Twinchantment

by Elise Allen

  And the smell of lavender still made her sick.

  Sara moved to Flissa and put an arm around her. “Fliss, I get it. I do. There are bad mages. Seriously bad. I’m just saying they’re not all like that.”

  Primka fluttered down to Sara’s shoulder. “Right,” she said. “Some of them are Keepers of the Light. And others, good souls like myself and Katya and the two of you, who make sacrifices and do what we need so we can follow the rules.”

  “Until a better way comes along,” Flissa said, echoing her mother’s words on the topic. “One with more shades of gray that still keeps us all safe.”

  “Right,” Sara snorted. “And in the meantime we’re sharing a life.”

  Flissa shrugged. “What’s wrong with sharing a life? I think we’re lucky. If I didn’t have you, I’d have to make appearances, and do Weekly Addresses, and endure county festivals—”

  “County festivals are fun,” Sara countered. “You get to meet all kinds of people.”

  “Which you love to do. And I get to compete in archery tournaments, and fencing matches, and ride up and down the countryside in royal processions. Would you want to do any of those things?”

  “Have you met me?” Sara said. “I’d get shot by an arrow, stabbed, and trampled.”

  “See?” Flissa grinned. “Being Flissara is perfect.”

  “It does seem to suit you,” Primka sighed. She flitted behind Flissa and hovered in the air. “Down, please.”

  Flissa obediently took her hair out of the high ponytail, and Primka began expertly braiding it with her feet while flapping her wings to hover in midair.

  “Though it would take both of you to get through a royal ball without disaster,” Primka said. “Flissa, you’re a symphony on your feet, but you make terrible conversation—”

  “With princes and princesses I don’t even know or like,” Flissa countered.

  “While, you, Sara, can light up the room with your chatter,” Primka said. “But you’ll get your dress caught in the tablecloth and pull an entire banquet to the floor.”

  “That happened once!” Sara objected. “And the banquet meal was liver with onions. Everyone should have thanked me.”

  “But they didn’t,” Flissa said. “Now I’m the one who gets sent all the time, which means I have to dance with the sons of earls and dukes and touch their sweaty hands. It’s horrible.”

  Sara belly flopped onto a pile of laundry on her side of the room, and Flissa heard something under the pile crack. “Then let’s change things up,” Sara said excitedly. “Let’s not wait until a better way comes along—let’s make a better way come along. Our Ascension Ceremony’s next week, right? Once it’s over, and we’re officially in line for the throne, let’s just tell the truth!”

  “The truth?” Flissa echoed. “About us?”

  “The truth?!” Primka exploded, and from the sound of her voice, Flissa had no doubt that if the bird hadn’t had her feet full of Flissa’s braids, she’d be flapping in Sara’s face. “The truth is that Ascension Ceremony or no, the Keepers would know you’re in violation of the Magic Eradication Act. You’d lose all your royal rights, and the two of you—plus anyone else who knew the truth, like your parents, and Katya, and me—would most likely be executed for actively deceiving the kingdom.”

  Sara’s jaw dropped, and she stared at Primka as if she’d never seen the bird before. “Executed?”

  Flissa nodded. “Or sent to the Twists. Which is just as bad.”

  “Worse,” Primka said.

  For once in their lives, Sara was stunned into silence, which to Flissa made no sense. It’s not like the Magic Eradication Act was news. After all these years, it was still posted all over Kaloon, and their dad even read it out loud every year on the anniversary of Grosselor’s triumph to celebrate the birth of the Keepers. Ascension Day wouldn’t change anything. The rules were the rules, and they’d known them since they were born. Flissa and Sara were twins. Simply by existing they were in violation of the most important law of the land. So as long as they or anyone they cared about lived in Kaloon, they had to keep their secret and share an identity. It was that simple.

  An eerily soft, slow knock at their door broke the silence.

  Flissa’s heart thudded. Only a few people were allowed in the Residence, and none of them knocked like that.

  Sara nodded to Flissa, an unsaid You take it.

  “Hello?” Flissa called, straining to keep her voice normal.

  “Girls?”

  It was their father, but there was something about his voice. Flissa couldn’t explain it, but she had a horrible feeling that something was terribly wrong. She wanted to keep the door shut and never find out what was waiting for them on the other side, but Sara was already flinging it open.

  Their father tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace. His mustache drooped. And though he tried to blink it away, his brown eyes watered.

  He took Sara’s hand and beckoned for Flissa to join them.

  Flissa’s legs felt like noodles, but she somehow made it across the room. Her father took her hand and squeezed it gently.

  “I have something to tell you, but I promise you I’m going to find a way to make it better.”

  Flissa glanced at Sara, but Sara wouldn’t tear her eyes from their father for even a second.

  “It’s your mother,” he said. “I found her when I came back to our room. She told me something happened on her ride. She somehow made it back home, but…”

  He glanced away and pursed his lips, collecting himself, while Flissa heard the blood whooshing in her ears.

  Their mother. Something horrible had happened to their mother.

  “Is she okay?” Sara asked.

  Their father shook his head the tiniest bit. “She tried to tell me what happened,” he said, “but she had so little strength…”

  Flissa reached out her free hand and took hold of Sara’s. She squeezed and waited an eternity for what their father would say next, but her heart was pounding so loudly she wasn’t sure she’d even hear him. When he finally opened his mouth, her stomach clenched.

  “I believe…”

  His mustache curled down further and his voice cracked the tiniest bit. Flissa gripped Sara’s hand harder as their father set his jaw and released the words she wished he could take back.

  “I believe she was cursed.”

  Sara didn’t believe it. Their mother couldn’t have actually been cursed. Curses didn’t happen in Kaloon. Sara hated the Keepers of the Light, but the one thing they were good at was keeping harmful magic away from the kingdom, so Mom being cursed was just impossible.

  Flissa didn’t feel the same way, Sara could tell. Her sister’s hand was getting clammier in hers with every step they took toward their parents’ bedchamber.

  In some ways, Flissa was the bravest person Sara knew. She hopped on untamed horses and rode the bucking beasts until they nuzzled her and ate out of her hand. She played physical combat games against Kaloon’s young soldiers and won. She swung on vines over nettle patches and didn’t break a sweat.

  But a threat to their family? That had her pale and shaking. Sara tried to squeeze some of her own confidence into her sister’s hand.

  “I don’t know if I can do it, Sara,” Flissa whispered. “What if she’s—”

  “She’s fine,” Sara whispered back. “Or she will be. I know it.”

  Just ahead of them, their father reached the thick wooden door of the bedchamber, carved with stories of Kaloon’s history. Sara had spent hours sitting cross-legged in front of it, drifting into imagined moments from each vignette, but now she only got a glimpse before their dad pushed it open.

  Primka zipped in first, and Sara saw her fly up to a hulking figure bent over the bed.

  Katya.

  Sara hadn’t realized she’d tightened her whole body until she suddenly let it go.

  “Katya’s here,” she whispered to Flissa. “It’ll all be okay.”

  Katya w
asn’t just the twins’ nursemaid—she helped the whole family. She’d started working in the palace when Dad was born, so their family was like her own. And Katya trusted them with her life—the royal family and Primka were the only ones who knew she had magic.

  Whatever was wrong with Queen Latonya, Katya would fix it.

  Flissa nodded, but her hand was still slippery in Sara’s. Sara squeezed it, then led them closer to the bed.

  “Mom?”

  Katya turned. Her pillowy face, normally creased with endless laugh lines, was flat and serious. Her constantly dancing blue eyes were now fixed like stones.

  One look from that face stopped Sara and Flissa in their tracks.

  “Slowly now,” she said, her voice gentle despite the warning on her face. “These are deep, cold waters. Best you don’t dive in.”

  Flissa’s hand was suddenly ice. Sara had to squeeze it several times to urge her slowly forward. They moved to the opposite side of the bed from Katya and Primka.

  Their mom barely made a lump in the covers, as if she had shrunk into herself. Sara took deep breaths as she inched closer, trying to prepare herself for whatever she might see on Queen Latonya’s face, but when she actually saw it, she nearly doubled over. Next to her, Flissa went rigid and sucked in a breath.

  Their mother had always been beautiful. Perfect features, with a wide corona of dark curls. Now those curls lay limp and streaked with white. Her cheekbones jutted sharply from her suddenly sunken face. Her mouth hung slack, and her eyes were open but rolled back—they only saw the slim lower crescents of her pupils; the rest was all rheumy white.

  Sara stared at her chest to make sure she was breathing.

  She was. Barely.

  “It’s worse than it was when I left her,” their father admitted. “At first I thought it was the flu, but—”

  “But the flu doesn’t age you forty years in just a few hours,” Katya said. “You were right to come get me.”

  Sara leaned closer. “Mom?”

  She hoped for any kind of response, even the slightest twitch, but their mother didn’t move until suddenly she coughed so violently she thrashed against the mattress. A thick green cloud burst out of her mouth and hovered above her.

  “No.”

  Their father’s voice was a thundering growl. Sara and Flissa turned to see him at the foot of the bed, gripping both bedposts with white knuckles. His nostrils flared with rage.

  “Sweet merciful heavens,” Katya muttered. “Back away, girls. Quickly.”

  They did without question. Sara watched in horror as her mom’s coughing subsided and the green mist seeped back inside her mouth, her nose…even her eyes.

  Sara’s breath caught in her throat. When she found her voice, she shrieked.

  “A doctor! We have to get a doctor!”

  She turned to run out and get one herself, but she tripped on the carpet. Flissa caught her.

  “No,” their father snapped. “No doctor.”

  “What?!” Sara retorted. “Dad, seriously? Didn’t you see that green…stuff?”

  “It’s not ‘stuff,’” her father said tightly. “It’s a curse. The curse.” He turned to Katya. “You see it too, don’t you? The same as before.”

  “I’d recognize it anywhere,” the nursemaid said sadly. “I’ve been seeing in it my nightmares for the last twelve years.”

  Sara’s eyes whipped back and forth from one to the other. “I don’t get it. What are you talking about?”

  “The curse, Sara,” Flissa said softly. “The one Gilward put on her when she was pregnant. The one that was supposed to kill her…and us too. It looked just like that mist.”

  “Which means Gilward has struck again,” the king said through clenched teeth. His shoulders tensed as he gripped the bedposts even tighter.

  Sara eased her body against the side of the bed, letting it hold her up. She was dizzy and couldn’t catch a full breath. If Gilward was back in Kaloon, he could finish what he started twelve years ago. He could kill them all.

  Flissa must have been just as worried because her words tumbled out in a wild avalanche. “No,” she said frantically. “Gilward’s in the Twists. No one escapes from the Twists. The Keepers of the Light combined their magic to make it incredibly strong. And the border recognizes and remembers the magical traces of everyone exiled there. If an exile tries to use that magic, the border absorbs it. That means even the most powerful dark mages working together can’t get out of the Twists. They can’t! That’s what keeps Kaloon safe!”

  Sara found strength in her sister’s certainty. She stood tall again. “Right,” she said. “And I bet lots of things can make green mist. Like…I don’t know…a poisonous plant. Or bad food, maybe. What if the kitchen workers cooked something spoiled and now it’s just rotting in her body and the green stuff’s coming from that?”

  Primka flittered over and waved a wing at Sara’s hand. Sara held it out like she’d been taught to do since she and Flissa were tiny. Primka perched on her palm, and Sara raised her to eye level.

  “Sara,” the songbird said gently, “I know you don’t always keep up with your magical history lessons, but Flissa can tell you we did cover this. Every mage is different, and each one’s spells leave a unique magical trace. This mist, this specific mist, is Gilward’s. Only Gilward’s.”

  Sara looked to Flissa, a question in her eyes. Flissa nodded slightly, then bit her lip.

  “I know you’re right,” Flissa said, “but unless Mom was riding in the Twists, how would Gilward get to her? How could he possibly get out?”

  “The Keepers of the Light,” their father huffed. He let go of the bedposts and paced up and down the chamber like a lion. “They’re the only ones who could get him out.”

  Every nerve in Sara’s body zinged to life. Did her father say he thought the Keepers were behind this?

  “But that’s ridiculous,” Flissa said. “The Keepers of the Light keep us safe. They would never—”

  “It’s Prince Alistair all over again,” their dad said, and Sara wasn’t sure if he was talking to them or to himself. “Another Dark Magic Uprising. They’ve been biding their time. Now Ascension Day is coming, and they think they’ll do the same thing to me that they did to King Lamar. But I won’t allow it!”

  He punched his fist against the wall, and it boomed like cannon fire. Sara jumped, and her mind raced to keep up with what her dad was implying. “Wait-wait-wait—you think the Keepers helped Gilward curse Mom?!”

  “He doesn’t,” Flissa said quickly. “That would be crazy. The Keepers are on our side. If we really think Gilward did this, we should tell the Keepers. Then—”

  “No!” their father snapped, true fury in his eyes. “Flissa, I forbid you to tell the Keepers a single word about this. Same goes for you, Sara. I meant what I said: Gilward could never get out of the Twists without magical help. I don’t know how many of the Keepers are plotting against us, but we have to suspect them all.”

  Flissa’s brow knit together as she frowned. “Even Grosselor?”

  “All of them,” their father said. Then he turned to Katya. Sara saw his face redden, but his voice remained strong as he asked, “How long does she have?”

  The large nursemaid peered down at the girls’ mother. Katya took a deep breath, closed her eyes, then let her hands hover over Queen Latonya’s body, circling them above her head and chest.

  When Katya opened her eyes again, she spoke solemnly to the king. “The curse is strong. I can feel it moving through her body. I’d say she has less than forty-eight hours.”

  “Until she dies?” Sara exploded. She turned to her sister, and immediately regretted saying the word out loud. Flissa was stiff and pale, her terrified eyes wide as moons.

  Their father raced to their side and bundled them into his arms. Sara hugged him tight and let herself melt into him.

  “That won’t happen,” King Edwin assured them both. “A curse can only be removed by the mage who cast it, so I’ll find Gi
lward. I guarantee he’s still in the kingdom. I’ll take my finest Royal Guards—ones I can truly trust—and we’ll quietly scour the palace and everything around it. We’ll find Gilward long before anyone knows we’re even looking. And once he removes the curse,” the king added through gritted teeth, “we’ll find out which Keepers were helping him, and we’ll take care of them as well.”

  “How do you know Gilward is in Kaloon?” Katya asked from the other side of the bed. “What if he’s already disappeared back into the Twists?”

  “No one would ever voluntarily go back to the Twists,” the king retorted. “It’s a hellscape.”

  Primka leaned out from her perch on the night table. “Gilward might go back,” she offered, “if he thought the hellscape was safer than staying in the kingdom with you on his tail.”

  She fluffed her feathers to twice their normal girth, as if hiding from her own impertinence.

  “I don’t believe that,” the king said. “This—what he did to Latonya—it’s a message. To break me before Princess Flissara’s Ascension Day, just like they did with King Lamar.”

  Sara watched her father’s mouth twist in rage. His mustache stuck out in twin pitchfork points, and she heard the smack of flesh on flesh as he pounded his fist into his hand for emphasis. “Gilward is here, in my kingdom, and I will not let him destroy it or my family!”

  “Do you really believe the dark mages will come after us on Ascension Day?” Flissa asked, her voice high and small. “And the Keepers will help them?”

  Sara watched her dad’s mustache droop sadly as he saw Flissa’s scared and uncomprehending face. He placed a hand on each of their shoulders.

  “You will be fine,” he said. “I truly believe you are in no immediate danger until Ascension Day, and I promise you, I will have this well in hand before then.”

  Sara believed him. She nodded.

  Flissa, she could tell, did not. She was probably too scared.

  “Still, I need you to be extra cautious,” their dad continued. “We can’t let anyone know what happened to your mother, and we can’t act as if we suspect a thing. Go about your royal duties as always. I’ll do the same, but trust that my Guards will always be out there, and I’ll join them every moment I can do so without rousing suspicion. We won’t rest until Gilward has removed the curse from your mother and this household is completely out of danger. Do you understand?”