by Hannah West
King Tiernan stood, paced to the door and back, and noticed the unopened gift from Ivria on the mantel. He tilted his head and lifted the box. Surely he wouldn’t be so audacious as to open a birthday gift. Yet he untied the ribbon, let it glide to the floor. “The amethyst diadem?” he ventured.
I nodded, clenching my teeth. The anger that rattled through me lost its nerve and came out as a sigh.
The lid of the box creaked as he opened it. “Your great-great-great-grandmother’s,” he said, removing the sparkling silver circlet with its bulging jewel. It reminded me of a faraway time, of old magic and love poems lost to the ages. “Did you know this gem was Callista’s elicrin stone?”
“Yes,” I whispered, my bravery bolstered. “Its remaining traces of magic allow the one who touches it to more easily see the truth. So then, do you believe me, Your Majesty?” I longed for him to leave me in peace.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, even without this, I believe you. Though…” He trailed off, laying the diadem back in the velvet-lined box. He closed it and replaced it on the mantel. I stared down at my shaking hands as tears clouded my vision. “The trees surrounding the Water. They’re destroyed too.”
“I think…I think I did that,” I said, pressing a palm to my heart as though I could isolate the grief there.
King Tiernan nodded again, curtly. “There will be a hearing the day after the funeral.”
“A hearing?” I murmured.
“When an elicromancer or pupil breaks a tenet, there must be a hearing. May I make a suggestion I believe will benefit you? Give up your elicrin stone now. Don’t wait for the Conclave to confiscate it. It will paint you as cooperative.”
I tried to swallow but felt as though a lump of gravel had lodged in my throat. “I didn’t receive an elicrin stone, Your Majesty.”
King Tiernan’s charcoal brows snapped together. Touching the Water could lead to one of only two fates: death or elicromancy. There was no between, no half measure. Yet here I sat, empty-handed, no jewel glinting at my breastbone or hiding in my pocket.
An excruciating moment of silence passed and a dark fear began to ferment inside me, souring my stomach. The elicrin stone’s function was to distill unmanageable hints of magic into a more potent magic that could be commanded and directed. The spells in Old Nisseran interacted with the stone to do the possessor’s will. Without an elicrin stone…was there any hope of controlling whatever force had found its way inside me?
The king swept out of the room. As he exited the antechamber, I saw a flash of dark red tunics and glinting swords: guards. Either the king or the Conclave had posted guards outside my door.
My rigid posture collapsed and I lost myself in the roaring fire, whispering, “Ivria, what have we done?”
PRING was cruel to come so early. During Ivria’s funeral, the green-clad palace gardens smelled of sunshine and perfume. Warmth bore down on the shoulders of my black gown, but it made the rest of me shiver. Winter still lingered in every shadow.
My father’s funeral had been in the dead of winter at his childhood home in the Brazor Mountains. I remembered being more preoccupied with the bitter cold slicing through my layers of fur and wool than I was with my grief. The blaze of his pyre had been, oddly, a welcome relief. Only when I found myself alone in the halls of Darmeska did the hollowness consume me, and by then it was too late to say a meaningful farewell.
My knuckles lost color as I gripped the balustrade of the bridge crossing the Roac River. The bright ribbon of water stretched away from the palace into the city, thinning before disappearing amid the distant shops and houses of Arna. Crowds of mourners lined up along the banks as far as I could see.
My mother and Victor stood at my left, their expressions somber as they stared over ivy-laced walls and meandering paths. On my right stood Ander with his parents and Grandmother Odessa. Uncle Prosper gripped Aunt Sylvana’s elbow, stabilizing her as she shook with sobs.
I tore my eyes away from them and looked at the glistening surface below. Unlike the calm but deadly Water—the Water that had somehow evaporated—the Roac River bubbled and coursed and teemed with life.
The regrets swirling around the fresh memory of Ivria’s death needled my raw, aching heart, as did the fear of the power inside me. In the past few days, my tears had singed holes in my sheets, left rust stains on the tiles of my room. I’d tried to use the simplest elicrin spell to light a fire, but it hadn’t worked, and my subsequent frustration turned the grate and pokers to ash and smoke. I didn’t know what sort of creature I had become. With outlandish magic and no elicrin stone, what was I?
The musicians’ strings and voices finally tapered to silence as the long dirge ended. King Tiernan, who stood at the center of the bridge, began the blessing and a chorus of voices joined in. “May light surround you. May goodness follow you wherever you go.”
I closed my eyes. Back upstream, where the river passed through an arcade of marble beneath the palace, the men holding Ivria’s raft would now react to their cue and release it to the current.
The river lapped at the vessel’s flanks as it made its slow journey underneath the bridge a few moments later. When I opened my eyes, I saw the pointed bow of the boat and the bundled wood that would become kindling on Ivria’s funeral pyre. Then I saw the skirt of her silver gown, her hands crossed at her navel, the apples of her cheeks dusted with pink. A silver circlet ornamented her dark curls. She was the same—just as beautiful. And because of that sameness, I didn’t think to trace her every feature until she had already passed by and hundreds of handfuls of white rose petals had launched into the air.
Downriver, beyond the crowds and the soaring flowers, the undertaker and his assistants would halt the boat and burn her body on a pyre. She would return to us as ash.
The raft drifted away, vanishing amid the mourners who had lined up for a final glimpse of the beautiful princess.
The crowd around me began to migrate from the gardens toward the palace steps. I scooped up my skirts and turned, feeling the eyes of every palace guard upon me. My mother perched her hand like a friendly sparrow on my shoulder. “The hearing will clear all of this up,” she said.
I moved with the throng, watching Ander’s dark head bob above the sea of people. We hadn’t seen each other in the days since the Water.
Once we reached the great hall, the family formed a receiving line. I attempted to press closer to my cousin, to draw from his strength and offer him a measure of mine. But Grandmother Odessa and my mother found their way between us. And then came face after face, hundreds of respects paid in whispered tones of sorrow.
Many of our elicromancer relatives, however distant, had materialized in Arna for the funeral. The royal generation of a century ago had been on friendlier terms than had been previously customary among the three kingdoms of Nissera. The resulting intermarrying of their children meant I possessed handfuls of royal and noble relatives, most with magic in their blood.
Three of my cousins from Volarre floated toward me as though a spring breeze carried them on an invisible chariot. Since I’d last seen the Lorenthi sisters, the eldest two had matured enough for elicromancy to halt their aging, making them nearly impossible to tell apart. They were all blond, fair, and willowy, including their brother, who was notably absent. While they offered their condolences and lauded Ivria’s beauty and taste in fashion, I met eyes with Knox over the eldest’s shoulder. He cringed and looked away. His gift of empathy made funerals especially difficult for him. I imagined all the grief in the room assailing his senses.
I snapped back to find the Lorenthi sisters studying the unadorned space at my sternum where an elicrin stone should have been. “You must visit us soon, Cousin Valory,” the eldest said, her head tilted in a show of sympathy. “Know you have a home with us, if you find you’re no longer welcome here.”
No longer welcome here?
A sickly taste scraped up my throat. I glanced at Knox again and realized that hardly anyone had met
my eyes since I’d emerged from my room, pursued by guards, to attend the ceremony. Most guests averted their gaze, focusing on the next person in line before they finished muttering respects to me. As I watched them warmly greet other family members, even Melkior, I had to wonder what version of events had circulated and what speculations had arisen.
I’d understood that the catastrophe at the Water was steeped in some measure of controversy. But I’d thought that after the dust settled, everyone would understand that I had only tried to save someone I loved.
I hurried to find Ander, dodging somber appraisals left and right. But when I squeezed his forearm to announce my presence, he shifted away from me.
“Ander…” I said, shocked to look up and see his jaw set and his gray eyes alight.
“Do you have no respect?” he demanded.
“What?” I asked, stunned to near breathlessness. How could he be angry with me? Did he think…did he think I had hurt Ivria?
There were elicromancers who could draw the truth out of people. The diadem could be used to detect flagrant deceit. I would stand on the dais and let the truth echo off the gleaming marble if need be. Not a single person could be permitted to doubt that I would have died in Ivria’s place had the choice been mine—especially not Ander.
Aunt Sylvana turned to us with sluggish disapproval. Uncle Prosper said, “Not here, Oleander.”
Ander’s nostrils flared. He cupped my elbow and spurred me behind one of the massive marble pillars flanking the room. But by that time, his rage had broken down and reconstructed itself as sorrow. He shook his head. “She could have survived.”
“I know,” I said, choking up as I gripped his shoulder. “She seemed to think she had no choice, but she didn’t have to—”
He wrenched out of my grasp as though my fingers were hot irons. Anger had taken his features captive once more.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m saying you shouldn’t have gone in after her. She was gifted, Valory. You are not. When you touched the Water instead of trusting she would survive on her own, you ruined everything.”
His accusation stole the air from my lungs. This Ander was a stranger.
“And now the Water has dried up,” he went on, grinding the shattered pieces of me underfoot. “What will I tell my children when they age before I do? How will I explain to them why magic is not a part of their lives or their lineage?”
“Ander, I had to do something. She said she sensed her own death. She was never wrong.”
“Exactly,” he agreed sharply. “Her gift was sophisticated. She would have survived. It was natural for her to be nervous. Nerves don’t mean anything.”
“You didn’t see her face. You didn’t hear her voice.” I realized by now we were both shouting, but I didn’t care. “I couldn’t let her die.”
“You defied the tenets and touched the Water without permission. You confused it. You broke it. You showed no hint of an elicrin gift, yet you’re the one standing here. It spared you and it killed her. It should have spared her and killed you, and everyone knows it.”
Nearby onlookers gasped at the venom in his voice. I wanted to collapse in a heap, or spit in his face, but I stood motionless, fists clenched at my sides.
A seething strangeness started to boil inside me. The chairs and tables nearest us began to rattle. A tapestry on the wall ripped down, unraveling to tatters.
At first, Ander stared openmouthed at the effects of my unexpected power. Then his crest-shaped elicrin stone lit up and a protective crystal armor began to creep from his fingertips to his wrists and up his arms. I had only seen him engage his Armamenter gift during combat lessons at the academy. My pulse pounded in my palms and a primal fear set my blood ablaze. A chair snapped to pieces and clattered to the marble like firewood split with an axe.
“Get her under control!” I heard Uncle Prosper say. His voice cut through the haze of fury. Someone yanked my elbow and twisted my arms behind my back. A muscle in my shoulder revolted against the use of force and I let out a yelp of pain. The surge of unsettling power inside me abated, leaving me trembling.
“Let her go!” My mother gave a rare command, pushing through the crowd. Her teal elicrin stone flickered like lightning over the ocean. The guard had no choice but to obey and unhand me.
King Tiernan appeared out of nowhere, squaring himself between Ander and me. In court, materializing over short distances was seen as a display of vanity and laziness for elicromancers, but this clearly constituted an exception. The king’s personal guard—a Neutralizer—appeared just behind him, wearing an oval elicrin stone of rough, grayish crystal.
“Settle down, Oleander, Valory,” the king said.
Ander clenched his teeth, but the layer of impenetrable crystal crawling over his skin slowed and reversed. Engaging me in earnest combat would have amounted to unauthorized use of elicromancy, which warranted neutralization and a harsh penalty of surrendering his elicrin stone for five years.
I loosened my fists. Underneath Ander’s anger, his grief was as raw as my own. Exhaling a rattling breath, I reassured myself that the Conclave showed more grace to pupils who could not yet harness their gifts.
Before I gathered words to make an apology or rebuttal—I wasn’t sure which would emerge—my mother guided me toward the foyer. The ogling guests parted before us. She didn’t speak as we hurried down the entranceway steps and stopped by one of the expansive arches leading to the gardens.
“I don’t understand,” I said as we crossed the terrace. “What is this?” I flattened my palms on my chest and looked at her, helpless.
“I don’t know, darling,” she said, sweeping a lock of dark hair away from her high cheekbone.
“What will happen to me?”
“You’ve always followed the rules and respected authority. You’re not given to outbursts. The Conclave knows that.”
Her voice didn’t waver, but alarm crossed her face.
Victor jogged down the steps to catch up with us, his broad shoulders tense. “What were you thinking, giving that guard an unauthorized command?” he asked her.
“He was hurting my daughter.”
“They could choose to punish you—”
“At most they’ll confiscate my elicrin stone for a few weeks,” she snapped. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
Victor sighed, scratching his dark beard, and looked at me. “Your hearing will take place today.”
“But she’s supposed to have until tomorrow to prepare her testimony.” Mother gripped his hand, eyes pleading. She needed him as I needed her: not at all, and yet in every way.
“We can’t delay, not after that spectacle.”
I bit down hard on my bottom lip. Whatever the vote came to, Victor would cast his in my favor. But he was just one person and not altogether eloquent. He would make a lackluster argument about what a rule-follower I was.
“Prosper will likely recuse himself and be replaced by another elicromancer,” my mother said, taking on a look of determination as she turned to me. “Valory, listen. Go put on a very dull dress—”
“Is her wardrobe a concern right now?”
She ignored Victor and stroked my chestnut locks. “Have Ellen braid your hair the way she used to when you were younger. Write a statement and I will deliver it to the Conclave prior to your hearing. It will prevent you from misspeaking or becoming overemotional. Be calm. Be pliable. Say as little as possible. They just want to see that you can and will follow their commands.”
My heavy heart somehow managed to flit like manic hummingbird wings. I had never thought to fear the Conclave. My fears had always revolved around embarrassing my prominent family, as my father had. Before his death, he had shown great proclivity for elicromancy, but he had refused to risk the Water and realize his potential.
My mother had just given me more commands in a few breaths than she had in years.
Perhaps my fears had been misplaced.
N hour after I handed
over my statement, the Neutralizer came to collect me.
I wore a plain dark blue dress, one I might have donned to walk the grounds with Ivria and Calanthe or to shop in Arna without attracting stares. The box holding the diadem trembled imperceptibly in my hands.
I had seen the Conclave chamber before, though never with permission. Ivria, Ander, and I used to roam the vast palace looking for secret rooms or passages. But one day we seemed to know every closet and corner as well as you’d know a familiar book of children’s stories. The mystery had vanished.
Tall lancet windows lined the back wall, overlooking the city to the south. Three steps led up to a dais with a throne and chairs on either side. While reviewing affairs of state, the king would sit on his throne with his advisors on the flanks. During Conclave meetings, the throne remained empty to symbolize the equality of all voices present. Within this room, there were no kings, no elicromancers, no powerless mortals—just ten people responsible for governing the academy and ensuring that its graduates adhered to the magical laws of the land. The Conclave answered not to King Tiernan, but to the Realm Alliance, the larger political union presiding over all of Nissera.
Despite the promise of unbiased governance, I couldn’t resist categorizing the ten Conclave members into factions. There were five mortals and five elicromancers, five nobles and five without titles. One of the mortals had once been an elicromancer but had given up his stone as the tenets required and now aged normally. The commoners and mortals were here to hold their more powerful counterparts accountable.
My knees felt feeble as I stepped into the room and the doors slammed shut. The Neutralizer lingered stoically behind me. A record keeper scratched away despite the heavy silence.
“We have reviewed your account of the events, Mistress Braiosa,” said Jovie’s father, Glend Neswick, a bearded mortal with thinning ash-brown hair. He sat directly to the left of the imposing throne. “Do you have anything to add for the Conclave’s consideration?”
