by Kaylin Lee
“Right.” Chloe sent me an approving look. “Word-for-word, huh? I’m impressed.”
“I read it a long time ago,” I mumbled, fiddling with my bow. “S’pose it stuck in my memory. The mortally wounded man never expected to see the morning. His pain and uncertainty make the beauty of another day more … I don’t know, precious, maybe.”
“You’re not mortally wounded.” Chloe set her own crossbow down and set about smoothing her gauzy, white sundress, her emerald bridal necklace flashing in the mage-craft light of her dress. “But you did lose five years of your life to that torturous curse, and for five years you faced the inevitable curse of eternal sleep. You never expected to see the dawn, and yet, here you are.”
“Here I am.”
“Or maybe you’re just broken.” She shrugged and stepped back into the heeled sandals she’d removed for our contest. She bent to tie her sandal straps, then straightened. “I’m enjoying the dawn, myself. You should do the same.” Her eyes crinkled slightly. “And that idea you’ve had? You should do it. With all that magic out there, it’s a good time to attempt the impossible.”
Chapter 49
The dinner was over, my belly was full, we’d talked about every topic under the sun, but I still couldn’t bring myself to broach the question that had led me to ask Belle for an interview with them. I swallowed the last of my bread, then chased it with a quick swallow of lemonburst juice, the magical, fizzy liquid nearly making me choke on my nerves.
Then Prince Estevan sat back in his chair. “Belle said you had a question.”
“Yes, Your Highness. A question.” I cleared my throat. “And an idea.”
“Well, are you going to tell us or not?” Princess Belle’s face was bright with interest.
“I just …” I found myself glancing out the window at the dark, starlit city below us, my fingers wrapping instinctively around the arrow pendant Tavar had given me before he left for his most recent mission to the Badlands. Lights from luminous streetlamps mingled with those of speeding fomecoaches on the streets of the Royal Precinct. I’d give anything to have him beside me right now, instead of off fighting bandits, risking his life to protect the weak and defenseless farmers and Badlanders just trying to get by. Even without the Masters lurking in the Badlands, danger was everywhere.
But maybe it was better that I was alone for this meeting. If the prince rejected my proposal, at least Tavar would be spared the pain of getting his hopes up, only to have them dashed.
The gold, glittery magic that had filled the air for so long had finally dissipated now, six months after the eruption. The sky was clear tonight, adorned only by a crescent moon and a sprinkling of tiny stars, but it seemed the city still wasn’t ready to sleep.
Asylians were full of energy these days. A restless, paranoid energy, driving some to celebrate wildly, and others to work at a feverish pace, long into the night.
“Tell us, Briar Rose.” Prince Estevan drew my attention back to the simple, quiet dining room. “We want to hear what you think. Consider it a royal command.”
Well, I couldn’t argue with that. “Growing up, we all learned about the golden age of trade with the West,” I began, sitting straighter and trying not to fidget. “I know Western explorers came in the early days. They studied us, and took knowledge of our continent to the West. I know our merchants traded with Western companies over the mountains and oceans, even letting us adapt their inventions for use with our magic. We wouldn’t even have spice crops like winterdrops and spiceberries if they hadn’t sent seeds for Lerenia’s grower mages to experiment with.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Belle frowned. “What are you getting at?”
“Why wasn’t there more?”
The prince studied me. “You think there should have been more trade?”
“More exchange.” I rolled my napkin between my palms. “Exchange, not just of inventions and goods, but of people, of ideas. Why didn’t any Westerners come here? I mean more than just a family, here or there, like the one who founded the Herald, or Tavar’s people, who were fleeing the plague. There should have been lots of Westerners, it seems, if there was a whole vast world of them out there, and lots of people from our land going to theirs. So why didn’t that happen?”
“You know, a year ago I would have told you it was because they thought the cities of Theros were nothing but a backwater civilization compared to the West, not worth their time and attention.” Prince Estevan took the napkin off his lap and set it on the table. “And perhaps because we were too afraid of leaving our own land to venture into theirs.”
Something in his dark gaze made my stomach feel heavy. “But I’m sorry to say the real reason was far more sinister. A month ago, our clerks went through the Royal Archive, organizing documents that we had neither time nor money to care for until recently. They found records I’d never seen.” He rubbed his jaw, suddenly seeming unable to continue.
Belle grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “A delegation from the West came and met with his grandfather over fifty years ago—when King Anton was still a boy. The delegates told him that the West would not have diplomatic relations with our continent as long as we continued to enslave our mages.”
I blinked. That was the last thing I’d expected to hear. “What did the king tell them?”
“I think you know the answer.” Prince Estevan scowled. “He refused. He sent them away, told them never to return, and that was that.”
I pressed a hand to my mouth, the fine dinner we’d just finished threatening to come up. “That was that? There could have been more, but there wasn’t, because … because …” I shook my head. “No. It doesn’t make sense! Surely, relations with the West, a real exchange with them, would have been better for our continent than the best we could accomplish on our own with just a few mages.”
Princess Belle shook her head. “Fear is powerful, Bri. I’m sure the king, and later, Estevan’s father, King Anton, felt threatened by the mere prospect of freeing the mages. And no doubt, the Procus lords would have felt the same way.”
“Fear, yes.” The prince’s brow lowered. “Fear and greed. They probably couldn’t stomach the thought of anyone other than the few at the top controlling the magic that fueled our city. All these years, we thought the West gave us the plague, but we’ve been the villains in this, start to finish.”
“The villains?” Belle narrowed her eyes, then sighed. “Well, perhaps. But they didn’t have to simply leave us to our own devices after the old king denied them, did they? How many mages had to suffer because they walked away?”
“True.” Prince Estevan brushed her hand with his. “Regardless, once the West was lost to the plague, we had no way to communicate with their leaders. Magic is no match for the vast ocean between us. We never had the chance to undo the choice the old king made.”
This was it. Once the words left my mouth, they would be outside of me, outside of my control. They would become tangible, not just a lonesome, wishful wondering, but a plan—solid and real. Terrifying.
I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath.
The words came in a shaky, impassioned torrent, spilling out like they’d been waiting there, desperate for freedom, just like the centuries worth of mages who’d paid for their ancestors’ evil with their own service for generations on end.
Perhaps the words truly had been in me for a long time, stored up, simmering beneath the surface, waiting months to come out in a moment like this.
No, not months. Years.
Perhaps the words I spoke this evening had been growing since I was a child, sitting alone on the dark roof of the bakery, imprisoned by fear and secrets, by True Name laws designed to protect the world from little mage girls like me and my sister.
“That’s what I think we should do,” I finished several minutes later, my voice still as shaky as when I’d begun. “I know it will be an enormous risk. A huge undertaking, incredibly expensive, complicated, involving time and money and people
Asylia cannot spare because there’s so much more work to be done. But I still think we should do it. And I’m here to ask you—no, beg you—to help.” I tried to relax my hands, but they seemed to be stuck into fists. “It will be hard, yes. But it’s the right thing to do.”
I sat frozen, feeling depleted now that I’d said my piece. Smaller, emptier, more vulnerable than I had felt in a long time.
The room seemed cold. It was an unseasonably warm autumn evening, and a warm breeze puffed through the open windows that led to the balcony, but goosebumps rose across my skin.
The prince and princess were silent for a long moment, their expressions inscrutable.
Then Prince Estevan stood. “Don’t move,” he said sharply. “Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to summon my advisors, and then you’re going to tell them what you told me. So don’t you move.”
I chewed on my lip, unable even to nod.
The prince speared me with an imperious glance. “I can see that you’re about to run. Don’t do it, Briar Rose. Stay right here. I'll be back. We’re not done.” He nodded to Belle. “Get the girl some dessert.”
Somehow, the petite, elegant princess maneuvered me out of the dining hall and onto the balcony without me realizing it. My thoughts whirred chaotically, bouncing around my mind as she pressed a glass of spiceberry cream into my hand.
“Eat,” she said, her eyes crinkling kindly. “Maybe the sugar will loosen your tongue by the time his advisors get here.”
I ate woodenly. The sweet, creamy flavor was perfect and yet not enough, like everything else seemed to be these days.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it? A celebrating Asylia, victorious and hopeful.” Belle looked out over the city, her arms resting on the balcony. Her long, simple pink gown glowed gently in the light of the small luminous lantern in the sconce beside her. She’d tied a plain, purple ribbon around her upper arm, a match to the one Prince Estevan wore. The slim, purple band reminded me of other ribbons—gold ones, the sign of True Name slavery—from years ago, which had gone out of favor quickly once the mages were set free. I supposed the prince and princess were still servants of Asylia, while everyone else had moved on to pursue their own dreams.
“Yes, it is beautiful.” I swallowed a bite of dessert.
Belle nodded to herself. “Beautiful, but wild. We have more magic than we know what to do with.” She nudged me. “Does Tavar know?”
“Not yet.” A breeze brushed the balcony, lifting my hair around my face. “He’s on a long mission right now.” I gripped the arrow pendant around my neck once again, but it was a poor substitute for the peaceful, comforting feel of his hand in mine. “Can we keep this a secret, for now? I don’t want to tell him until we know for certain we can do it. He’s never mentioned anything like this to me, and neither has his grandfather. But if they were hoping, and then it turns out it won’t work … I don’t want to break their hearts.”
“Of course, Bri. That’s wise.” Belle straightened and released the balcony, turning to face me. “You won’t have to worry about funds, though.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Oh, no. My investment firm will handle that.” She winked. “We’ve been hunting for a long-term investment opportunity with the possibility for excellent returns. Your proposal blows the rest of them out of the water.”
There was a tap on the window behind us.
We turned around to see the dining room was filled with half a dozen men along with Prince Estevan, including the aide I’d met during the storm.
The prince beckoned.
Belle squeezed my arm.
I felt frozen again, like I stood once again on the edge of a cliff. This time, I would jump not to save Tavar’s life or my mother’s, but to—
“This is bigger than you.” Belle’s voice was quiet but urgent. “Bigger than any of us. Maybe the most important thing we’ve ever done. So you're going to go in there, and you’re going to tell them everything, and then you’re going to do it.”
“I am.” I made myself nod. “I’m going to do it.”
“And we’re going to help.”
We entered the dining room and I repeated my plan for Prince Estevan’s aids, answering their questions as I went. When the hour was done, I felt like I had part of my old self back.
There are two types of people out there—those who run from their fears and those who run to them. And I was still the second kind.
Chapter 50
“Why didn’t you ask Alba to take away your scar?” I curled up around a hot mug of coffee as a late-autumn rain pounded the window.
Tavar and I snuggled on one end of Ella’s couch. She’d asked us over for afternoon coffee. And to talk, she’d said. I’d been feeling apprehensive all day, because I knew exactly what she intended to do this afternoon—try to talk us out of the mission. Tavar’s arm over my shoulders was warm and comforting, and he sipped his coffee calmly, apparently unaffected by the argument on the horizon.
“Alba’s a good healer,” I added. “I’m sure she’d be able to do it, especially with all the new magic out there.”
“I almost did. Weslan asked me not to, actually, so I changed my mind.” Ella shrugged, the motion muted by the weight of the chubby infant snuggling on her shoulder. “I’m used to my scar. It doesn’t bother me at all, and since it mattered to him …”
Tavar frowned and leaned around me to study Ella. “But why would it matter to him?”
Ella blew out a breath, smiling to herself. She shot us a sidelong glance. “You know he wasn’t always so kind and devoted, right?”
I played with the rim of my coffee cup, thinking back through the dusty darkness of the time before the curse. Steam from the coffee tickled my fingers. “You two were always fighting, back when he first came to the bakery. I remember that part.” It had been ugly, now that I thought about it. Ugly for both of them. I recalled Ella’s red, painful-looking injury from the bomb, and Weslan’s tired, bloodshot eyes always tracking her as she stormed around the bakery.
“He hated my scar back then.” Ella brushed the pale, raised skin that ran from her temple to her jaw. “Not because it was hard to look at but because of all it represented. The failure of the system he’d benefited from all his life. The prejudice of the terrorists who’d attacked defenseless students in the middle of our final exam. The cruelty of the mages who’d refused to heal me.”
Tavar shook his head. “If it represents all that, why doesn’t he want it to disappear now?”
“Because those awful things worked together for an astounding amount of good, of course! Imagine.” Ella shifted, bringing her knees up under her and moving baby Nikolai to her other shoulder. “Because of this scar, I took up the fight for freedom for Asylian mages——a life of freedom for Bri and Albs and Mom, and Weslan, too. Not to mention the scar brought the two of us together, because how would we ever have got to know each other if I’d continued down the path I’d always planned, toward a government apprenticeship and all that came with it? And most of all, this scar changed him—from a man who thought only of his own comfort to a man who would give his very life for me.” She kissed Nikolai’s cheek. “For us.”
I found myself nodding slowly. “Weslan doesn’t want to forget.”
Ella turned her head to the side and bent forward, showing Nikolai her scar. The dimpled five-month-old grinned, drool spilling out of his toothless mouth, and reached for the scar with his chubby fingers. “I suppose I don’t want to forget either,” Ella said, laughing as the baby patted her face. “And isn’t that what scars do? Remind us of the things we might otherwise forget?”
Nikolai squealed his agreement. He was a handsome little thing—golden skin, green eyes, and dark hair, little wisps of it, the glossy strands shining even in the dim, rainy morning light.
I took another sip of my coffee, then set it on the table beside the couch and held out my arms. “I need more baby kisses.”
Ella passed him to me, then sat back, stre
tched out her legs, and reached for her own cup of coffee. “It’s a good idea.” She spoke to her coffee, not to us, but I knew exactly what was on her mind—the topic I’d been avoiding ever since announcing it to the family the previous week.
We’d told Grandfather Silvio first, after getting the final approval from the prince to move forward with the plan, and then we’d gone straight to my parents’ villa for a family meeting. It hadn’t gone as well as I’d hoped, but they seemed to be more accepting now that a week had passed.
“It is a good idea,” Ella repeated, as though trying to convince herself. “But I don't like the thought of you and Tavar doing it, and I’m not sure it’s worth the risk.”
I’d known she’d say that, which was exactly why I’d been trying to avoid this conversation. I bounced Nikolai on my knee. “What do you mean not worth the risk? All those people—”
“The plague began almost twenty years ago! You know how quickly it spread. What if there's no one left to save? What if they’re already lost?”
“Actually …” Now it was my turn to avoid her gaze. “Chloe checked in the mirror.”
“I thought we weren’t allowed to use alchemy anymore.”
“The prince made an exception. She looked before the mirror was destroyed.”
“And what did she find?” Ella sounded wary.
“Survivors,” I said, my throat tight at the memory of the thin, miserable people we’d seen in the mirror. “Not many, but some.”
“But how can they live? With the plague spreading, and no cure, no healers—”
“They keep the sick quarantined, keep to themselves,” Tavar said. He tickled Nikolai’s back, making him smile.
“They’re still dying.” My voice was hoarse, even as I smiled back at Nikolai. “Just slowly. Painfully.”
“Then we have to do something.” Nikolai reached for Ella, so she took him from me and drew him close. He gurgled, nuzzling her neck, and gripped her hair with his tiny, dimpled fists. “But does it have to be you two?”
