
But Blaise doesn’t seem to share my relief. Instead, his mouth twists down and he avoids looking at me. My eyes search for the bracelet I gave him—the one I stole from Cress with the hundreds of tiny Earth Gems, but I can’t find it.
“Where’s the bracelet?” I ask him.
He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and retrieves it. In the bright light of the afternoon sun, the brown gems glow.
“You shouldn’t wear it anymore,” I say. “It adds to your power. Erik said that when they sent the berserkers into battle, they gave them a gem to ‘push them over the edge.’ I didn’t understand that before, but I think I do now.”
I move to take it from him, but he stops me, his hand wrapping around my wrist.
“Theo,” he says, his voice low. “I need it.”
“You don’t, though,” I say. “It’s only going to make you worse.”
He shakes his head, finally looking at me. “It’s going to make me stronger,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “Don’t you see? Those Guardians you mentioned—the ones who were like me—they appeared in times of trouble and they were the only ones who could help. You said it yourself.”
“And they died,” I remind him.
“They were heroes who served their country,” he corrects. “That’s what all Guardians are meant to do.”
I twist my arm out of his grasp. “You promised me.” I hear my voice growing higher and higher, but I can’t help it. “You promised me that you would be all right, that we would do whatever we had to, to fix it.”
“To fix me,” he adds quietly. “That’s what you mean. To fix me.”
“To cure the thing that’s killing you,” I correct him.
He doesn’t say anything for a long while, his gaze focused on the sand beneath his feet.
“Who am I without my gift?” he asks finally, his voice so soft I almost don’t hear him. “Because that’s what you’re talking about.”
“Your gift,” I repeat slowly. “The gift that almost killed all of us this morning?”
He has the decency to flush at that. “Ampelio said that I was stronger than any other Earth Guardian he ever knew. He said that if I could control it, I could help change the course of this war. I could help save Astrea.”
“But you can’t control it,” I say, harsher than I mean to. He flinches like I slapped him. I soften my voice and try again. “Your control over it is getting weaker, not stronger, and who is left to help you?”
His jaw hardens and he turns back to the horse, looking away from me. “The gods have their reasons for doing what they do. They had their reasons for doing this to me. You believed that, too, once, before Søren convinced you there was something wrong with me.”
I take a step away from him. “That isn’t what this is about and you know it. You caused an earthquake today, Blaise. You’re dangerous—to yourself, to me, to everyone around you. That isn’t a gift.”
“It might not be a gift to you, Theo, but it will be to the Kalovaxians when we finally meet on the battlefield and I unleash every last ounce of whatever kind of power this is—gift or curse, I will use it against them just the same.”
The proclamation knocks the air from my lungs. I imagine a pot boiling over. “That would be suicide,” I tell him. “Is that what you want? To die at seventeen by turning yourself into a weapon?”
He’s quiet for a moment, taking a shuddering breath. “I want to save Astrea,” he says finally. “Whatever it is that happened to me in that mine, it made me stronger. Stronger than other Guardians. Stronger than I ever could be without it. If you take that away from me…I have nothing.”
I try to bite back the words, but they slip out anyway.
“You have me,” I tell him. The words are a whisper, almost lost altogether in the harsh desert wind.
He shakes his head. “I love you, Theo. I said that and I meant it. But I would rather have you safe on your throne without me than be with you for the rest of a long life spent running and cowering and hiding from the Kaiser.”
“It doesn’t have to be one or the other,” I tell him,
stepping around the horse so that there is nothing between us. “I want to take that throne with you at my side, like Ampelio was at my mother’s.”
His smile is bitter. “I don’t think you learned anything from those stories of the gods we loved as children,” he says. “Didn’t you ever notice what they all had in common?”
I shake my head. “Monsters and heroes and acts of stupid bravery?” I ask. “Happily-ever-afters?”
“Sacrifice,” he says. “The hero never wins if they don’t sacrifice what they love to do it. You want everything, and you aren’t willing to give anything up to get it—not your freedom or me or the Prinkiti. But I think I can sacrifice enough for the both of us, when the time comes.”
Blaise finally turns to look at me, though his thoughts are sealed so well behind his eyes that it feels like I’m looking at a stranger instead of the person I know best in this world.
“If you won’t give up your gems, you’re a danger to all of us,” I tell him, struggling to keep my voice steady even as I force myself to say the hardest words I’ve ever said. “You have to leave.”
His shock and hurt last only an instant before they are sealed away again behind his placid expression. He nods. “I’ll take Hoa back to the capital, but after that, I’ll go. It won’t be far—I’ll make camp a mile outside the wall. If you need me, you can send word through Heron or Art.”
I always need you, I want to say. I wouldn’t have escaped the Kaiser without your plans. I wouldn’t be any kind of queen. I would still be just a scared girl, cowering before the Kaiser. I don’t know who I am without you.
The words die in my throat, smothered by my pride and my anger. This is his choice, I remind myself.
He doesn’t wait for my response anyway, instead turning and walking back to the others with his empty bucket, leaving me alone in the hot sun with a shattered heart.
I HEARD SOME KALOVAXIAN SOLDIERS WHO lost appendages in battle talk about how they could still feel their limbs even though they were no longer there. For me, it’s the same way with Blaise. Even when we return to the palace without him, I still feel his presence. It’s a shock every time I look for him, only to find Heron and Artemisia. They seem to feel his absence as well, and when we all retire to my room that night, a blanket of silence drapes over us.
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