by Effie Calvin
The sehzade would be dark with striking green eyes, and his hair would have a bit of a messy curl to it—in an attractive way, not a sloppy way. His favorite thing in the world would be mathematics. And riding, of course. His horse would be one of those Masimi ones with the elegant necks and high tails. Black as night—or no, no, pale as a summer cloud! Like Ioanna, he’d have Iolar’s magic, and they’d sit in front of the fireplace debating obscure fragments of forgotten rituals…
After a moment of consideration, she added a dog to the scene.
Vitaliya’s hands found the soil again. It really was lonely out here, and she pitied Kaeso for having to do it by himself. How many farmers remained behind in Metis? How many had been sent to fight? In Vesolda, ordinary people were only drafted into the army when times were dire. The last recorded instance of this was hundreds of years ago.
People still joined the army voluntarily. Some with Reygmadra’s blessing, but some with nothing more than a desire to protect their home or do something with their lives that didn’t involve fish or olives or sheep. But there was no enemy to fight. There weren’t even any dragons attacking anymore as there had been when she was very, very young.
The light was fading, but Vitaliya was confident that she could have the field done before the sun vanished. She was beginning to grow exhausted but wasn’t near to draining herself yet. She doubted she’d have enough power left for a visit to the orchards tonight, but she could return in the morning after she’d rested.
Finally, when she’d expended all the magic she dared, she stood and surveyed the field. The magic would remain until the planting when it would nurture the new seeds and eventually increase their yield at harvest.
“I’m finished, I think,” she reported to Vel and the guard. “Let’s go. Is the priest still asleep?”
He was. As Vitaliya climbed into the carriage—carefully, as not to disturb him—his eyes fluttered open.
“Are we there?” he muttered. “Let me show you what to do.”
The room the baron and baroness set aside for Ioanna was simple. It wasn’t terribly spacious and looked rather sad compared to her room in Irianthe’s home. But there was no cause for complaint. Vitaliya’s room, one door down, was nearly identical. But Vitaliya had no intention of staying in it unless Ioanna ordered her away.
“I think it went well,” commented Vitaliya as they prepared for bed. “I mean, they didn’t throw us out.”
“I’d hoped it would be easier,” murmured Ioanna. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. What I’m asking them to do isn’t a small thing.”
“It’s more work than starving to death. I’ll grant them that.”
Ioanna sighed heavily. “I’ll give them time to think it over. We have a day or two to spare before we must move on. I don’t want to pressure them.”
Both young women were too tired from the journey to do anything more than go directly to bed. Vitaliya did not mind this. Being beside Ioanna was comforting and sleeping in a real bed was delightful. It was not long before they both fell asleep.
She dreamed she was home in Bergavenna, watching her mother dress. Her ladies surrounded her, pinning hair and tightening clasps and tying bows. Vitaliya sat on the bed, still in her nightgown, and waited.
When her mother was done, the other ladies all left in a silent flock, filing out somberly. Vitaliya was pleased to see them go, for now she and her mother could talk about anything they wanted.
But her mother was crying. Horror and fury clenched at Vitaliya’s heart. Why was her mother crying? Was it something one of her ladies had said? Who would dare?
“Mother!” cried Vitaliya. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want to go to the wedding,” said Queen Isabetta, but it was too late. They were already standing in the Great Temple of Pemele in Bergavenna, staring at the altar where her father clasped hands with a shepherd girl. Beside her, her mother sobbed into a handkerchief.
Vitaliya woke with a start as fury flooded her chest. A dream, she realized. A horrible dream. But why would Eran show her that? Eran, God of Dreams and Ninth of the Ten, was generally believed to be responsible for every dream every person ever had. Their priests emphasized not all dreams were visions—in fact, most people could expect to go their entire lives without ever receiving a true vision—but some were signs the dreamer had some matter that needed reflection or resolution.
And some were pure absurdity.
This dream had been so vivid it nearly felt like a vision. But who would send her a vision like that? Pemele? Iolar? Isabetta herself? The dead were not really known to interfere with matters of the living.
As Vitaliya’s vision adjusted, she realized the bedroom was filled with a thin silver mist—or perhaps there was merely something in her eyes? She rubbed at them, but the mist remained, illuminated by moonlight. Vitaliya could still make out the nearest pieces of furniture, but it was so strange. Was this normal? Was this abnormal? In that moment, she could not remember.
Even with the knowledge it had been a dream, Vitaliya’s rage would not subside. Had she even been this angry when she’d left Bergavenna? Had she ever been this angry in her life?
Vitaliya got up and paced the room, now wide awake and unable to even consider going back to sleep. Her head ached, a sharp and persistent throb. She pressed her fingers to the spot but could not feel any lumps or cuts.
She shouldn’t have left Bergavenna. She should have remained behind and made her father’s every day an agony until he relented! She hadn’t done enough to try to stop the wedding!
Her head ached so badly. She closed her eyes and tried to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. The pain only intensified. Vitaliya imagined it as a bright, cold line that pierced through her brain and traveled downward toward her spine.
The wedding would happen, and it would be perfect, and everyone would take it as a sign the marriage was ordained by Pemele. Vitaliya should have been around to ruin it! But instead she’d run away!
Her head ached so badly, and the pain was spreading to her shoulders now. She knew she ought to just go back to sleep and ask for willow tea in the morning. But she could not. How could she even think of sleeping when everything was going wrong?
Vitaliya did not remember picking up the dagger she’d stolen from Netheia’s room, but now it was in her hand. Maybe it wasn’t too late to ruin things.
They shouldn’t have let her leave. There was no telling what sort of trouble she might get up to in Xytae. Wouldn’t her father be sorry if something awful happened to her? He would be so sorry.
Vitaliya’s toes curled in satisfaction as she imagined it, and some of the pain in her head lifted as well. He’d receive the news, and that woman would reach out to comfort him, but he’d knock her hand away and tell her to get out. It was her fault this had happened, and if they’d never crossed paths, then his daughter would still be alive.
Vitaliya hesitated. Maybe killing herself was a bit extreme? Maybe she should consider another angle. Maybe she could just get herself imprisoned? Her father would have to negotiate with the Xytan Empire for her freedom. Surely the wedding would be ruined then?
Surely…
Pain burned down her arms all the way to her fingertips, and she nearly dropped the knife. But she gritted her teeth and turned toward Ioanna, still peacefully asleep. Moonlight illuminated the curves of her body, cutting through the silver mist. It was her fault Vitaliya was out here. It was her fault she’d never make it back in time to ruin the wedding.
The knife in her hand wavered. She didn’t want to stab Ioanna. Did she? Maybe she ought to go back to sleep and reconsider it in the morning.
Maybe just a little stab? A little cut? She’d barely feel it. And in the morning, they’d blame it on an insect, speculate that the baron’s linens had not been washed recently.
A little cut. Right behind the ear, maybe?
Her hand wavered again.
Just one little cut! Ioanna wouldn’t feel it; she’d sleep r
ight through it! No harm done, not really! Her skin was so pale. So pale under the moonlight. She imagined she could see the pulsing veins beneath Ioanna’s skin. What might it be like to spill one open? And then…and then she could go home, directly home.
There was no time to waste.
Still, Vitaliya hesitated. She felt as though she was forgetting something important, some reason why she might not want to stab Ioanna. Not stab, not stab! Just cut. Just a little cut across the throat. She’d hardly feel it, and then Vitaliya could go home, and the wedding would be called off, and her mother’s spirit would smile at her from Solarium—
The door slammed open and something collided with Vitaliya, knocking the knife from her hands and sending her sprawling across the cold stone floor. Pain shot through her arms as she landed, ripping her from the strange, dreamy state she’d been in a moment before. The mist filling the room vanished, along with the phantom ache in her body. Now wide awake and back in control of her senses, she began to shake as the sickening realization of what she’d been about to do came upon her.
Aelia—for that was who had pushed her—rushed over to Ioanna, who was just waking up from the noise. She sat up and looked around in confusion. “What happened?” she mumbled.
“It’s all right now,” said Aelia. “You’re safe.”
The door opened again, and Orsina stepped in, sword drawn. Aelia waved a hand at her, and Orsina lowered her blade.
“What happened?” repeated Ioanna, sliding her legs off the edge of the bed. “Was someone here?” She caught sight of Vitaliya, still on the floor where she’d fallen. “Vitaliya?”
“Someone had her in thrall,” said Aelia grimly. “Probably Cytha.”
“I, I had a dream,” babbled Vitaliya. “I woke up so angry, and I thought—I was so sure if I—but I don’t know why, I just—”
“It’s all right,” soothed Orsina. She knelt down on the ground beside Vitaliya and put a reassuring hand on her back.
“It’s not!” cried Vitaliya. “What if Aelia hadn’t come in? I could have killed Ioanna!”
“Unlikely,” said Aelia. “Even in thrall, it would have been difficult to pull off something like that. You were already resisting.”
“But I was going to stab her!”
“You were in thrall,” murmured Orsina. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I shouldn’t have come.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “Irianthe was right. I should have stayed in Oredia. I should have gone home.”
Ioanna sat down across from her and put one arm around Vitaliya’s shoulders. “You didn’t hurt me,” she soothed. “Not even a scratch.”
“But what about next time?” She closed her eyes, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. “What if…”
“If Cytha was able to put you in thrall, it means there was something she was able to entice you with. She deals in revenge,” said Aelia. “Vengeance.”
Ioanna looked at Vitaliya curiously. “Do you want revenge on me for something?” she asked.
“No!” Vitaliya took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself, but it had the opposite effect, and she only began to cry harder. “It had nothing to do with you! I was thinking about my father!”
“Your father?” asked Orsina.
“He’s marrying a woman. Soon. I thought if I hurt Ioanna, he’d be sorry. Sorry enough to call off the wedding. It doesn’t make sense! But it made sense at the time.” She shuddered. “Why would I…”
“Well, that explains why you were vulnerable to Cytha’s influence,” said Aelia.
“Just because I think my father should be loyal to my mother?” Anger flared up in her chest again. Did nobody understand how she felt?
“Queen Isabetta died a long time ago—” Orsina began.
“It’s only been six years!” Vitaliya wiped at her eyes furiously. “If he loved her, he’d never marry anyone ever again!”
“Is that really fair?” Ioanna asked gently.
“I don’t care!”
“Well, that’s how Cytha got you,” Aelia said bluntly. Orsina frowned at her, but Aelia was unapologetic. “I’m not trying to be cruel. But this is how she works. She gets you fixating on some way you were wronged, and then she convinces you she’s got the solution to make them all sorry, but half the time it ends up benefiting nobody but her.”
“So what? Now I have to just—just magically be happy my father’s getting remarried or else I have to live in fear I’ll stab Ioanna?”
“You’re not going to stab Ioanna,” said Aelia. “Even in thrall, there’s limits to what we can force mortals to do. The fact she tried it at all tells me she’s getting desperate. And now that she’s failed once, it will make it more difficult for her to get you again.”
“It shouldn’t be allowed,” glowered Vitaliya. “She shouldn’t be allowed to do things like that in the first place!”
“She’s not,” said Orsina. “That’s why she’s been classed as a chaos goddess. And next time she strikes, we’ll send her back to Asterium. She’ll be months regenerating.”
The door opened again, and Vitaliya caught a glimpse of Vel before Orsina got up and went to him. She could not hear what Orsina said, for her voice was too low. Then the two of them stepped outside, shutting the door behind them.
“Maybe I should leave, though,” murmured Vitaliya. “Everyone here is so good. And I’m a mess.”
“I want you here,” said Ioanna, gripping her by the hands.
“I don’t know,” whispered Vitaliya.
“You don’t have to decide now,” said Ioanna. “It’s the middle of the night. Let’s go back to sleep, and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”
Vitaliya got up. “I’m going to my own room,” she announced. In the dim light, she could see sadness on Ioanna’s face. But this was for the best. “Lock the door behind me. Just in case.”
The next morning was clear and bright, but Vitaliya would have much preferred clouds or even a thunderstorm. The good weather seemed to be a mockery of the events of last night. She dressed quietly and slipped out of the room, not wanting a conversation with anyone yet.
The gardens were still a little chilly, and morning dew soaked her sandals as she walked along. She sat on a stone bench briefly but found it was too cold to remain there for long.
She needed to leave. She’d hoped she would feel differently in the morning, but if anything, she was only more certain of her decision. Ioanna’s safety was more important than some temporary companionship. Nobody could dispute that.
After a few minutes of aimless wandering, she came upon Orsina, who had found one of the few sunny spots in the garden. She gave a welcoming smile when she noticed Vitaliya and moved over on the bench she was sitting on. Vitaliya didn’t really want to have a conversation, but leaving would be rude and probably damage her reputation with the paladin even further.
“I always enjoyed watching the sunrise, even as a child,” said Orsina. “Our home was down in a valley, but up at the baron’s estate you could see just about forever—or that’s how it felt at the time.”
“I prefer to sleep late,” mumbled Vitaliya.
“Yes, I think most people do!” Orsina paused. “Were you unable to sleep?”
“No, I was fine. Just restless.”
“I hope you aren’t afraid any of us think any less of you for what happened,” said Orsina. “It was not your fault.”
“That’s not what Aelia said.”
“I’ve seen far too many people to count put in thrall. Young, old, rich, poor…there’s very few people who are so detached from worldly desires that they’re not susceptible to a single chaos god. Your vulnerability came from a place of loyalty to your mother. Cytha was able to twist that loyalty into something evil, but that doesn’t mean there’s something inherently evil about it.”
“Everyone thinks I’m being selfish,” Vitaliya said bitterly. “That I should just let my father have this. That my mother’s been dead long enough that it’s not so terrib
le. As if there’s a set amount of time that will mean I suddenly don’t care anymore.”
“I don’t think that’s exactly it,” said Orsina. “Accepting your father’s remarriage doesn’t mean you’ll love your mother any less, does it?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving anyway. I can’t forgive him, so Ioanna’s in danger from me. Nothing else matters.”
“I do not always believe forgiveness is a necessary thing,” said Orsina. “If you wish to grant it, then certainly. But sometimes, people will wrong you so badly there is no forgiveness to be had. But that does not mean you need to be angry, vengeful, or obsessed. You simply go on. Without them.”
“How?” asked Vitaliya.
“Well, sometimes you can pity them,” Orsina said slowly. “Or you can think about how there is so much else in the world to concern yourself with. Good things. Letting go of anger can be difficult, but if you busy yourself with other things—if you let time and distance do their work—one day you might reach for the old hurt and find it’s not there anymore.”
Vitaliya could scarcely imagine this. “That doesn’t help Ioanna now. That doesn’t keep her safe.”
“Aelia and I have discussed it, and we think it’s unlikely Cytha will target you the same way twice,” said Orsina. “And even if she does, putting you in thrall won’t be so easy the second time around now you know what it feels like.”
“I don’t want to take that risk,” said Vitaliya. “I don’t want…I can’t. She’s too important. To the world and to me.”
“I understand how you feel,” said Orsina. “But I also think your presence here is important too. I am certain your aiding of Metis’s priest has impressed the baron and baroness. I might even go as far as to say Iolar means for you to be here just as much as the rest of us.”
“Why would Iolar have any interest in me?” Vitaliya frowned. “I don’t even have his blessing.”
“Iolar doesn’t exclusively care for those who have his blessing,” said Orsina. “He cares for all Men, for we are his creation. And even if you don’t believe that, you are a princess, so you fall quite neatly into his domain. But what I meant to say was, I think there is something that you, as an individual, contribute to Ioanna’s cause. And that is why you’re here.”
