by Amy Alward
‘Yeah, but . . .’
‘It’s something I would seriously consider. You won’t have opportunities like this again. You could set all the records straight about your family, too – there are still people out there who think you guys hid an aqua vitae from the world.’ That was the big scandal last month – that somehow we’d developed a cure for everything, the most powerful potion in the world – and then either destroyed it or kept it for ourselves. So not true.
I stare down at the email. A documentary . . . it could be fun.
Trumpets sound all around us, and the lights dim. ‘I’ll think about it,’ I whisper to Zain as the show starts, glad for the distraction. A laser display of glittering red and green beams dances across the water as a screen rises up behind. An introductory video plays, along with several adverts for ZoroAster Corp medicines. Zain and I exchange a glance, eye-rolling at the supreme cheesiness. But with my cheek against his shoulder, our hands clenched together, snuggled up underneath the warm woollen blanket, I couldn’t think of a more perfect first ‘proper’ date.
That is, until a face appears, smirking on the screen. A smug, sharp-angled face with amber-yellow tiger eyes.
‘CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR NEW PRINCE, STEFAN OF NOVA!’ the caption reads. For their first stunt, the kelpies burst out of the waves in front of his serene, waving form, honouring the newest member of the Royal family with a choreographed dance of their watery hooves and frothy manes. They should take my breath away but all I can see is red.
Beside me, Zain squeezes my hand. ‘Remember, just forget it . . .’
I grit my teeth for two more seconds, but when fireworks go off behind Stefan’s head, I throw the blanket to the floor and stand up. ‘I can’t watch it.’
‘Sam!’
‘Stay if you want, but there’s no way I’m honouring that creep. I don’t care if no one else understands, or if they won’t listen. I will never believe he’s changed. I wouldn’t trust Prince Stefan if my life depended on it.’
CHAPTER THREE
Samantha
THE DOOR SLAMS SHUT BEHIND ME.
Mum is sitting at the kitchen table, and she looks down at her watch in surprise. ‘Oh, Sam! I wasn’t expecting you back until later. Your dad took Molly to swim practice . . .’ She catches the expression on my face and stops talking. I stormed the whole way home from the kelpie show. Zain offered me a lift, but I needed the walk. Seeing that video brought the familiar rage bubbling back up to the surface again and now I can’t disguise it. ‘Everything okay?’ Mum asks, her calm voice cutting through the red haze in front of my eyes.
‘No,’ I say, through gritted teeth. I need to calm down. I need . . . tea.
‘What is it, honey? Here, let me do that,’ she says, taking the kettle from my shaking hands. Mum is Talented but her magic is weak and she doesn’t tend to use it inside the house. Her object – a divining rod – sits on the dresser upstairs. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
I do as she says, slumping into one of our kitchen chairs. ‘I don’t get it. How can people believe in him?’
She doesn’t need to ask who I’m talking about. Every cast, every morning show, every newspaper front page features Prince Stefan at the moment. He’s on a PR-offensive, and that’s exactly how I find it: offensive. Stefan’s the one that put the Princess in danger – hiring Emilia Thoth, sparking the chain of events that led to the hunting of the aqua vitae, and now marrying her only to take advantage of her immense magical power. It feels like no one has even noticed that the Princess has been suspiciously absent from the public eye apart from a few blurry photographs.
My face scrunches up in disgust every time he’s on air. He’s impossible to escape. Everywhere, there are pictures and videos of his handsome, shining, smarmy face, his enigmatic tiger eyes, his perfectly coiffed blond hair. My voice, my lone voice, is drowned in a sea of adoration and hope.
I don’t have hope. I have anger.
Tears of seraphim mixed with roots of Bodhi tree – to lift the veil of deceit from everyone’s eyes so they can see the truth that’s in front of them.
Even though it would be a felony, I think about making a giant batch and putting it into the water system of Nova. At least it would be better than all this pro-Stefan juice that the world seems to have drunk.
But I’m the only one who saw him in Gergon, the only one who knows that he was behind the explosion at the Laville Ball. And the more he dominates the TV casts and the newsprint and social media, the harder it is to get anyone to believe me.
How can anyone the Princess chose to marry be that bad?
If what you say is true, wouldn’t he have shown his true colours by now?
Mum’s voice adds to the fray: ‘I don’t know, honey. I suppose people want to believe the best of their new Royal family.’
‘Even if I can find evidence against him?’
‘It’s your word against his. And even though we believe you–’
‘What about the Princess? She’s been MIA from all these publicity stunts and no one thinks that’s weird?’
‘She’s busy. Being a newlywed is never easy.’
‘Ugh, especially when you’ve married a creep like him.’
‘And the public want to know the new Prince. None of this is that unusual, honey.’
I roll my eyes. It’s an argument I’ve now heard too many times. ‘What about the white powder that I saw on Evelyn’s sleeve? The same symptom of the virus that Stefan showed me had been spreading through his country. Does no one care about that?’
Mum’s expression remains neutral, ever the diplomat, but a tiny frown line appears between her eyes. I almost want to point at it and say: ‘Aha! You are worried too!’ But I don’t. ‘You care,’ she says, gently. ‘And because you care, we care. If the Princess asks for your help, you and Grandad will be ready. If she wants privacy, you just have to wait for her to get in touch. That’s all you can do.’
‘I know,’ I say with a sigh. I sip my green tea and wait for my heart rate to return to normal.
‘Well, maybe it’s not all you can do.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You don’t have to wait around. You have your own life. Maybe after everything you’ve been through this past year, you can focus on you. It’s your last year at school. You have that big internship with ZoroAster Corp coming up. Maybe you and Anita should take a holiday somewhere?’
I pause, staring into my tea. ‘Yeah, maybe. Sorry, Mum, I guess I’m just tired. I’m going to take this upstairs, okay?’
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
I shrug. ‘Yeah. I think I just . . . miss her, you know?’
‘Of course you do. The Princess has been a big part of your life this year, but she is a Royal first. She’ll come back in her own time.’
Up in my room, I sit at my desk and open my laptop. Out of habit I log in to Connect and when it loads I see that Kirsty has posted a long message on her page. Kirsty is our store’s Finder – she travels the world hunting down ingredients and restocking any dwindling supplies. She helped me out big time finding the love potion ingredients during the Wilde Hunt and in the search for my great-grandmother’s diary. I like so many of her photos and posts that her latest pops up straight away on my feed.
CALLING ALL MY FRIENDS
Things are not right in Nova.
The new Prince comes from a place where ordinaries are treated as second-class citizens to Talenteds.
We need to listen to my friend, Samantha Kemi, when she warns us that he is dangerous!
We must be vigilant – we can’t let our rights be taken away.
Stand Up For Ordinaries!
The message makes my heart swell. Kirsty is one of the few people who also knows Prince Stefan’s true nature, and his connection to the aqua vitae. I haven’t seen her since the Royal Tour, but I thought I spotted her in a photograph of a crowd at an Ordinary Rights Association (ORA) rally. With the spotlight on Gerg
on since the wedding and Prince Stefan’s ascendance, she’s stepped up her campaigning there for ordinaries to receive equal treatment and rights to Talenteds. She’s been travelling so much that I’ve barely seen her.
Unlike Gergon, Nova has historically been a place where Talenteds and ordinaries have managed to live in harmony. Princess Evelyn threatened that balance earlier this year. As the Royal Princess of Nova, she needed to be married during her eighteenth year and share her Talent or else risk her power growing so out of control that it would destroy her – and the city of Kingstown too. Her initial refusal to marry – and the extreme measures she took creating the love potion to overcome it – meant that she took enormous risks with her own life and the lives of her people. The ORA called it irresponsible, reckless even. They don’t think we should have a Royal family at all – that it’s crazy for a few people to be in charge of so much power, even if a lot of it is for show. They think we should follow the Pays model, where the people overthrew their monarchy after a long and bloody revolution. The excess power was redistributed amongst the people once the Royal bloodline had all been wiped out.
I shiver. I don’t want the Princess to be ‘wiped out’.
My opinion is that the Nova model works, but only if the Royal family abide by the rules. They have the power, but they are legally bound not to misuse it. We have an elected government – a mix of Talented and ordinaries – to keep things in check.
Because the reality of our world is that there are Talenteds and there are ordinaries. We need to learn to live together.
Balance is everything. Balance is peace.
Balance is harmony.
Any alchemist worth their salt knows that. You could even go as far as to say that balance is the ultimate goal of alchemy. Some people would say it was change. But alchemists change things for a reason. To find that perfect equilibrium between light and dark – whether that’s elements or potions or even in ways of thinking.
So even though Kirsty has asked me a few times, I won’t join the ORA. She thinks I would be a good ‘face’ for them to use. Since all the publicity surrounding the Wilde Hunt, my social media following has shot from zero to supernova. I have a platform – even if I only use it to try and discredit Prince Stefan.
But I don’t want to be anyone’s puppet.
The next post almost changes my mind. It’s not from any of my friends – it’s one of those articles that drops into my feed based on things I’ve searched for before. What catches my eye is an absolutely horrible picture of me, a screenshot taken from when I had been dragged away from the Nova Breaking News newsroom mid-rant about Stefan. My hair has fallen out of its bun and my eyes are rolled back in my head. They’ve made me look deranged.
Which is exactly what the headline says:
SAMANTHA KEMI: MASTER ALCHEMIST OR MENACE TO SOCIETY?
I cringe, but don’t click on the article to read it. I do, however, click on the #SamanthaKemi public hashtag.
The page loads up with even more anger.
JEALOUS OR JADED? Why Samantha Kemi just can’t leave the Prince and Princess alone.
QUIZ: Can you identify these five Sam Kemi meltdown moments?
And, worst of all, there’s a bold BREAKING NEWS headline.
CAUGHT ON CAMERA: Samantha Kemi rails against the Prince at hot restaurant MDW.
Underneath, playing automatically, is crystal-clear footage of my argument with the couple at the next table, filmed by another patron of the restaurant.
My head falls onto my desk.
Every time I try to tell people the truth about Stefan, my words get distorted. I need a way to get my version of events out. But to do that, I have to have control over the images that are shown, the words that are said.
A thought strikes me with a mixture of fear and excitement and I click out of Connect and into my email. Maybe I do have an opportunity to tell my side of the story.
Daphne Golden’s email sits at the very top of my inbox.
A docucast. A television show.
But you hate the spotlight. You hate being on TV. The voice inside my head is pretty loud this time.
Then again, it’s not live TV.
With a few taps, I call Zain and wait for his face to fill my screen. ‘Hey beautiful,’ he says with a broad smile. ‘What’s up? Did you get home okay?’
‘Yeah, no problems. I’m sorry for storming off.’
‘You don’t have to apologise. We’ll just have to research a totally Prince Stefan-free date next time.’
‘Definitely.’ I grin back at him. I’m glad he’s not mad at me for cutting our date short – but I know he understands. ‘Look, I was thinking about what you said at the kelpie show – about the docucast?’
Zain’s eyes light up. ‘You going to do it?’
‘On one condition. I want you to do it with me.’
Zain’s face freezes and I wonder if our connection has dropped. Then he blinks hard and says, ‘Wait, are you serious?’
‘Why not? I’m going to intern for ZA after I graduate so you’re part of my story too. And I think it would be better if you were there. I would feel more comfortable, at least. And I know you’re busy with uni but you could fit it around your lectures . . .’
‘Okay.’ He nods, the grin returning to his face.
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes, okay! Let’s do it!’
The grin on my face matches his. ‘I’ll email her right now and see what she says.’ In another window, I open Daphne’s email and scan it quickly. She does seem keen to get started right away. ‘Let’s get going – while you’re as hot as magma!’ are the last words of her email.
‘I’m writing back,’ I say to Zain. ‘I’m putting in the condition about you and . . . done.’ I hit send before I can change my mind.
‘Let me know what she says. I’d better get back to studying.’
‘No problem, I’ll—’ My inbox pings mid-sentence. ‘Hang on a second, she’s just replied. She says: “Great! You and Zain will make perfect television. We’ll be there in the morning to get everything set up – make sure your parents are around so we can have them sign the permissions – and then clear your half-term break calendar for filming.” ’
I blink at the screen as it fills up with the documents Daphne pings over to me – showreels from her previous work, news articles about me that she’s researched, storyboards for the filming and a big long contract to sign.
‘Sam? Are you okay?’ I hear Zain now rather than see him – my screen is covered in downloading files.
I minimise everything until I’m staring at his face again. The excitement still tingles through my veins, the thrill of being so spontaneous and daring. But reality is setting in. ‘Um . . . Zain? I’ll be right back. I think I better go talk with my parents.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Samantha
I ACCIDENTALLY SPLASH HOT WATER ONTO the kitchen counter, my hands shaking out of nerves this time, not anger. The back door shuts behind my dad’s cheery voice announcing that he and Molly are home, and I clench my fists to stop my fidgeting. Telling my mum and grandad about the documentary was surprisingly simple: they both thought it sounded like a good opportunity for me.
Maybe even too good. Mum had a lot of questions about whether this Daphne Golden was for real. After I showed her the showreels and Daphne’s credentials though, she agreed that it sounded legitimate. ‘But honey, are you sure you want this kind of attention?’
I shrug. ‘Whether I wanted it or not, I’ve got a platform now. I guess this is a chance to use it responsibly?’
‘Well, then I’m proud of you. I know I said you needed a distraction but I didn’t expect you to come up with something that quickly!’
‘As long as I don’t have to be on television, you can do what you like. You are a Master Alchemist,’ says Grandad. It’s a familiar refrain from him now. But even though I’m a Master Alchemist by title, and I accept all the responsibility that comes with that, I st
ill yearn for a hint of Grandad’s approval.
He seems to know it, reserving his praise for only my most perfect mixes and tantalising me with secrets about the store – I feel like a potion that’s being drip-fed the ingredients I need, so I don’t absorb too much too quickly without retaining anything. Even though I’m impatient to learn it all, it’s humbling to remember how little I know, even with my fancy qualification.
Yet I still have one more hurdle to overcome. Telling Molly. Starting with the Wilde Hunt, I’ve been in the spotlight, stealing all my family’s attention – especially Grandad’s. Now, just as things were about to die down, I’m not sure how my sister will feel about cameras coming into our house to film a documentary all about . . . me. ‘Hi Molly, hi Dad,’ I say, spinning around and plastering a smile on my face.
‘Sam has big news,’ Mum says.
Dad’s eyebrows jolt up in surprise. ‘Really? So does Molly. But you go first, Sam,’ he encourages me.
‘Sure. Well . . .’ I draw out the syllables as both Molly and Dad look at me expectantly. ‘Daphne Golden, a big Tinseltown director, wants to do a documentary about me. She’s going to come round with a camera crew tomorrow to start filming. But I promise it won’t be too invasive – I won’t let them film you if you don’t want.’
Dad’s eyebrows rise up almost into his hairline, but I catch him exchanging a look with Mum and eventually he smiles. ‘Sounds . . . like an interesting experience for you.’
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I say. I brace myself for Molly’s response. But, to my surprise, she smiles broadly. ‘That sounds so cool,’ she says. ‘Anyway, do you want to know my news now?’ Her cheeks flush with excitement.
‘Come on, out with it then,’ says Mum with a laugh.
‘My whole class got this at school today. Here.’ Molly pulls out an envelope, embossed with the Royal seal – or the new Royal seal, that is, with the twin mountain peaks of Gergon as a backdrop to the traditional unicorn and mermaid crest.
Mum opens the letter, and as she reads, her eyes widen and her mouth drops open in surprise. She reads it again, but this time out loud: ‘The Royal Family of Nova is pleased to invite Class 8A of Saint Martha’s High for a formal introduction to the new Prince of Nova, Stefan, and his wife, Princess Evelyn. The visit will take place on the twentieth of September. Please see the enclosed leaflet for information on how to prepare for a trip to the floating Palace.’ There’s a moment’s pause as she folds the letter back into the envelope. ‘Molly – a visit to the Palace!’ Mum is so breathless she can’t even finish her sentence.
