by Emma Fenton
Feodor gave an exaggerated gasp, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Did her majesty just confess to not liking someone?”
“If you tell anyone, I’ll have you thrown in the dungeons,” she said with mock seriousness, though she couldn’t quite seem to keep her smile tamped down. “And it’s just Ria, if you don’t mind.”
“Ria,” he repeated, testing out her name. He grinned like he’d just gotten the best present in the world. “Then I’ll be just Feodor.”
***
“So, of course I said, ‘Let them try to make the damn cows move. I wish them the best of luck.’” Duke Keffleton chuckled and took another big swig from his wine goblet.
Ria honestly had not been paying attention enough to know what Keffleton was talking about, but he seemed to find it humorous, so she chuckled as well. Across the table, she met Peryn’s gaze just as he rolled his eyes. Keffleton had been talking throughout most of dinner, only pausing to take a bite or drink.
“And would you believe it,” Keffleton continued. “They succeeded! Stole my cattle, actually, and I never saw them again.”
“Lucky them,” Peryn muttered. Ria kicked him under the table, pursing her lips to keep from smiling. The demon winced. Ria tried to remain stoic as her own shin received an identical pain only a split second later.
“Hm? Did you say something Lord Hollbrook?” Keffleton asked.
Peryn forced a smile. “Oh, just bad luck, that. Losing your cows, I mean.”
“Ah, well, I was cursed by a witch once. Abysmal luck ever since,” Keffleton said with a shrug. “But what’s two-hundred head of cattle to me when I’ve got three-thousand in total on my lands? Let me tell you, you don’t get that many cattle just overnight. When I inherited the land from my father, there were less than a dozen cattle. But I have a passion for agriculture.”
“You don’t say,” Feodor muttered from Ria’s left.
Just as Keffleton was apparently about to launch into another long-winded speech about exactly how he acquired so many cattle, a young serving girl shuffled into the dining hall with a small slip of paper in her hand. She handed it to Ria without a word and shuffled out. All eyes were on Ria as she unfolded the paper and read it. Her stomach churned as she read the Elder Scholar’s familiar script.
Death rises with the full moon.
Beware the usurper with nothing to lose.
Beware the usurper with everything to gain.
Beware the price that must be paid.
The prophecy. She had forgotten about it in the chaos of preparing for her fight with Jaya and everything that had come after. Why is he reminding me of this now? She looked down at the bottom of the page where a single line read:
Be wary, Ria. Fate is not yet done with us.
Ria stood as calmly as possible, her chair scraping loudly against the stone. All of the men stood too, as was polite.
“Is something the matter?” Lord Izan asked. “Forgive me, your majesty, but you don’t look well.”
“It’s nothing,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “I just need to see the Elder Scholar. He was reminding me that I need to pick up another salve for my scars.”
Ria met Peryn’s worried gaze but couldn’t say anything to him now.
“Scars?” Keffleton asked, looking horrified. Two pairs of eyes snapped towards him with nothing but disdain: Peryn’s and Feodor’s. “Good lord. Hardly the sort of thing one talks about in public.”
Under normal circumstances, she might have been angrier at Keffleton for having the nerve to be so scandalized by her battle wounds, especially since he didn’t seem to have any concern about what was “proper” to talk about in public when it came to his own dreadfully boring life. But right now, he was creating the perfect opportunity for her to make a hasty departure.
“Yes, I have scars,” Ria said coolly. “I am not ashamed of them, Duke Keffleton. And I resent the implication that you think I should be.”
Before the duke could respond, Ria stormed out of the room, only half-acting. She hurried towards the Elder Scholar’s study, paper clutched in her fist. What did the Elder Scholar mean, fate is not yet done with us? Referencing the prophecy, obviously, but which part?
Death rises with the full moon. That had been her parents. That had been the night that Ria had finally put together that the Elder Scholar could see the future, or at least glimpses of it. She knew this part was fulfilled already.
Beware the usurper with nothing to lose.
That’s me, Ria thought. She’d been desperate before her fight with Jaya. Her only options were to win or to die. And technically, she supposed she was a usurper. Jaya was the expected queen and Ria had overthrown her, albeit legally.
Beware the usurper with everything to gain. That was trickier. It could easily still be Ria, especially since with nothing to lose she had everything to gain from becoming queen. But then why say it twice? It’s redundant. Then it was safe to assume that line referred to someone else. And out of everyone, Izan was the most likely candidate. But does that mean he will usurp me? Or just that he is trying to?
Beware the price that must be paid. The most obvious answer was her deal with Peryn. If that was the case, then the fact that the prophecy was warning her about it only served to make her more nervous. But I have the power to deny any of Peryn’s outrageous requests, she thought. And I’m not going to agree to anything catastrophic. On purpose, at least.
But there was nothing more she could figure out without the Elder Scholar’s help. I’ll talk to him and see what he knows. Maybe he’s seen something a little more specific that could help.
She opened the door behind the suit of armor and slipped into his office, but it was empty. There was a kettle on the fire, steaming, and the sliced open frog on his work bench was still fresh enough to wiggle. It was clear that he’d dropped everything and left not long ago, not bothering to clean up or tuck away his notes. But he took the time to send me a note. Why? Unless…
Unless he wasn’t going to be able to warn her himself.
Ria frowned. That implied that he would be gone for some time, or else something would prevent them from meeting. If he’d felt the need to warn her, then something bad was definitely going to happen. Shocker, Ria thought dryly. She looked over at the bookshelf where she’d found the demon-summoning book. Maybe there’s something about prophecies over there, she thought. She browsed the shelves, picking up anything that looked like it might be relevant and sat them in a huge pile on the Elder Scholar’s desk.
She cracked one open—Tea Leaves, Tarot, and Toadstools: the Art of the Sight— and began to read.
***
Peryn found her two hours later hunched over a cup of tea, flipping the pages of a book with one hand and scribbling notes onto a piece of parchment with the other. Loose strands of her hair, which had been carefully braided into a bun this morning, hung loose around her face and she blew them out of her eyes with a puff of air. Her dark eyes flicked up briefly to acknowledge that she saw him before they returned to the page of the book she was almost done with. Just two more pages.
Peryn plucked one of the books stacked to her right and glanced at the title.
“Unlocking the Third Eye,” he read aloud. He raised a skeptical brow. “Planning on becoming a psychic, Ria?”
“No, just trying to understand one,” she said, jotting down one more quick sentence before closing the book in front of her. She picked up the slip of parchment that she’d received at dinner and passed it to the demon. “Here.”
Peryn frowned at the words. “This is...a really creepy poem?”
“No.” Ria rolled her eyes. “A prophecy.”
“Ria, prophecies are rare,” Peryn said. “And most of the time, they don’t come into fruition until long after the person who made the prophecy is dead. It’s probably nothing to worry about.”
“Except it’s already started.” She took the prophecy back from him. “Death on the full moon? My parents. Usurper w
ith nothing to lose? Me.”
Peryn sighed. “Look, prophecies are vague. Just because it could apply to you doesn’t mean that it does.”
Ria shook her head, lips pursed. “The Elder Scholar wouldn’t have warned me if he wasn’t sure. And once a prophecy is set into motion, you can’t avoid it. That’s what all the books say.”
“Why are you so sure that the Elder Scholar is right?”
Ria pressed her thumb to her collarbone, thinking. She hadn’t told Peryn about the Elder Scholar’s ability to see the future. It was a dangerous advantage that she didn’t want to give to her enemies, or to have taken away from her. But Peryn’s not really the enemy anymore, she reasoned.
“The Elder Scholar sees futures,” Ria said. She held up her hand when Peryn looked like he was about to interrupt. “Possible outcomes, if you will. And yes, he admits to having been wrong before. But he has guided me through the past two months without fail, helping to keep me alive, and everything he has warned me about has come to pass. If he thinks it’s important to warn me about the prophecy, then it probably is.”
Peryn chewed on the inside of his cheek. “You trust this Elder Scholar?”
“As much as I trust anyone.”
He hummed as he sat down in the chair across from her, picking up a tome from the pile she had not yet read through. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be overprepared.”
Ria hid her smile behind the pages of her own book.
Chapter Twelve
The prophecy weighed heavily on Ria’s mind for the next few days. Nothing in the Elder Scholar’s library had been particularly useful, and the Elder Scholar himself—the only person who could give her a glimpse into the future and the only person she truly trusted to guide her—had apparently decided to take an indefinite leave of absence. A part of her knew that he wouldn’t have left if he didn’t think it was the absolute best course of action, but that didn’t stop her from being furious. Master Ameer had abandoned her, leaving no indication of when he’d be back and with only a cryptic warning about a frustratingly vague prophecy to serve as guidance.
As could have been predicted, Peryn was no help whatsoever. Despite agreeing to help her keep an eye out for the Elder Scholar should the man decide to show up again—a task he approached with great reluctance and a not-insignificant amount of complaining—it seemed that the demon was determined not to put too much stock behind the prophecy.
“Fate and destiny are for the lazy,” he had said flippantly when they were alone in the Elder Scholar’s study. “We have the power to shape our own futures.”
“If that were true, I wouldn’t be stuck with you,” she’d said in response, hopeful that it would shut him up long enough for her to finish the book she was reading at the time. She should have known better.
“Oh, so you think we’re meant to be.” He pressed his hand to his chest dramatically and leaned back in his chair, smirking. “I’m touched.”
Peryn always twisted her words, always found a way to contort what she’d actually said into something he could use against her. It was his most dangerous quality: not his physical strength, not his short temper, not even the sheer magical power he wielded, but the way he could spin a misfortune into a miracle with a few well-placed words.
It was useful whenever Peryn played the role of the charming suitor, of course, and it made him an even more valuable ally than he already was, but Ria sometimes worried if he was playing her as much as he was everyone else. It bothered her that she was forced to trust him so much without knowing what his real motives and intentions were. It bothered her even more that sometimes she forgot exactly who and what he was, that sometimes she thought of him as an actual friend rather than the demon she accidentally bound to herself.
But she didn’t want to think about that too much, or else she’d get a headache trying to sort out what was real and what was an illusion. Instead, she busied herself with trying to learn everything she could about foresight, accepting Peryn’s help when he offered to skim through the Elder Scholar’s texts with her. Even though he scoffed at the very idea of destiny, he somehow always ended up in the chair across from her with a book of his own, feet propped up on the Elder Scholar’s desk, muttering about how ridiculous it all was.
When she wasn’t hiding away with Peryn, she spent most of her time learning Bokaine with Feodor in the library. It was a good distraction from the prophecy, and he, at least, didn’t give her a headache. Feodor was always straightforward, always polite. He was kind in ways that Ria wasn’t used to. He offered her his arm whenever they walked about the castle. He translated one of the smaller Bokaine books by hand so that she could read it now instead of waiting to learn the language. He patiently corrected her pronunciation, smiled so genuinely that it sometimes hurt to look at, and never once asked for anything in return.
But apparently spending so much time in the library with Feodor looked like she was strongly favoring him, and Duke Keffleton was unhappy. Unhappy enough that he complained to the Council.
“We’ve scheduled a hunt at Duke Keffleton’s request,” Vili informed them at breakfast. “For him and Ria, since he has not yet had the pleasure of her company.”
Ria resisted the urge to scowl. Anyone with eyes could see that she had no intention of pursuing Duke Keffleton, just as it was equally obvious that he had no real interest in her. In all the time since he’d arrived at the castle, he’d spoken to her directly only a handful of times and had not indicated any desire to do so until now. She had no doubt that this request for a hunting trip was fueled only by petty jealousy and Keffleton’s wounded pride at not having been her obvious favorite.
“I don’t think that would be proper for her majesty to be alone in the woods with Duke Keffleton,” Peryn said, startling everyone at the table. He had adopted an incredulous, disapproving expression, which Ria knew to be fake since the demon had no compunctions about spending time with her unchaperoned. But the tightness in his jaw seemed real enough, and though she couldn’t begin to guess at his true motives, she was grateful that Peryn was sparing her from having to spend hours with only Keffleton for company.
“I have to agree with Lord Hollbrook,” Feodor said, though it looked as if saying so was physically painful. Peryn hid his smirk behind his goblet.
Duke Keffleton scowled. “You spend hours alone with her in the library every day. How is that acceptable, but this isn’t?”
“Because the library is a public place where anyone is welcome,” Feodor snapped. “Do not accuse me of being untoward—”
“Then do not assume that I intend to act dishonorably,” Keffleton interrupted with the slam of his fist on the table, his face burning red with anger. Feodor stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor, fists clenched at his side. Keffleton rose as well, glaring at the Prince, and Ria wondered if they were really going to stoop to fighting at the table.
“If you have no ill intentions,” Peryn’s voice cut through the room, quiet but commanding, “then you will have no objection to us accompanying you.”
Duke Keffleton spluttered for a moment, his already red face turning a bit purple when he couldn’t come up with a rebuttal. Peryn was trying not to be too obvious in his amusement, but Ria could see how his eyes shone from across the table. She couldn’t deny that she enjoyed watching him back Keffleton into a corner; it was far easier to admire Peryn when she wasn’t on the receiving end of his manipulations.
“Fine,” Keffleton eventually conceded, still angry. He turned to sneer at Lord Izan. “And I suppose you’ll want to come along, too.”
“Since you asked,” Izan said, his smile just a bit too sharp to be construed as polite.
Which was how the hunting party of two had turned into a hunting party of five. Ria, for her part, was incredibly displeased about the whole ordeal. She had never cared for hunting in the slightest, though horseback riding was pleasant enough. But the midday heat was awful, and tromping through the woods on horseback in
search of a deer to kill wasn’t Ria’s idea of a good time.
Duke Keffleton, for all of his whining about never getting to spend any time with her, didn’t actually seem to intend to talk to Ria at all. The moment he’d gotten on his horse, he’d trotted off and was a good twenty paces in front of the rest of the group. Not that anyone was too eager to catch up. The man was miserable enough to be around even when he wasn’t in a foul mood.
But the primary source of her unease was that Lord Izan had a crossbow. He could “accidentally” misfire and kill her with one shot. Even though Ria didn’t think he’d risk it, she was sure to keep him in her periphery at all times. She suspected that Peryn had a similar thought process because he rode beside her, almost like a barrier between Izan and her, and the demon’s eyes flickered over to the other man every few seconds.
“I don’t know much about hunting,” Prince Feodor said from her other side. “In my country, there are no forests like this and most animals are either too venomous to eat, or not meaty enough to make it worth the effort.”
“I’m not a fan of hunting myself,” Ria said. “Most of it is just waiting, and I find I lack the patience and the time to waste.”
“Not exciting enough for you?” Peryn asked, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, dark eyes bright with amusement. “But I suppose you prefer combat over hunting.”
The hardest part, Ria decided, about Peryn posing as her suitor was that the rapport they had in private was neither polite enough for public consumption, nor appropriate for two people who were supposed to be nearly complete strangers. Perhaps that was why they hardly interacted in view of anyone else: because it was so strange to abandon their jabs at each other, to talk without thinly veiled threats or backhanded compliments. Strange to pretend that the weird intimacy forged between them by shared secrets and their magical bond didn’t exist.
“I hate to disappoint, Lord Hollbrook,” she said. “But I’m not nearly as bloodthirsty as you’d like to imagine.”
