by A. K. Koonce
Aspasia nods, folding her hands over her shining body. Each scale ripples into a new color then ripples back to teal as she thinks. “You remind me of myself, Syren.”
“I’m not sure that has anything to do with my question.” I grip the necklace, feeling the urge to rip it off and throw it at her. I’d come here for help not to waste my time. “Do you have a solution, something, anything that could actually help me?”
The witch cocked her head. “You don’t trust people, even when you love them. You want to, you really mean to trust them, but over the years people have let you down. As they often do.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. There isn’t time for philosophy on my psychology. There just isn’t time.
“I once met a man who didn’t love me as I thought he did. He only used me.” Her purring voice became more of a whistling hiss.
“I bet I could guess who that was.” I mumble, cracking my eyes open to watch her. Water splashes around my hand as I slap the stone beside me. “I’m not here for musings on the past.”
She continues on, uncaring of my urgency. “He did not love me. You don’t use someone whom you love. And only one good thing came of it.”
I scowl as she reaches out to take my hand.
“You.”
With a shake of my head, I pull away. “Aspasia, stop. You don’t even know me.”
“Hmm, but I know what you fear. I know that the love that people could offer you motivates you to do your best for them. Whether or not you’ll admit it. You’d fight and die for your kingdom if it meant your name going down in history as their favorite martyr.”
“Can we get to the part where you tell me about my magic?”
She huffs a breath. “You need to trust the ones you love. It is the way. Fire fae and water fae come together not just in love, but in magic. Join your magic with something, someone. You feel the way the water energizes you.” She points a finger at my feet, still dangling in the never-ending depths of the spring, drawing energy into my tiring body. “Let it overtake you, and when it does, take back the control.” She closes her palms, reining in an invisible force. “Trust the magic, even if it doesn’t trust you.”
I’m a pretty controlling person. That seems doable. Trust the fucking water, let it try and drown me, then take the power back. I stand, dropping the hem of my gown against the floor.
“I can do that. I know I can. Send me back.”
“I know you can do it, too.” My heart constricts as she says the words. She smiles at me, looking me over. “I’m proud of my queen daughter who stands when others mean to knock her down. You’re strong.” Her fingers snap in a tornado of wind that dries my damp clothes and hair.
I can’t help but wonder how much she’s tested me. How much of this was to bring me here to this place in my life? The poison. The prophecy of a fire fae and a water fae coming together.
Was it all a test to bring me to a crown she wanted me to have once upon a time?
Or was it all just a mysterious water witches’ way of motherly love?
I may never know.
She waves with the limp lift of a sad smile on her lips. Air moves fiercely around me, distorting my vision until it stops, and my feet drop against the paved road. I’m not at the fountain. I’m not at the castle. But I’m near enough to make the choice.
I twist away, rocks cutting painfully against my pampered feet, and run. The castle grows more distant behind me, lit by torches and the pile. Iri would be mad, but in the end, he will understand that I’m doing what has to be done.
Only a few more paces and the fountain will be in view. I will submerge myself in its waters. I will let it overcome until I can take no more, and I overcome it.
Material stretches tight over my body, jerking me to a stop. The small extra material that drags the ground catches on something. I whip my head around, strands of hair falling over my shoulder.
Black beady eyes blink at me, the tall cap no longer on his head, revealing the patchy hairline above his forehead. Chaplain’s lips curve down unpleasantly.
“Where are you going in such a hurry, Princess?” he asks, dragging his foot along the material caught beneath his boot.
“The fountain has been poisoned, and I mean to fix it. The curse, the plague, it's all the doing of fae.”
Chaplain scoffs, his fingers glowing orange as he fists them at his sides. “You speak with so much blasphemy.”
“It’s not blasphemy.” I try to pull my dress from under his stance, but he steps forward, stomping the material down once more.
“I should have gotten rid of you like the others. Poor Aisha gave up her sanity for obsession to serve Goddess Celeste, and you mean to hang her by the noose. Meanwhile, you skip your prayer sessions, speak of worshiping our rival goddess, Goddess Nature, and now you act as though this plague was not goddess bound.”
His words hit me like rocks meant to stone to death. Each syllable, each roll of the tongue, a lashing meant to destroy.
“This isn’t goddess bound.” My voice is hoarse, fear rising before I push it down and speak with my chin held high. “This whole thing was a ploy. You have to believe me. It’s a lie made by a witch to secure a position and a poison for . . .” For what exactly? A shot at a king she would never have? Revenge for losing her right to a crown that was never hers? It was all for what end?
“Aisha was a Goddess-believing girl who put her faith in a witch. She made a trade for dark magic that took from her in a way she couldn’t imagine. That girl can no longer love. She doesn’t know how; she can only obsess. Obsess over a king she once loved and obsess over a father whose approval she could never quite get.” Chaplain pauses, rubbing his hands together like I’ve seen Iri do more times than I could count. Fiery sparks rain down from his palms. “Sounds a little familiar, don’t you think? A girl who will never have a King or her father's approval.”
My heart pounds inside my chest, a war cry of nerves and the satisfaction of realization. “What did you do with the others?”
“Much kinder things than I think I will do with you.”
I glance around. The streets here are empty but that doesn’t mean that people aren’t watching. That doesn’t mean they won’t come when they hear me scream. He won’t dare make a move on me so publicly.
“Aisha could make the people believe the prophecy if she married Iri and the kingdom prospered once again. She could bring them back to the one true faith: Goddess Celeste. Most importantly, she could be controlled. She had her uses. You do not. You should have stayed on that rutting island.” His lips teeter into an unpleasant sneer. “The people cannot have relief of this plague until Aisha marries the King. And she can’t do that until these people have broken and become fully devout in their faith. There can only be one true faith! And that is not your goddess! The plague has to be seen through. The people believe in it. They need it!”
All of this because his goddess is the right goddess and mine is not?
He’s insane. Completely unstable.
And completely deadly.
But they have been broken. The citizens who remain are nearly mad, consumed with thoughts of finally being free from the death they have seen here.
I make to pull on my dress again, and the Chaplain tsk-tsks. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Aisha isn’t a water fae. People won’t have faith when she doesn’t meet the criteria for your fake plague.”
“Oh, it won’t be hard to prove that she has some relation to someone who had water magic down the line of her ancestors. Minor detail.”
“You’re a fool. I’ve already married the King.” I scream and yank my dress as hard as I can, freeing it from under his foot. Momentum from the release carries me backward.
Fire stings at my throat, the sensitive scales of my gills covered by the hands of the Chaplain as he swiftly grabs me by the neck. A choked cry carries from my lips.
Smoke from my singing skin blurs my vision. Or is it rain? Through the pain, I blin
k back tears, coughing on the burning remnants of oxygen I try to take in. Something moves above the chaplain. Distorted colors of black and red, a distant blot in the sky. The image above becomes clearer.
Black burning wings. With the thunder of the storm at his back and a flash of lightning crackling through the sky, King Iri plummets toward the chaplain. Their bodies collide, pulling the burning hands away from my tattering flesh. I shriek at the feeling of skin peeling away with it. Except it isn't a shriek. It’s nothing as I suffocate on the fire in my lungs.
Together the men stand in a tornado of movement. Arms and legs reaching out to strike. A punch that lands on Chaplain’s jaw sends saliva and dots of blood through the air. The high arc of an elbow that cuts across Iri’s eyebrow drawing blood like tears to fall against his cheek.
“Have you just confessed to murder, Chaplain?” Iri growls. “Murdering every woman I’ve ever called my betrothed? That alone is an act of treason against your kingdom. The fact that you’ve laid hands on your Queen another, an even more punishable crime in my book.”
“All will be righted by Goddess Celeste in time.” He swings himself forward, tearing toward Iri’s wings, only narrowly missing as Iri tucks them at his side. Chaplain chuckles. “You may be fast now, King Iri, but you’ve drunk from our waters. Your strength isn’t what it could be. While I have never drunk the poisoned water.”
He strikes in one quick move.
Pain thrums against my neck, my head heavy with torment, and the rush of my blood through my veins pounds inside my ears. Silver blood trickles against the ground where I lie. I can see it in every flash of lightning. I can feel it, sticky against my hands. The urge to cup my throat is strong, but the pain of touching it even stronger. So I writhe in my pain, my eyes fighting to stay open as I cling to the hope of my husband.
Chaplain is right. As they roll across the ground, fires burning against each other, I can hear Iri’s cry of pain. Chaplain is seconds faster, his magic degrees hotter.
Iri falls, black ash smudged over his body, burnt skin sagging, and clothing tattered and torn. The air in his lungs wheezes out as he makes eye contact with me. Hot, fresh tears roll unwanted from my eyes.
So this is how our story would end?
I love you. I send the words down the bond, sending a piece of my strength with it.
Chaplain’s charcoal boots kick at Iri’s feet. He watches as his legs bounce, and Iri rolls with a grunt to his back. His long cloak isn’t nearly as perfect as it once was, with holes burnt through it now.
“This was too easy,” Chaplain sings. “For a minute, I didn’t think I’d get away with it. But here we are.” He holds his arms wide, revealing in his success. “It's unfortunate it had to be this way.”
“We aren’t dead yet,” Iri pants.
“But you will be.”
Metal scrapes against its sheath as Chaplain pulls a dagger from inside his cloak. My vision blackens, but I can still see the way it glints as he runs his finger against the blade’s edge. He lunges.
Iri’s hands catch the blade’s hilt, holding it inches from the shallow dip in his throat. Chaplain puts his weight into it, smiling as his King struggles.
Do something, Syren! Stop him! My mind screams for me to move. And I do. I crawl forward, baring my teeth as my body protests against the pain. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. But Iri’s death would hurt more.
My neck stings as a salty tear rolls down my cheek and hits the open burns. I flick my wrist, knowing I can’t manage much more. The world tilts from side to side, my head light as my body threatens to fail me.
“Syren, run,” Iri growls between grunts.
Over my literal dead body. I snap back. He wouldn’t leave me, and I am not going to leave him.
Water lifts from my cheeks. I let an agonizing sob escape me as my fears and my pain ravage my emotions. Forming into a string of thin, nearly unnoticeable liquid, I push through the haze that blackens my vision, sending my tears from my face through the air and into the Chaplain’s lungs.
He coughs at first. Sputtering on the water I don’t allow to come back up. It’s an unpracticed movement I make with my fingers that seals the water in his lungs. Chaplain’s hands loosen on the dagger, his legs reeling him backward.
Clattering to the ground, the blade falls against the pavement, where Iri takes it in his hands. My King drags himself up to standing. His eyes glance from Chaplain’s blue face to my strained pose against the ground. I don’t dare to look at him. I don’t dare to break this concentration.
As Chaplain falls, Iri stumbles toward me. His legs shake, and he drops back to the wet earth without a sound. When Chaplain’s lifeless body no longer moves, I lower myself. My vision is only a tunnel that I point to Iri’s tired eyes.
Iri reaches for me, his fingers brushing mine. His eyes are half closed; I suspect mine are, too. The rain doesn’t fall anymore. There isn’t anything to put out the fire of Iri’s wings behind him.
I close my eyes. Our fingers intertwine.
Everything hurts, until all at once, it doesn’t.
14
Fate
Syren
Bear has called forth an army. Men and women alike who remain loyal to the crown rally beside us. Wagons carrying soldiers with weapons strung, following like a parade behind us. Horses equipped for battle chomp at the bit next to us.
Rigs taps his foot slowly against the carriage floor, his eyes catching on everything outside the window. Angry and violent villagers carry their own versions of weapons. Occasionally, rocks hit the roof, bouncing off after a loud, colliding thud.
It’s a new day, and the ash has been washed away from King Iri’s skin. But his eyes are still charcoal lined. Not from any long-lasting eyeliner that Miranda could offer, but from the battle we won yesterday. The most sensitive parts of his body are too hard to wash the evidence from. In time it would fade, just as everything does.
Bandages cover my throat. Magic did its part to heal me quickly, the healers doing what they could to prevent scarring. I still would, though. Even if they suspected that my skin would mend well, and the scales would come back untarnished. Events like these scarred more than your skin.
This whole kingdom is rampant with scars. Citizens bare them physically and mentally from the effects of a few people’s lies. The witch, my mother, will still be tried for her part in these crimes. Though I haven’t a clue how we will address that.
The path we steer down holds us all. The Cruel Fae King, his Cursebreaker, the army that serves, and the citizens who carry the weight of it all on their backs. This is the ceremony they need, not a wedding, but a promise of good health.
Along the horizon, I can see the large ornamental buildings that surround the fountain. Iri reaches up to take my hand that raises to hold the bandage that covers the remainder of the burns. His thumb strokes along mine. A small gesture that makes the pitter-patter of my heart calm with each touch.
Sure enough, the high sun gleams down, shining off the waters that come into view. She is beautiful, I’ll admit, the delicately carved features, the brushed look of the stone. Princesses and especially Queens should be devout in their faith, yet it made me question mine. How much had I been told about Goddess Nature that is a lie used to motivate the church? It is a worrisome thought.
The door opens quietly, and Rigs steps out first. His hand reaches out to guide me down the steps. My dress cascades behind me, vibrant indigo hues dotted with swirls of glittering pearls. It looks like crashing waves, is what Iri had told me this morning, a shy half-smile making him look less drab. It is per his request that I wear this dress, his polite “Will you wear blue for me?”
A path clears as guards escort our court. Count Jesting, Countess Everly, Mathis, Marken, and Sir Bartley disperse in a semicircle. Miranda’s red curls appear at the end of the line, his arms folded and his face sullen. Citizens gather around us, around the fountain, watching, shouting, and raising their fists. They demand answers.
I plan to give them to them.
As a couple, we step into the clearing just before the stone and water, giving our attention to the crowd. Plummeting through the air, a large stone hurtles our way. Iri’s palm shoots out, blasting a wave of his fire white hot. Dust falls over us in its place.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he growls, giving a stern eye to the congregation.
“They need us to,” I whisper, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze.
Carefully, I pull my blue curls forward over my neck to cover the bandages. Iri’s hands brush my shoulders before he pulls my hair behind my head and presses a kiss to the wound and then slowly reveals a delicate crown to me.
My lips part without sound while my heart pounds so loudly it’s the only reply I have for him.
Sapphire and ruby gems glitter with lighting and magic. Its points stand tall and prestigious.
It’s beautiful… and it’s mine.
No strings of a pretentious showy wedding is attached to this gift from my husband to me. There’s no thought that he might take it back. There’s no fear that he’ll never be by my side.
This crown is as mine as he is. And Bear, he’s always been mine.
From the very moment I strung him up like prey in that forest of my island.
And you can’t take back a crazy love like that.
“Let them see you as you are. As my Queen.” His voice is soft. It prompts me to let out a long steady breath, a moment to gather my bearings as he places the cool metal against my hair.
It’s distracting in the best possible way. After everything we’ve been through, I’m his Queen. I’m their Queen. But I can’t linger on the triumphant feel of it.
I just need to concentrate. Losing focus on the world around me, I try to visualize my magic as arms reaching to create. Those arms brush and guide the water, willing it to form as I wish. It only takes me a moment before the crowd’s once-loud cries of outrage settle to intrigue and awe.
Water from the fountain rises. Three pillars rise, rainbows from the sun catching in the prism of their droplets. I form their faces, creating them in detailed likeness. A witch who spoke of a curse that wasn’t true. A woman seeking such desperate approval of her father, she traded her love for obsession. A leader so fearful of losing the church’s followers that he equipped people to ruin the very country he pledged to serve.
