Gingerly, Lindey lowered herself into her chair at the head of the table and we spent the next hour brainstorming and then rehearsing the lie until we all knew it by heart.
“You’ll need to wash your shirt,” Omen noted. “It’s muddy and smells like fish.”
I sniffed the collar.
It did smell like fish.
I unbuttoned it down the middle and at the cuffs and slid it off. Omen avoided my eyes, but didn’t seem to have any issue looking at my chest.
Lindey pointed toward the back door. “Go on. I’ll bring some lye and fresh rainwater.”
I stepped outside, but heard the low voices of the women whispering inside. No doubt they wanted me out of their home and lives now that they knew who I was.
A few minutes later, Omen walked outside with a bin that contained a few inches of water and a board inlaid with crinkled metal. “Have your princely hands ever used a wash board?” she smarted.
I was embarrassed to admit it, but…“They haven’t, but I’m most willing to figure it out.”
As Omen’s eyes raked over my chest unabashedly, then over to the shirt folded over my arm, I couldn’t help but feel like she found me lacking. Maybe I wasn’t what she thought a prince should look like. Perhaps I was a disappointment, or maybe she’d never thought about princes at all. East Village wasn’t that far from the Kingdom, but from this place, it might as well be in another world.
Omen
River was perfect. His chest and stomach were lean and muscled, and his dark hair always looked perfectly mussed. A little too long for what I’d think was proper for a prince, but it suited him somehow.
I couldn’t wrap my mind around it. River was the Prince of Nautilus.
Of course he was.
And of course he’d never scrubbed his own shirt. “Lindey’s starting a fire so it’ll be dry in time for dinner.”
He nodded and thanked me. I handed him the square of lye and told him to scrub at the stained fabric with the soap, and then run the fabric down the metal to get it clean, rinsing it in the water every so often to see if the stains were gone.
“It’s beautiful,” he said absently, scrubbing the shirt like he’d done it a thousand times.
Princes were innately good at everything, right?
“What is?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. He was probably about to spout another lie.
“The stone paths you’ve built. The walls. The arches and columns and stacks and piles. The wards in the trees. It’s beautiful, Omen. Everything you touch is beautiful.”
I wanted to be brazen and admit it was him I wanted to touch, but he was already beautiful, and I would only mar his beauty if I grazed him. Instead I swallowed thickly, staring down at my toes perched atop a path of swirling patterns made from smooth rock, filled in with sand and silt. “Thank you.”
“What do you know about Nautilus?” he asked conversationally, keeping his eyes on his task.
“Not much.”
“You make the shape a lot. That’s why I wondered.”
He met my eyes and pointed to all the swirling spirals I’d made. Each one looked the same, with one stone in the center and the rest spiraling away and out from it. There were waved patterns between swirls, but I’d started with those and weaved the connecting patterns in later. “I guess I just like the shape.”
His muscles rippled as he worked the shirt. He wasn’t like Sebastian, who was just as much a prince in East Village as River was in Nautilus. Sebastian wasn’t fit; he hated hard work, and his body wasn’t toned because he refused to do menial labor and his parents never made him contribute. Not that Edward labored for anything, either.
I wondered how River had become so toned.
“What do you like to do? What are your hobbies – if a Prince is allowed them?”
He smiled crookedly. “Swimming is my favorite pastime, but I enjoy a run every now and again, archery, rowing…” He grimaced. “It probably sounds like a very spoiled existence, but I’m not able to leave the palace or the palace grounds very often.”
“The Purists?” I guessed.
He nodded. “They make my uncle crazy. He’s head of the Nautilian Guard and is assigned to accompany me on any outings. His wife is pregnant, and her pregnancy is fragile. I hate to upset him and by extension, Leah.”
“He would take you on a short trip, wouldn’t he?”
“He would if I asked, but I can stay at the palace just as easily,” he shrugged.
“They’ve cowered you all,” I blurted before I could think better of it. He is the Prince! He can probably have me hanged for saying something so bold.
“You’re right,” he admitted after a moment. “They have. And we let them.”
River
When the Purists first began their protests after Dad and Mom were hand-fasted, they chose to ignore them, thinking that by doing so, they were taking the high road. But their silence was not an effective weapon against the hateful rhetoric, and it became fodder for the Purists to use against them. They said the crown didn’t care about the feelings of their own people.
The opposite was true. My parents cared deeply, just as Grandfather did while he ruled, and Grandmother still did. But they didn’t want to upset people more by starting a battle with the Purists that no one would win. Inaction was a choice, and in this case, it was the wrong one.
It was time to stop ignoring them. It was time to stop being silent, time to speak up, to raise our voices and if necessary, our fists. To stop being bullied.
Dad was the rightful ruler of Nautilus. He was the King of every citizen in the sectors, and if someone didn’t want to live under his rule, then by the Goddess they should leave.
And if they left and began to band together, deciding they wanted war? Then we would certainly fight back. Because the only way Nautilus’s citizens were ever going to accept witches in their midst was for them to do something to shield them from the danger the Purists posed. Most were tolerant of both worlds, magic and non, and were merely caught in the middle of this fight.
In addition to the King and Queen, the witches also needed to stop cowering. I knew Thirteen was necessary to the witches’ way of life. Their collective power was vital, and the way they fed off one another’s magic with the Center magnifying it all was nothing short of amazing. However, it didn’t mean witches shouldn’t also enjoy the beauty of the art sectors, or the cuisine of the Core. It didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a day, a week, or a month in the Lowers and return home.
Some ventured, but only when necessary. The witches needed to stop being so isolated and enjoy all the richness the Kingdom could offer. Once people saw they weren’t all bad and they weren’t dangerous, devilish creatures like the Purists said, they might accept them.
They might accept us.
Like the witches in Thirteen, Mom and I needed to venture out as well. We had to stop hiding in the palace just because it was easier than traveling where we wished.
14
SABLE
I spirited myself into the center of a Purist protest happening in Sector Three, in the middle of a busy street, lined with outdoor restaurants and citizens who stopped strolling long enough to listen to their lies. The loudest held a voice amplifier, but his words strangled in his throat when I tore it from his hands.
He quickly recovered, though.
“Well, if it isn’t our fair Queen,” he snarled.
I crumbled the amplifier in my hand, the dust drifting to the ground between us. “Where is my son?” I slowly enunciated. Tauren had wanted to keep River’s disappearance quiet. While I acquiesced to his wishes for a day to give Knox time to do things secretively, the sands of diplomacy’s time had run out. Now, I was going to find our son my way.
He gulped. “The Prince? He’s missing?”
He didn’t
sound remorseful, but he did sound surprised. I grabbed his throat to be sure, quickly letting him go. He coughed and spat as though I’d hurt him. “She tried to kill me! The cameras caught it all, Queen. Before I’m through, you’ll be Queen of The Wilds! You should be banished like the animal you are.”
I smiled at him. “Let me be clear.” I turned to find a cameraman. He focused his lens on me. “Whomever has kidnapped my son will know intimately what it is like to be killed by the Daughter of Fate. You will taste a mother’s fear and rage, and before you taste death, you will know exactly the sort of animal I can be.”
Spiriting back to the palace, I appeared before Knox. “I want the protests squashed. I’m done putting up with this.”
His brows raised. “It’s about time. Is Tauren on board?”
“He will be,” I promised.
I spirited back to Thirteen, where Brecan waited for me in the Center. Mira had gone with Tauren to search beyond the borders. He was just as insane with worry as I was, and I couldn’t hold him back, crown be damned. He’d made the point that our son was more important than his position, and it was one I couldn’t argue with.
River was out there somewhere, alive. I didn’t know if it was magic, a mother’s intuition, or Fate who assured me of it, but River was alive, and I vowed to find him and bring him home.
After he was safe, I would find those responsible and end them in the worst way my imagination could conjure.
15
River
It was almost time for the interrogatory dinner we’d promised to attend. Omen showed me around the village on the way to the Smith’s, the spirit of the woman in white keeping pace a few steps behind. I couldn’t go with her now like she wanted, so she followed us instead, barely visible even to me. Walking with Omen and seeing her village was interesting. Her influence in this place was remarkable.
We essentially made a big loop. There was a butcher whose crowded shop smelled like blood, and a man who baked bread for everyone who wanted it, whose small shop smelled of rising yeast dough and sweet butter. He rushed outside to give us each a pinch of a cinnamon and sugar sweet roll. Omen didn’t tell him we were about to dine with the Smiths. She took a bite of the roll he offered and gushed about how delicious it was. It really was good.
Small grains of sugar settled in the corners of Omen’s mouth. She caught me looking and wiped them away, her face flushing as she offered an embarrassed smile.
There were two woodworkers using a metal tool to rake the bark off saplings as we passed them by. They both stopped their work to wave and greet Omen, each giving me quizzical looks. An elderly woman worked wool into thread on a nearby porch. She raised her hand to Omen as well, telling her how lovely she looked. She was kind enough to wave at me.
In almost every window hung a hag stone. Small and large, sand-colored and those tinted blue, green, or orange-red.
Omen had warded homes, businesses, the barrier around East Village, its trees, pathways, and everything in between. It wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d warded the people as well, especially if they each carried a stone in their pocket the way Omen did.
The dynamic here was remarkable. In the Kingdom, while most people didn’t mind the witches, some openly hated them. For the most part, they weren’t considered vital to the economy or social structure. But here, it was obvious that everyone we encountered knew how integral Omen was to their safety and happiness. They loved her. I could tell the people in the village were just as important to Omen, too.
Her steps slowed as she looked ahead.
In the center of the village sprawl was a house three times taller than the rest. I didn’t have to guess who owned it.
Omen worried her hands.
Lindey was supposed to meet us here, just in front of the Smith’s house. She’d left before we did, on her way to trade one of Omen’s hag stones for a loaf of bread, but we didn’t see her. We decided to wait for her to catch up.
“Are the stones you trade infused with magic?”
“All stones are,” she answered.
“Is any one type more powerful than another?” Understanding her magic was difficult.
“Of course,” she said. “But the stones aren’t unique. All of nature is magical. With my magic, I hear Fate and ask him to bless the protection pleas I make, allowing me to pour magic into the stones. Other witches can probably do the same with animals or trees, or consider the stars and make magic of their light. The possibilities are as endless as the sea.”
I briefly told her about the elemental witches in Thirteen, of the Solstice and the magic they wove on the spot, as well as the feeling that came when I got near the Center. I told her there were some witches with dual magic, like Mira, and wondered aloud if some might be able to learn even more than they’d already discovered. I told her about the Houses and the Priest and Priestesses, including my mother’s history with the House of Fate.
“Fate lived within her? Only her?” she asked, brows kissing. My finger itched to smooth the delicate wrinkle between them.
“Yes.”
“Then why did he divide himself between us?”
“Omen,” I gently started, “how do you know it’s just us? There could be hundreds of Fate-Kissed souls. There could be thousands.”
She grew quiet, and I wondered if she was considering that possibility. Then again, maybe she was right and it was only the pair of us. Fate had pushed us toward one another, though the reason for it was still unclear.
Two souls. Born on the same day. Led by Fate himself.
I blew out a breath. Any time I thought of Fate, I inevitably thought of my mother. She had to be beside herself with worry.
“How long until the water recedes?” I asked casually, smoothing my shirt. It wasn’t fully dry yet, but it was clean and didn’t smell of fish anymore.
I was a head taller than her, so Omen craned her neck to glance up at me. “It should be down in the morning.” She opened her mouth as if to say something but closed it again. Then she spoke. “Will you go back to the spot the spirit led you to before you leave?”
“Yes.” I really had no choice. I knew the spirit wouldn’t leave me alone until I gave her what she wanted.
She looked at me with beautiful, stony eyes. “May I go with you?”
I nodded, unable to deny her. “Of course.”
Edward Smith lazily pushed open his front door and waved to us. “Come inside, you two. Lindey has already arrived.”
Omen
In his typical overbearing fashion, Edward had insisted Lindey come inside instead of waiting to meet us as we’d planned. He felt compelled to control every aspect of everyone’s life, though I wasn’t sure why he felt he had the right, or why no one ever told him no.
I glanced at the ward stones hanging in the twin windows on the bottom floor as we strode up the path to his house and considered removing them tonight. So far, nothing bad had happened in East Village. Things were peaceful here. River was the first person from the outside anyone here had seen in years.
Once, from the safety of the tree line, I watched a strange man cross the river and walk in the direction of the village. But he stumbled back across when he encountered the tree line and didn’t cross the boundary again. The stones didn’t hurt him, they just persuaded him that the land was somewhere he shouldn’t be walking.
The villagers felt more secure with them hanging in their homes. It was why they hung them on their windows and over their doors, at every entrance and exit.
Dinner was served in the same room where the dance had been held, at a table that was far too large for our sparse party and spanned the length of the room. We settled at one end of it while Edward sat at the head, flanked by Judith and Sebastian.
Somehow, in a situation orchestrated to make us feel like outsiders, River didn’t look uncomfortable at all. His dar
k hair and the stubble peppering his square jaw made him look older than I knew him to be, while his presence and demeanor made Sebastian look positively child-like in comparison.
Bowls of food were passed around the table, each person spooning items onto their plate until they were overflowing. Sebastian glared hatefully at River, but River just politely nodded and gave him a slight smile. I could almost smell Sebastian’s aggravation at that. I thought I heard him grind his teeth and I smiled.
“What sector are you from, young man?” Edward asked River, cutting to the chase.
“Twelve, sir,” he lied.
“You work timber?” Edward led.
“My father does, sir. I help him when he lets me, although he thinks I’m still too young.”
Edward nodded, tearing his buttery roll apart. “And how old are you?”
“Seventeen. He says when I’m eighteen, I can join his crew as an apprentice.”
Judith stared at her plate, taking tiny bites of her food. The look on her face was unreadable. Was the food not to her liking? She’d made it, after all. Had Edward asked her to make something she didn’t like?
Sebastian, meanwhile, had already cleared half his plate.
“Isn’t that the sector you were from, Lindey?” he asked with a slippery smile.
She chewed the last of her bite and then swallowed and answered. “It was.”
“How convenient,” Sebastian muttered. I wanted to kick him under the table hard enough to make his shin bruise.
“What sector were you from, Edward?” I asked. Everyone stopped chewing.
“I hail from Sector Seven, but had friends in Twelve.” He took a drink of water. “How do you feel about being so close to the witches?”
“They keep to themselves. None of them have ever bothered me, so I don’t pay them any attention,” River answered easily.
The Omen of Stones Page 12
