by N. C. Hayes
He didn’t say a word as he sat on the floor, leaned against the tub, and rolled up his sleeve. Beneath the water, he caressed my leg with a comforting touch. We sat like that for some time, gazing at one another. I lifted my hand from the bath and stroked his hair, noticing his furrowed brow. Then I realized that I was crying again.
“Solandis spoke to you, didn’t she?” Aydan finally asked. I gave a single nod. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I told her to stay out of it. I’ll be having a word with her in the morning—”
“She’s right though, isn’t she?” I whispered, trembling. “My name, my family . . . it will haunt you forever, if we continue on like this. If we . . .”
“I don’t care about any of it,” he insisted. “You are not your father. You are not his choices, or his betrayals.”
“She said there would be no peace if we . . .” I stopped myself, not wanting to say the word. “If we continue on. Your reign would be tainted.”
“Last I checked, Solandis is not a seer,” Aydan said. “Kenna sees prosperity in my future.”
“She can’t see me,” I reminded him.
“No, but she can see me.” He drew circles around my knee. “I love you, Shaye.”
“I love you too,” I said tearfully.
“Good,” he said. “Then we can figure out the rest as it comes. Don’t let Solandis’s fears ruin us. Not when we’ve just started.” He leaned forward and kissed me deeply. I gasped in surprise when he reached down and scooped me into his arms, lifting me out of the tub.
“Aydan, you’re soaked—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he kissed me again as he carried me to the bed and laid me down before snapping his fingers, rendering me dry and warm.
He spent the rest of the night kissing and touching me until I forgot my name. Until he was no longer the king and was just a man. Until nothing and no one beyond the walls of our room, our sanctuary, in that very moment mattered. When he finally did make love to me, tears soaked my face once again. We moved together, our bodies and hearts in rhythm, our limbs and souls equally intertwined. We reached the edge of ecstasy as one, and fell over together, breathing heavily, our foreheads pressed against each other, afraid to move, to disturb the magic that swelled in the air around us.
We slept that way, holding one another tightly, breath mingling, one of us occasionally waking just enough to softly kiss the other, until the sun rose and reality came pouring back into the room with the light.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The weeks that followed were largely uneventful. Reyna went home to her family’s estate with Calliope, which made attending events less stressful. Without the fear that Reyna would suddenly appear and Solandis would find reasons to shove her and Aydan together, I found myself easily avoiding the Lady of Sylvanna. The morning after our conversation, Aydan had announced at the breakfast table that he would be having a private meeting with his grandmother, then kissed me goodbye and disappeared for several hours. He didn’t tell any of us what had been said, but Solandis now avoided eye contact with me, and I wasn’t complaining. Aydan had done everything to protect and assure me that her words meant nothing, but even though I could allow myself to forget them each night as he held me in our bed, each day that I saw her stoic, tattooed face, I was reminded of her warning.
Alastair finally set the wasters aside and was allowing me to spar against him with a real sword. Every other morning, he and I met at sunrise, and with each lesson, I improved. Soon, rather than him simply instructing me, our time became practice for the both of us. Wielding a blade and drawing a bow made me strong. I noticed in the mirror one morning that my arms, stomach, and thighs were all defined with muscle I had never seen on myself before. Soon after, I had to ask Isolde to let out most of my dresses when I found myself rotating through the same few that still fit.
The stronger I got, the less severe my elemental outbursts became. Most days, I would still find myself with hands frosted over, setting loose a few sparks, or in one instance, touching a potted herb in the kitchen while popping in to say hello to Zale and Tory and accidentally producing a large shrub’s worth of rosemary in the window, shattering the glass. I apologized profusely while Zale insisted on cleaning up the mess and Tory ushered me out of the kitchen. Gerridan’s laughter was nearly uncontrollable when I told him what happened.
~
One morning, I was sitting in Aydan’s study, pouring over documents laying out the new trade routes connecting Sylvanna to Ayzelle. It had been almost two months since the agreement was signed, stating the Crown’s intent to open trade with the garden city, but the logistics were proving harder to wrangle than we’d expected. Granting certain routes to Sylvanna ran the risk of cutting off or delaying shipments for Xarynn, who had maintained an excellent trade relationship with all territories for centuries, given they were the only territory with access to imported goods. Disrupting their routes could prove disastrous for interterritorial relations, if the reasoning was perceived to be favoritism shown by Aydan to his grandparents.
The door to the study flew open, and without looking up, I declared, “We’re going to have to build a new route entirely.”
“Where’s Aydan?” I looked up and Alastair was standing in the doorway, looking alarmed, holding a heavy letter in his hand.
“I think he and Kenna are with Priamos,” I said. “Why?”
He didn’t answer and instead effuged away. I stood and rushed into the sitting room, where I found Gerridan and Hannele looking as confused as I felt.
“What’s up with Al?” I asked them. Hannele put her hands in the air.
It only took a moment for Alastair to return with Kenna and Aydan in tow, both ruffled and confused.
“Al, what the hell?” Kenna said, brushing off her skirt.
“I second that,” Aydan said. “Why did you just kidnap me from the palace?”
“Because of this.” Alastair held out the letter, which Aydan took from him.
“Is that . . . ?” he said softly to himself, turning the parchment over in his hand.
“What?” Gerridan asked, peering forward to see what it was that was so special.
“It’s the royal seal of Nautia,” Alastair declared. “We’ve received a response directly from the king’s desk.”
“You’re kidding.” I took the letter from Aydan’s hands. I examined the seal and the Thandreil family’s sigil, a pair of crossed battle-axes, stamped clear as day in red wax. The other side, in a neat scrawl, showed the letter addressed to His Majesty, King Aydan of Medeisia. I passed it to Gerridan’s outreached hand, who showed Hannele as well.
“Shit,” she said under her breath. “It worked.”
“We don’t know that yet,” Aydan said, taking the letter back and breaking the seal. He paused, and then displayed it to Kenna, who placed a hand on it. “Anything I should know before I open this?”
“I can’t see anything,” she replied in a huff. “A witch has handled that letter. Be careful.”
Aydan unfolded the paper and read aloud:
Greetings, Your Majesty,
It was, as I am sure you can imagine, quite a shock to receive a letter containing the seal of House Aevitarus on my desk. My deepest apologies for such a delayed response. I have been unsure how to react to your proposal, and must admit that I write to you now without approval from my council.
My late brother, King Mal, named me regent before his death, knowing that I would govern fairly and faithfully, with our people’s well-being at the forefront of my thoughts until the time that my nephew, King Callum, comes of age and takes his place on the throne of his destiny. It is my sworn duty to prepare him and guide him to be a fierce, just leader for the people of Nautia.
Our nations have a bloody history, there is no denying that fact. However, Your Majesty, with recent changes on the thrones of both our nations, I agree with your statement that there is room for hope in our futures.
I am open to your suggestion of negotiations between
Nautia and Medeisia, and look forward to your next correspondence.
Sincerely,
Prince Gram
Lord Regent of Nautia
I watched Aydan scan the letter over again in silence twice more before he looked up at us, wide-eyed.
“Holy shit,” said Gerridan, finally breaking the silence. He clapped Aydan on the shoulder. “You did it.”
“Not yet—but it’s a start,” Aydan said, still stunned. I planted a kiss on his cheek.
“It’s a start,” I said earnestly. He looked at all of us in disbelief.
“I have to go and draft a reply,” he said, running a hand through his hair. He looked to Gerridan. “Can you assist me?” The emissary nodded. Then, to me, “I need to use my study . . .”
“Go.” I shooed him toward the room. “I can work at the dining table.”
He pecked my cheek before swiftly walking to the study, with Gerridan at his heels. Seconds later, when I walked into the dining room, there sat my paperwork, neatly stacked and ready for me to get back to work, as if I could think about anything but the letter from Prince Gram. I sat anyway and attempted to focus.
An hour or so later, I abandoned my work and found Alastair in his room, reading, of all things, a book about the Nautian Rebellion, while stretched out on his bed.
“Refreshing your memory?” I leaned against the doorframe.
“Not quite.” He closed the book and set it on a desk. “The rebellion happened long before I was born.”
“Really?” I had always been of the impression that Aydan was the youngest among his friends, aside from myself.
Alastair nodded. “My mother was living in the elf kingdoms at the time, so she heard about it after the fact, but I wasn’t born for another sixty or so years.”
“Where is your mother now?” I pried.
“Around. She doesn’t stay in one place too long.” His tone indicated that that was all he had to say on the matter.
I let the silence hang there for a moment before asking, “Do you want to take a walk with me?”
“A mindwalk?” he joked.
“No, you ass, a walk around the garden. I’ve been cooped up all day trying to figure out those damned trade routes. If I don’t get some fresh air soon, I’m going to—” I was cut off by the sound of glass breaking and a chilling scream from downstairs.
“What the fuck?” Alastair and I bolted from his room. Before we hit the stairs, he grabbed my wrist and effuged us to the dining room where all the commotion was.
Isolde was shaking on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, while Tory crouched before her, holding her upright and murmuring gently in Xarynnea. Hannele squatted beside them, trying to calm her down enough to speak. Isolde’s terrified eyes darted wildly around the room. Aydan and Gerridan rushed in then. Aydan met my eyes in silent question and I shook my head helplessly.
Zale and Elise came next, and Zale immediately joined them on the floor around his sister. Isolde continued to sob and shake her head.
“What is wrong with her?” Elise asked, her hand resting on her throat.
“That.”
Kenna, who had been silently watching this whole time, pointed to the dining room table, which held what looked like an oversized wooden jewelry box. I stepped toward it.
“Don’t touch it,” Kenna hissed. “It’s cursed.”
“Cursed?”
“It’s witchcraft,” she said. “Isolde must have touched it, but it wasn’t meant for her.” I peered at the box and saw what Kenna was talking about: carved into the lid in perfect calligraphy were the words, Long Live the King.
Magic pulsed from the box. The sensation was like the night Aydan brought me across the border into Medeisia. Something was awakening. I summoned the box to float in the air in front of me and stared at it from different angles, my mind filling with understanding and even more questions.
“Shaye,” Aydan said carefully, his hand outstretched and face etched with worry, “give it to me, my love.” I blinked, let go of my hold on the box, and watched it drop gently into Aydan’s hands. He held it still for a moment, as if waiting for something to happen. Nothing. Kenna was right— the box was meant for him.
“Isolde, whatever you saw isn’t real,” I said, turning to her. Hannele’s brow furrowed. I explained, “It’s not cursed. It’s psychic magic. Just a spell.”
“How do you know?” Kenna asked.
“I’m not sure.” My head tilted as I examined the box in Aydan’s hands. I looked up at him. “It won’t hurt you.”
He still looked concerned but set it back down on the table. The rest of us, minus Tory and Zale, who carried Isolde from the room, gathered around, looking over his shoulder as he carefully lifted the lid.
Inside was a folded white handkerchief, which Aydan gingerly lifted the corner of, revealing what lay within. He inhaled sharply. Alastair swore and Gerridan looked like he might be sick. Kenna quickly turned Elise away, telling her not to look. Hannele just stared into the box, perhaps, like me, trying to make sense of what she was seeing:
Arranged in neat, clean rows on the bright white handkerchief were approximately forty fingers, cut off at the knuckle of whatever hands they had come from. Without breaking my stare, I asked Gerridan, “How many men did you send to Creg’tam?”
“Four.” The word was spat from his lips.
Aydan snapped the lid shut. “We need to send out a search party for the sentries. Keep it quiet until we know for certain what has happened—”
“No need,” said Kenna, cutting him off. She had the faraway look of sight behind her eyes. After a moment, she blinked and looked to Aydan and me. “You need to get to the border. The sentries just arrived there.”
Chapter Forty
It didn’t take long to locate Gerridan’s men. The four of them were stumbling along the rocky Sylvannian border, their hands wrapped in white bandages with blood already starting to seep through. Aydan grabbed my hand each time we effuged, first when we arrived at the border, then again when we took the men to the healers in the palace.
The men were confused. I sat near one of them, a young man named Brenn, while a raven-haired healer knelt before him. Brenn seemed shocked at the appearance of his hands, having no recollection of the fingers being removed.
“Are the . . . erm, pieces, anywhere to be found?” the healer, Cian, asked.
“Yes, all of them, we believe,” I told him. Cian glanced up at me.
“All?”
“Yes, we think so.” I motioned for Aydan. He opened his hands and the box appeared. He lifted the lid for Cian to see the forty fingers laid out before him.
“Be careful not to touch the box,” he warned. Cian reached in carefully and selected a finger that appeared to match Brenn’s skin tone before holding his hand over the connecting flesh. A green glow came off Cian’s palm, and I watched, fascinated as the flesh of Brenn’s finger stitched itself back to his hand.
It was in observing Cian do the same thing with each of Brenn’s fingers—then with the fingers of the other three men—that I realized how cleanly cut the wounds were. The fingers were removed with extreme precision and then preserved in their box, and not one of these men had memory of the encounter. None of them could say where they were, beyond being in the Creg’tam mountain range and seeing the Five-Peak Summit. None of them remembered seeing anyone, witch or otherwise, during the entirety of their journey.
Gerridan hovered anxiously, his arms crossed and eyes wide while Cian worked. The men were not employed by the Crown but by the Hollick estate, owned by his grandfather. It was Gerridan who had selected these men to carry out this mission, and their loyalty to him that made them agree to such secrecy. The guilt was etched deeply into his face. He would not soon recover from this. He watched the last finger stitch itself back onto its owner before he turned and swiftly left the room.
I followed into the corridor, where he paced its length, running a hand through his hair.
“Ge
r, settle down,” I told him. “This isn’t your fault.”
“I sent them, Shaye.” He halted in his tracks.
“It was a volunteer mission.”
“They went because I asked them.”
“And you asked because I asked first,” I countered. “If you’re going to blame someone, blame me.” He clenched his jaw. “Do you want to get out of here?” I asked. He nodded and reached for my extended hand. We arrived back at Aydan’s house.
The servants were nowhere to be seen. I left Gerridan in the sitting room and went to the kitchen to pour us each a drink. When I returned, Hannele sat beside him with her hand on his back while he held his head in his hands.
“They’re going to be okay,” the princess insisted. “Gods willing, their memories won’t return, and the worst of it will be the procedure.” I handed Gerridan his drink, which he took and downed silently in one motion.
“That’s the strange thing, don’t you think?” I mused. “You’d think if the Children were so bloodthirsty, they would have done something . . . I don’t know, more.”
“More than cutting off my sentries’ fingers and sending them to Aydan in a box?” Gerridan snapped. “What, was it not brutal enough for you?”
“That’s not what I said. I just—I feel like if they were going to send a message living up to our expectations, they wouldn’t have bothered letting Brenn and the others live.”
“Wow.” Gerridan huffed. “That’s very nice, Shaye, really. They send a direct threat to your lover—your king—and you’re sitting around disappointed that it wasn’t more exciting?”
“That’s not it.” I glared. “I just . . .” Gerridan was livid. Hannele’s worried eyes shifted back and forth between us. “Look, if they wanted to send a message to Aydan, why not dump the sentries’ bodies at the border? Why just the fingers, easily reattached by our healer? Why erase their memories, and why did none of them experience any pain?”
“It’s the Children, Shaye. They’re witches—absolutely insane—”
