by Kaylin Lee
I watched him silently. He seemed sorry, but was it an act? How could I be sure?
I clenched my jaw. We couldn’t keep living this way. I didn’t know how much longer I could continue to run the bakery and support Zel and the twins on my own in my current state. We needed help. We needed someone we could trust with Zel’s secret, and Weslan was the only one who knew. But trusting Weslan again could be just as dangerous. This was impossible.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but indecision closed my throat. I looked down at the knife in my hand. We were trapped, as always.
Either I kept pushing myself to the brink of exhaustion and madness, with no idea how much more I could take, or I accepted help, never knowing if it would blow up in our faces. For some reason in that instant, I thought of my father’s old friend, Gregor. He’d been the first spice merchant in the city to sell imported ingredients after the gates were unsealed, when the city trackers had learned how to inspect imports for traces of the plague.
Everyone had hated Gregor for taking that risk. But his shop had been the first on our lane to recover from the plague, and he supplied half the merchants in the quarter now. What was worse? To risk everything for the future? Or to have no future at all?
I placed the knife on the cutting board and faced Weslan. “Should we sit down? I'm so tired, I’m asleep on my feet.”
He nodded hesitantly, pulled out a chair for me, and took the chair across the table. He tapped his fingers restlessly and ran them across the table’s rough surface in a nervous gesture. “I am so sorry.” His voice cracked, and he coughed again. “I am so very, very sorry. I didn't mean to scare you or threaten you.” He shook his head vehemently. “I've never done anything like that before. It’s not right, and I can't just let it go.”
His expression was bleak, as though the light had gone right out of him, as though the layers of arrogance and charisma had been stripped away, revealing the real Weslan underneath.
I clasped my hands in my lap. “What do you mean, you can't let it go?”
“I want to …” He stumbled over his words. “I want to share something with you. I want you to have a way to know, for certain, that you can trust me from now on.”
What did that mean, exactly?
“How much do you know about mages?”
“Not that much,” I confessed. “Only the basics. Absorbent versus expellant, that sort of thing. And some of the history.” I hesitated. “That you … they … the Kireth were a race of mages who invaded from the North. And they used to rule over everyone, enslaving us, treating the Fenra like animals. But seven hundred years ago, the founding families of Asylia revolted against the invaders and forced the most powerful mages to help them create the first walled city, then trapped them there. And other Fenra people followed suit, establishing the other walled cities of Theros.”
The words sounded awkward on my tongue. It was one thing to learn about the evil mages of Kireth in history class, but it was quite another to recount the story in the presence of one.
He nodded, his face serious. “It’s true that before the walled cities were founded, the mages of Kireth ran wild and used their powers for cruelty and gain, simply because they could. But do you know how the original Procus families gained the upper hand?”
“By banding together?” No one had ever covered that in history class. It had always been so distant, so obvious. A seven-hundred-year old twist of history that had been inevitable, no longer worth questioning. Moral of the story? Don’t trust mages, and don’t treat Fenra people like animals. They’ll get you back eventually.
He took a deep breath and blew it out. “There was one Kireth mage who was even greedier and more violent than all the rest. They called him Death’s Master, because he had the Touch, like Zel. He didn’t only want to subjugate humans. He wanted to subjugate other mages, too, and create an empire across the whole continent. The Master was a powerful absorbent mage, but more than that, he was clever and ruthless.
“Through cruel experiments, he discovered a way to derive the magical core of a mage’s spirit. I think it came from an ancient ceremony of some kind. Once he had found that core and derived its essence—its True Name—he could control it.”
“Control it? Control … other mages?”
“Yes. The founding Procus families were a group of Fenra men and women who heard about this mage, about the empire he was building for himself. They were crafty enough to realize what he had been too greedy and shortsighted to consider—that if all that was needed was to find out a mage’s True Name, what was to stop a Fenra human from using the True Name to control a mage?”
A chill went down my spine at his words, and the incongruous pieces of our history began to click into place.
“They used certain unsavory methods—nothing worse than what the mages had been doing to them for three centuries, of course—and they found out the names of a few powerful mages who were not under the control of the Master. They forced these mages to overthrow the Master and take control of his subjects, relaying their True Names to their human controllers.
“By the time they conquered him, the founding families knew the True Names of scores of mages. They decided to consolidate control. They set up a walled encampment and forced the mages they controlled inside. The humans made the mages use their powers to serve the encampment, to create things humans had long labored for like shelter, healing, clean water, food, and safety.”
I had written these points on my ill-fated final exam. The founding families were our city’s heroes, the ones who had changed everything for the Fenra people. The mages, working for the humans, had built our first civilized settlements, and those had become the walled cities we lived in today. “I’ve never heard of this True Name.” Morbid curiosity made me ask, “Do they still use it?” How fantastical, like something that belonged in one of the fabulator crystals that Alba and Bri loved so much. Fantastic but terrible too.
Weslan swallowed. “Yes,” he said tightly, “they do.”
“Do they … the government … control you?” I whispered. Our conversation had gone from strange to terrifying. My tiredness evaporated on a wave of fear.
“They do.”
I tore my gaze away from his strained expression. My hands clutched the table’s edge. He was under government control! He knew everything about our family, every law we had broken, all the secrets we had been hiding for years—
“No, no, no!” He interrupted my whirling thoughts. “You don’t need to worry about your family, Ella. Really, you don’t. The government doesn’t want me anymore. They don’t think of me as any sort of asset, anyway.” He rubbed his palms on his trousers. “I was more trouble than my two-bit talent was worth. That’s not why I’m telling you this. But first, you need to know something else.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and huddled forward in my chair. What else was he going to shock me with today? I didn’t know how much more I could take.
He cleared his throat and looked over my shoulder for a moment. “Back when I was at the Mage Academy, I wasn’t a great student.”
What could I say to that?
His words tumbled out in a rush. “I mean, I did some bad things. A lot of bad things. I just wanted to fool around and have fun. I didn’t care about developing my talent or getting a good government job. I knew I would find a patronage like everyone else in my family, and thanks to my family, I had offers by the time I graduated.”
So he had taken a Procus patron after all. I nodded to show I was listening.
“When I moved into my patron’s compound, I was still young. Immature. I shouldn’t have been there. I didn’t deserve to be there, but I thought I deserved that much and more. I kept up my old tricks—playing pranks, acting dumb, trying to be funny, trying to get this one girl’s attention.” He looked disgusted with himself.
I couldn’t help but interrupt. “But surely all young mages are the same at that age. And the young Procus lords too. It’
s not just you.”
He stared at the wall and continued as though I hadn’t spoken. “I finally got her attention. She was the granddaughter of my patron. I felt like it gave me some form of power over her family, but really, they had complete power over me.
“Then one day, we got caught. They told her grandfather, my patron, and he went into a rage. I had tried his patience too many times. The pranks were one thing, but laying my worthless mage hands”—he avoided meeting my eyes—“on his precious granddaughter was the last straw. He had me cast out of the Mage Division and blacklisted from any other Procus patron. He said my minor talent wasn’t worth the trouble I caused, and that was enough for the Mage Division authorities.
“My mother risked everything to see me before I was kicked out. She told me that the Golden Loaf was known for taking in the … unwanted … and she hinted that other cast-off mages had found shelter here before. She didn’t know that your father and mother had passed. So I came to Zel and begged for shelter. She took a chance on me, and then—”
His voice cracked again, and he ran a hand through his hair. “I threw it back in her face. I scared you, and you were my last chance. You are my only chance for a fresh start before I really do lose everything. I can’t go back there, but not just because they won’t let me.”
Weslan leaned forward and met my eyes. “I don’t want to be that mage anymore. I want to change. And I don’t know how that’s going to happen, but somehow, I think I need to be here at the bakery. I see how hard you all work for so little, how you’re so afraid all the time—don’t deny it, I know that you are—and it kills me. I don’t know how to change, but if I can help you—if I can forget myself for a little while and be here, help the bakery survive, and help you pay the tax—maybe I’ll figure it out.”
Weslan had been breathtakingly handsome the day Zel introduced us in the entryway of the bakery. He was still handsome but in a leaner, sharper way. He looked … raw. And for a moment, even marred by the dust and exhaustion of the past few days, he looked simply irresistible. It terrified me. Again, what was worse? To risk everything for the future? Or to have no future at all?
I forced myself to look away, knowing I’d stared at him far longer than was appropriate. “I … thank you for telling me.” I couldn’t help looking his way again. “I’m sorry for all the times I’ve said nasty things to you because you’re a mage. It can’t have made it any easier for you to make a fresh start, and I regret it now.”
He nodded, but his hands tapped a tattoo on the table. Was there something more he wanted to say? If possible, he seemed more nervous than when we had first started talking. “It’s fine, Ella.” His lips tilted up. “Most of the time you were right, anyway. But … I explained about True Names because I want to do something. For you. I want you to know you can trust me, to never fear being threatened by me again.”
I fought off a yawn. “What are you talking about?”
“I want to give you my True Name.”
My mouth dropped open. “Why? It’s fine, Weslan. As long as you stop drinking so much and you keep Zel’s secret and you … you help me, you can stay here. I need you to stay here.” It wasn’t until the words were out of my mouth that I realized they were true. Apparently, if I had to choose between staying safe and having a future, I’d choose the future, and that was that.
He shook his head. “You shouldn’t forgive me so quickly. You don’t know what an idiot I’ve been in the past. I-I can’t explain it. I just know this is something that I need to do for you. That I want to do for you. I hate seeing you constantly afraid, jumping at loud noises and looking over your shoulder. I hate hearing you cry out in your sleep at night.”
I pressed my lips together. I hadn’t realized he would be able to hear me from where he slept in the kitchen.
He continued. “I don’t want to ever again be someone else you have to fear. And this is my way to make sure that you will never, ever have to fear me.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I scrubbed my tired eyes. “I accept, if you’re serious about this. Whatever it takes for you to stay.”
“Good.” Then he spoke a word that sounded at once distant and achingly familiar, and it sank deep into my very bones. And though the language was one I didn’t speak and I couldn’t have written the word out if I’d tried, somehow, I knew that word.
I spoke it aloud, wondrously, relishing the soft tones on my tongue.
He stiffened at the sound and stared at me, eyes wide, and the slightest hint of regret flashed across his face.
“Oh, Ella, Weslan … what have you done?” Zel stood inside the doorway, staring at us in horror.
Chapter 8
Zel had sent us to bed the night before with nothing but an icy glare and a warning, but today, she’d dragged me from my bed as soon as the sun was up and begun to lecture me. “After everything, Ella! I can’t believe that you …” Zel pressed her hands against her eyes. We were seated at the old wooden table in her living quarters while the girls hid out on the rooftop and Weslan worked in the kitchen. His lecture was no doubt coming next.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t—”
“What were you thinking?” She dropped her hands and glared at me. “A bond like that? With Weslan, of all people? In Draicia, she—they controlled me with my True Name. They forced me to do horrible things, evil things. No one should have such control over another person!”
I shrank back in my seat. Zel had never told us how her captors in Draicia had controlled her. I only knew that she’d been forced to use her power against her will. “I didn’t know, Zel. But this is completely different—”
“It’s no different. In fact, it’s worse. They tortured me with the threat of killing my parents until I gave up my True Name, only to murder them before my eyes anyway. But you had a choice!”
The room spun around me. I’d never known … If I’d known …
“The True Name is old magic from the Ancient Ones, and even the old Kireth people knew not to use it. What makes you think you and Weslan know any better?”
I pressed my hands together in my lap. What could I possibly say to make it right?
“The Ancients used it for marriage ceremonies to tie two mages together for life. For life, Ella! But even they realized that it wasn’t right for husband and wife to control each other. And now you’ve gone and … I just … Oh, Ella.” Her shoulders slumped, and finally, she looked me in the eye. “Do you realize that for a commoner, holding the True Name of a mage is a treasonous offense?”
My lungs squeezed together. I took a gasping breath. “What?”
“If anyone ever finds out, they’ll execute you. Only a Procus or another mage in the structure of hierarchy here may hold a mage’s True Name. It’s rigidly controlled. Think about it. Every mage, even the weakest, can be wielded as a weapon, one which non-mages are helpless to defend against. If they know you can control Weslan, they can’t allow you to live and put the system at risk. It’s that simple. And the True Name bond lasts for a lifetime. There’s no taking it back now. The only way out is death.”
“I didn’t know.” I leaned forward against the table. “You have to believe me. And I’m sure Weslan didn’t realize either. He only wanted to assure me that I would be safe with him.”
Zel sighed. “I wish … Never mind. What’s done is done. But you must promise me that you will never use his name. Don’t do to him what they did to me.”
I nodded rapidly. “Of course! I won’t. I swear. Never. I would never do that.”
She stared at me, a sad look coming over her face. “I know.”
~
I went to the kitchen to begin preparations for the noon meal, and Alba passed me on the way. “You know what tomorrow is,” she sang giddily.
I was still smarting from Zel’s lecture, but I couldn’t help but smile at Alba’s excitement. “Tomorrow? What’s tomorrow?” I asked, feigning ignorance just to torment her. It was the twins’ thirteenth birthday, of cou
rse. As if I hadn’t been preparing for months now. We didn’t have much, but when it was someone’s birthday, we always had to do something special to celebrate.
My inner smirk must have shown on my face because she grinned at me. “You know!” she shouted. She twirled around on the landing, spinning her skirt as she laughed. “I can’t wait for tomorrow,” she sang, sounding exactly like Valencia, the dramatic woman from the fabulator crystals.
I shook my head, laughing despite myself, and descended the steps.
Later that day, Weslan joined me in the kitchen. He looked shaken after his meeting with Zel, and I wondered what exactly she had told him. When I asked, he shrugged it off, so I didn’t press.
Throughout the day, a gentle pull drew me to him. Was that the work of his True Name? We worked in silence in the kitchen, cleaning and preparing doughs for the next day, and I couldn’t shake a strange new awareness of his presence. Even when I went to my room or upstairs to visit with the twins, I never felt truly alone. I could still feel our connection. It was strange, but oddly comforting at the same time.
Weslan seemed to feel just the opposite. As the day went on, he grew increasingly tense. I regretted our decision, too, but there was nothing we could do now. I was willing to let it go. Why wasn’t he? Then it hit me—he was waiting for me to speak his Name again.
“I won’t do it, you know.” I wrung out a rag and hung it up to dry on the rack beside the sink. “I’ll never use your True Name. I promised Zel. And I’ll promise you too. I’ll never do it.”
Weslan paused, his fist still buried in a mound of soft, floury dough.
His hunched shoulders broke my heart. What had we been thinking? I couldn’t help myself. I reached up to his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Never. I’ll never use it.”
Finally, he met my eyes. “Thank you.” His voice was rough. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
I tore my gaze away and dropped my hand. I had a fierce desire to step closer and wrap my arms around him, so I took two steps away from him for good measure and forced myself to get back to cleaning. I watched him from the corner of my eye, and gradually, he relaxed.
