The Potion Diaries 2

by Amy Alward

When we’re close to the end, Evie comes and stands behind me, and cold drafts of magic embed themselves in my hair, braiding strands of it with silver to match my dress. I give her a small smile, surprised to catch her eye in the mirror. It looks so pretty.

  ‘Oh!’ Evelyn cries out. The delicate stream of magic flowing from her hands turns into a gushing waterfall.

  I shout out in pain. The magic grips each strand of my hair like a vice, twisting it tighter and tighter. The stylists stand paralysed with shock and stare at Evelyn. She can’t stop. Her eyes are wide with panic.

  I fall out of the chair, unable to stand the relentless flow of magic.

  A guard bursts into the room.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ shouts Evelyn, but the guard ignores her. She grips Evie’s wrists with one hand, while with the other she flicks the security cap off a syringe. With one swift movement, she jabs the needle into Evelyn’s arm.

  With a very un-Princess-like grunt, Evelyn shuts off the magic flow.

  ‘Everybody out!’ shouts the guard. The stylists look all too happy to flee.

  Evie’s face is drenched with tears. ‘Oh, dragons, Sam, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need to see a doctor?’

  The pain disappeared when the magic stopped, so I gingerly touch my scalp. It’s almost solid with silver, like a helmet. ‘I think I’m okay . . . but I’m gonna need help removing this glamour.’

  Evie reaches to hug me, but the guard stops her. ‘Wait, your Highness, I need to run some checks.’

  For the first time, I get a proper look at the guard. She’s tall, like me, but unlike me she has lily-white skin that stands out against her smartly tailored black suit. But it’s her hair that’s most striking: copper as some of our mixing pots, it sparkles with natural bronze highlights. Even pulled back into its tight, no-nonsense braid, I feel a pang of envy. It’s stunning.

  ‘Look at me,’ the guard says to Evie. I’m surprised by how casual the guard is around the Princess – and equally by how meek Evie is in her presence. I don’t think I’d have the courage to boss her around like the guard is doing, but Evie is obeying her every command.

  I don’t think I’ve seen that before.

  The guard looks deep into Evie’s eyes, scrutinising her pupils. Then she lifts up Evelyn’s hands and checks for residual magic. ‘Are you feeling in control?’

  Evelyn nods. ‘I think so.’

  I breathe out a loud sigh of relief, then hang my head. I know exactly why the Princess’s magic is out of control: because I haven’t been focused enough to help her. After the ball it might be too late.

  When I look up again, the guard is still holding Evelyn’s hands, her thumb gently stroking the topside of her palm. Evelyn’s eyes are closed, but when they snap open and she sees me looking, she takes a step away from the guard, pulling her hands away.

  ‘Thank you for your service, Katrina. I feel much better now. That will be all.’

  Katrina doesn’t miss a beat. She bows low in response, then turns on her heels and leaves the room.

  My mind races a million miles a minute. ‘Wait, is that . . . ?’

  Evie looks towards the door and smiles. ‘Maybe.’ She turns back to me, her eyes sparkling, and my heart lifts. Katrina the guard. Who knew? ‘I promise to tell you all about it after the ball. But I think I have to go lay down if I’m going to recover in time. I’ll send the stylists back in – they have a de-glamourising shampoo they can use. I’m really very sorry again.’

  I nod. ‘No, sure – you need to rest. And you don’t have to be sorry. I’m the sorry one. I’m your alchemist and I haven’t made you the perfect mix.’

  ‘Then let’s both be sorry, and let’s forget about this for one night.’ Now she steps forward and kisses me on both cheeks. ‘I’ll see you later. Zain will come up about half an hour before your entrance, so you can chat. Don’t you and your escort get so smoochy that you forget to come to the ball, all right? I need you both there.’

  I blush. ‘I’ll be there, don’t worry.’

  ‘Well, good. Oh, and Sam – don’t forget to eat something. You’ll be grateful you did.’

  ‘Got it.’

  It’s still another hour until the styling team are through with me, and even with the glamour removed, when they’re finished I feel like a goddess. They’ve re-styled my hair so it’s as fun as my dress, plaiting it so that it falls into a fishtail braid over one shoulder, but they’ve curled some strands around my face in a way that hints to the same forties era that the dress plays on. For the first time, I’m wearing bright red lipstick, and my face has been smoothed by foundation so that it looks as if I don’t have a single flaw, even though I know I have a smattering of spots near my forehead. I never expected that make-up could perform this much magic. I smile at myself, tentatively.

  Once I’m primped, prepped and zipped into my dress, finally Evelyn’s entourage of people leave me alone in the room to wait for Zain. My heart feels like it’s about to pound right out of my chest. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I run through the plan: there’s going to be an indoor red carpet to walk, filled with celebrities – although thankfully the ball itself will be blissfully paparazzi-free. There are going to be several waltzes, and I need to accept invitations on my dance card, reserving the first and last for my escort. There’s going to be lots of tiny finger food on trays that I’m going to have to not spill down my dress. Okay, I cut myself some slack. I know exactly why I’m nervous. It’s the freaking Laville Ball.

  At least every time I quake, my dress seems to move in a very fluid way. Maybe Evelyn helped me chose it especially for that. I need Zain to calm me. Once I have him by my side, I’ll be ready to face anything.

  I prep the little bag that Evelyn gave me to accessorise my dress, but it’s so tiny I can barely fit a tube of lipgloss inside – let alone anything else. My old, battered leather cross-strap is lying on the table. It’s big enough to fit the lipgloss, a pair of flats, my phone and my potion diary. The bag doesn’t exactly go with the dress, but by the time Evelyn sees me, it will be too late to change. I make an executive decision and go with my leather bag.

  On the table next to my bag, a bright purple box catches my attention. It has my name engraved on it in gold foil. I pick it up and open it, and inside is a stunning silver bracelet, perfectly matched to the dress. I look a bit closer and I can see that it is inlaid with tiny jewelled carapaces of heart beetles (named unsurprisingly for their distinctive heart shape). Each one has a distinctive indigo or violet shimmer, elevating the bracelet from something ordinary into something really beautiful. I pick up the piece of white card that accompanies it.

  You might not want one of my live beetles, but I thought you should have something pretty anyway.

  Have a ball,

  Kirsty xx

  I smile, and slide the bracelet onto my wrist. It requires a little persistence to get it over my hand but once it’s on, it looks perfect. I go to text Kirsty my thanks, when the clock catches my eye. It’s almost time. Zain is going to be here at any moment.

  Evelyn’s last piece of advice for me was to eat. But I have no idea how to call for food. In the corner of the room I spy a half-eaten platter – obviously put there for the stylists – and there’s a stray sandwich lying abandoned in the corner, plus an array of little pastries. I guess even the make-up artists avoid fattening foods in this place. I have no such qualms. I overlook the healthy sandwich and stuff my mouth with a delicious, flaky pastry. This is Pays, the country of butter and bakeries. The pastries here are insanely good.

  Right on time, there’s a knock at the door. My heart lifts – and I say a little prayer of thanks that Zain is here. I might have eaten my bodyweight in croissant otherwise.

  I rush to the door, fiddling with the ornate handle. I open the door but the figure I end up beaming at and almost throwing my arms around isn’t Zain.

  It’s Prince Stefan. The second Prince of Gergon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

 
Samantha

  MY FACE SHIFTS RAPIDLY FROM a massive grin to confused frown. Oh god, I’m frowning at a Prince! I bow my head to obscure my burning cheeks and subtly wipe my lips free of stray pastry flakes. I’m lucky that Stefan is tall too – at least a head taller than me, so the head-lowering trick works.

  I shuffle back a few steps to let him into the room before I raise my head again. How do I address a Prince of Gergon? I have no idea. I go with a curtsey and a slightly mumbled ‘your Highness’.

  He seems to accept that, and an amused smile plays on his face. He bows to me. ‘Ah, so you know who I am?’

  ‘Prince . . . Stefan?’ I say with slight hesitancy, even though I’m sure it’s him. Having seen him only in photos, I can’t really believe my eyes. My first thought is that he is much more handsome in person than in the stern, serious pictures I’ve seen of him.

  ‘Enchanté, Miss Kemi, it’s a pleasure. May I come in properly?’

  ‘Of course,’ I say, recovering my composure. ‘But, uh, Princess Evelyn isn’t here. She’s in a different room somewhere.’ I gesture back down the hallway.

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘I’m not here for the Princess Evelyn. I’m here for Miss Samantha Kemi.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say. Then it clicks. Evelyn must have set this up after I asked about getting into Gergon. That girl can move fast when she wants to.

  ‘You do need an escort to the ball, correct?’ One corner of his mouth lifts into a lopsided smile. He looks as confused as I feel.

  ‘Oh yes, but . . . Well, I’m waiting for my boyfr— for Zain Aster. He was supposed to be my escort.’

  A tiny frown appears on the Prince’s face, but it’s soon as smooth as silk again. ‘Oh no, I applied to be your escort as soon as I heard you were coming to the ball. I’ve really wanted to meet you, Sam Kemi.’

  ‘You have?’

  He steps past me, striding into the room like he owns the place. He reminds me of Evelyn in that regard, but I have to remind myself that he is the second in line to his throne. He doesn’t have the same kind of power that the firstborn Royal does.

  I find myself staring for a few seconds at his back, cloaked in a bright red military-style jacket. His clothing is ostentatious, reminding the world of Gergon’s military strength, even though there hasn’t been a war for half a century and there are plenty of rumours swirling around about Gergon’s waning power. But the bright gold shoulderpads offset his wavy, golden hair and I can’t tear my eyes away as he walks. He spins around and gestures for me to join him on the small sofa.

  ‘Of course I have! You are the world-renowned winner of the Wilde Hunt! You’ve brought glory back to the alchemists of Nova. I had to meet you.’

  I perch awkwardly on the sofa, only one bum cheek on the cushion. ‘Well, hi, I guess.’

  I look for the glamour. Evelyn said that everyone would be wearing extravagant glamours this evening, and if I didn’t join in then I would look like the odd one out. I catch his gaze again, and that’s when I realise it’s his eyes. His eyes are golden too, and almost cat-like in their intensity. Big-cat-like. But his pupils are an odd shape. They are little jewels, like sparkling topaz or tiger’s eye.

  Tiger’s eye – a special gemstone with a silky lustre, best for warding off prying minds, to conceal thoughts.

  ‘Your eyes are beautiful,’ I say, rather without meaning to.

  He laughs. ‘You’re too charming, Miss Kemi.’

  I pull my gaze away from his eyes, blushing again. Where on earth is Zain? I look anxiously towards the door. I can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall beside me so loudly, I want to slap it to turn it off. I know nothing about this Prince or his family except rumour and speculation. I shouldn’t leap to judge, but I can’t help but feel on edge. I force myself to relax. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. ‘Actually, there is something I want to ask you . . .’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I’ve heard a lot about the old Visir School in my research and I really would love to visit, if it is at all possible.’

  He leans forward in his seat and his eyes search my face. He’s like a big cat about to pounce on his prey. Did I mention that tigers are my favourite animals? An unwelcome blush creeps up my neck, my palms pricking with sweat.

  ‘You are interesting, Miss Kemi! Your first meeting with me, the Prince of Gergon, and you ask me for a favour, before even offering me a drink!’

  My jaw drops in horror at what a terrible hostess I’m being. I scramble to my feet. ‘Oh, dragons, can I get you something to drink?’

  He laughs. ‘No, no, we will need to leave soon and there will be plenty at the ball.’

  ‘Right – some food?’

  ‘Miss Kemi, I was . . . My Novaen isn’t so good. I was teasing you. You are just very practical.’

  Heat burns in my cheeks. ‘That is one way to describe me,’ I say, with a shrug.

  ‘I’m sure we can arrange a visit to the Visir School for you.’

  ‘Can it be soon?’

  ‘We can go tomorrow! But tell me, why the hurry? The school has been closed for almost a century . . . it will still be there in a few months, I’m sure. There are far more interesting places in Gergon for someone like you.’

  I don’t want to give away too much to this stranger, even if he is a Prince. So far, the Palace has done well to keep a crackdown on leaks about Evelyn’s instability – even the stylists today will have signed heavy NDAs – and I don’t want to fuel any other fires.

  ‘It’s just been on my bucket list for ages . . .’

  ‘And here I was thinking all alchemists were patient souls. But you are different, I can see that.’ As he says it, he lightly runs his finger down my arm. My skin tingles where he touches it.

  Zain, think about Zain.

  It’s weird – Prince Stefan radiates a completely different energy to Zain. Maybe it’s those tiger eyes, but the Prince is all predatory charm. Zain never makes me feel like I’m his prey. In fact, even though he’s got all the money and Talent in the world, Zain works for my affection and respect. As though he feels he still has something to prove. Prince Stefan has never had anything to prove. In that way, he’s more like Evelyn. But Evelyn wears her royalty with warmth that endears her to people. Something about Prince Stefan makes me think he’s stepped out of a world from a hundred years ago, when Royals were far more powerful – and relished it.

  Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to him. Alchemists are like relics from another time too, after all. Nothing to do with his incredible blond hair and tiger eyes and broad shoulders . . .

  I clear my throat. ‘I’m different probably because I’m not a fully-fledged alchemist yet. I’m still an apprentice.’

  He smiles. ‘We are very proud of our alchemists in Gergon. Did you know that once your great-grandmother came to train with us? Maybe that is where she learned some of her greatest recipes.’

  My ears perk up at that, but I try to keep my voice even. ‘My great-grandmother came to Gergon? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Oh yes, when she was just a young girl, not much older than you. We admire the Kemis very much. We, unlike the Novaens, have not completely gone over to . . . the dark side, as it were.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say sharply. The dark side? Does he mean Emilia? All the rumours say that Gergon is still one of the few places where dark potions are mixed. Everyone says that’s where the dark side is.

  ‘The synths,’ he says. ‘I heard before you won the last Wilde Hunt that your family’s business, and that of others like you, was practically obsolete. That . . . what’s that company’s name . . . ZoroAster Corp,’ he says, with a sneer, ‘had taken over almost complete production of your potions industry.’

  I relax. He only meant the synths. But then I frown. ‘How does it work in your country?’

  ‘We don’t believe that old methods should just give way to new technology. In Gergon, we believe that they must work together. Enhance each other.’

  ‘T
hat sounds . . . eminently sensible,’ I say. I eye him with suspicion, even as I can feel my inner self turn towards him and say Yes! Yes! That’s exactly what I’ve been saying!

  ‘Well, unfortunately, neither alchemist nor synth have been working well for us.’ He casts his eyes downwards, and his shoulders curl forward, as if he carries the weight of the world.

  I frown in concern. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When you come to Gergon, I will show you,’ he says, with a sad smile.

  I return an awkward half-smile of my own. Thankfully I am saved by the sound of trumpets, and it shatters the strange atmosphere that’s built up in the room. The sound is bright, light and full of celebration. Suddenly I’m too hot in my dress, and the thought of being announced in the spotlight makes me want to throw up.

  Prince Stefan stands and offers his hand. He shakes off his sadness and his smile is as bright as before. ‘That is our cue. Shall we descend to the ball?’

  I hesitate for an instant, and then take his hand. ‘Prince Stefan?’

  ‘Yes, Samantha?’

  ‘Thank you, for your generosity in offering to bring me to Gergon.’ I feel like I should curtsey or something.

  He nods. ‘Well, maybe if all goes to plan, we will be seeing lots of each other soon.’ He guides my hand so that it nestles in the crook of his elbow and leads me out into the hallway.

  I swallow down a small ball of guilt. He still wants to marry the Princess. He still thinks he has a shot. But of course he does – that’s the whole reason he’s here. It’s just that I want to go to Gergon to prevent that from happening. I sense that I should keep that knowledge to myself.

  As we walk down the long corridors, we pass other couples on their way down to the ball. At the sight of the Prince, they back up against the wall and bow their heads. There are members of other Royal families here, but we are led past them all, to be introduced towards the end of the line – the hierarchy of power going from least at the front to most at the back.

  We pass Zain and his eyes open wide as he catches sight of whose arm I’m on. I open my eyes wide and shrug my shoulders, hoping he’ll catch the ‘I had nothing to do with this’ expression on my face. Zain glowers at the Prince, his blue eyes smouldering, but if Prince Stefan catches the gaze he does nothing to show it. I don’t recognise the girl Zain’s now been made to escort, and he doesn’t seem to be doing a great job of showing her any attention. She’s staring at her nails, clearly bored, as they wait in line for their turn to be announced. Every time one couple’s name is said aloud, the whole group shuffles forward. Prince Stefan and I slot into place, seemingly at the end of the line. But I know Evelyn will come after us.