by Molly Ringle
“The authorities have received messages that claim to be from the prince,” Riquelme said, “but we can’t ascertain who they truly came from, or, if it’s him, whether he’s under a spell, perhaps held captive by fae.”
Larkin emitted a sound like a spit. “Of all the preposterous, idiotic—”
“We urge anyone,” Riquelme went on, “to come forward if they have information about either Prince Larkin or Ula Kana. Meanwhile we assure you our emergency forces and personnel stand ready to keep our islanders as safe as possible. We’ll update you as soon as we have further news. Thank you.”
He stepped away from the podium and was replaced by a minister who did her best to field the barrage of questions.
Merrick dropped his hands and stared at the screen. “I’m screwed.”
“We’re all screwed,” Nye said.
“If by that word you mean what I assume you do, then I quite agree.” Larkin deposited his cup on a table and rose. “Honestly! When I was under a spell, no one took notice, but when I’m not under one, they believe me to be!”
Merrick’s phone began buzzing. Cassidy was calling. In addition to that, there was a new text from Sal, whose message from earlier he still hadn’t answered.
Sal: Merrick, we need to talk. I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Can you contact me soon please??
“Screwed,” Merrick echoed, and automatically answered the phone. “Hi.”
“Are you watching the news?” his sibling asked.
“Yes. We … we saw.”
“Great. So.” Cassidy sounded brittle, near-hysterical. “I’m sorry, but you have to come clean. They need to know what happened or our idiot cabinet is going to use this as an excuse to declare war on the fae and trigger a ton of chaos.”
“And I’ll go to jail!”
“It’s gotten more serious than that. It’s not just about you anymore.”
“I—I know. But I can’t talk right now. Larkin and I, we have to decide what to do.”
“People could die, Merrick! Three of them already have, on the mountain. You will do the right thing. Won’t you?”
“Yes. I think. We’ll talk soon, I promise.”
“Be careful, little brother.” Anxiety entered Cass’s voice.
“You too.” Merrick hung up and dropped his phone. “Cassidy thinks I should come clean.”
Nye sighed. “Oh, boy.”
“Highvalley,” Larkin said. “I must go to the palace. Evidently they won’t believe what I say otherwise.”
Merrick got up and paced, hands on his hips. “You can, fine, but I’m not ready to get locked up. How would arresting me do the country any good?”
“You needn’t come. I will continue keeping your name secret.”
“Fine, but I don’t think they’ll believe any cover story you make up.” Merrick glanced at Larkin as a furtively hopeful thought occurred to him. “You could hide too, you know. Leave the country, like you planned. We could both go.”
“Now that Ula Kana has awoken, it would be the act of a coward to run away and not assist the country. I’ve had enough of feeling like a coward.”
“When have you ever been a coward? You’re a national hero!”
“Must I repeat it all for you? No, hide if you will; I will think no worse of you. But I must go to the palace, today. I shall repeat that I was awakened by accident and was helped by harmless citizens, and I will insist they not investigate further.”
“Must I repeat it all for you?” Merrick mimicked. “You can say that, but they won’t obey. You were a prince two hundred years ago. Now you’re a possession they’re trying to keep track of. They’re not going to let you dictate policy.”
“Merrick,” his father chastised.
Miserable, Merrick closed his mouth against the confession that he had done it all for Nye, to try to help him.
But was that true? He had also meddled with Rosamund’s charms because he was curious, ambitious, and irresponsible.
“What do you think?” Merrick asked his father. “What should we do?”
Nye lifted his hands off his legs, turned his palms up, then let them fall. “I think Larkin’s right. They need to know he’s safe, and that no faery woke him up or enchanted him. Otherwise there could be another civil war.”
Merrick let out his breath. “And me?”
Nye gazed across the room at the level of Merrick’s knees, then looked him in the eyes. “Go to Sal, in secret. Get her opinion on Rosamund’s notes and whether those things should go to the government. If she thinks they should, find an anonymous way to turn them over. If not, keep them hidden.”
“Then just go on with my life?” Bitterness soured Merrick’s mouth. “Waiting for the police to knock on my door every day?”
“I have aviator friends who aren’t particular about who or what they fly off the island,” Nye reminded him. “I’m happy to get you away in a hurry if you ever need that.”
Off the island. Where the magic of Eidolonia faded to nothing and couldn’t be accessed. Where he wouldn’t be able to fly and would be far from his family.
Alternatively, he could hide here in plain sight, living forever in dread. But Cassidy knew too, and Cassidy kept secrets as badly as Merrick did.
Merrick turned round and round inside his mind, seeking another path, one that led to freedom and happiness, but the same monster lurked at each signpost. One way or another, the rest of the island would find out what he had done. No one would forgive him. Not after today.
“I’m going out.” He rushed through the kitchen, out the patio door, broke into a run in the garden, and sucked in a deep breath. His feet bounded him off the ground and he soared over the wall.
CHAPTER 19
LARKIN HAD LITTLE TO PACK AND IT TOOK HIM no time to collect it: his tatters and sword from the bower, and the toothbrush and comb and ointments the Highvalleys had given him. He set the extra borrowed clothes on Merrick’s pack and slid Elemi’s clover pins into his braid. The resistance chain was still looped about his neck. The palace had stopped their attempts to summon him after his message, perhaps resorting to some other magic he couldn’t feel, but he continued to wear it. Even when he must go to them of his own will.
He approached Nye, who continued to watch the news.
“Have there been any more attacks?” Larkin asked.
“Hard to say. A storm’s whipped up on the west coast, and there’s some fishing boats in danger they’re trying to get to. But that kind of thing does happen on the water, so … ”
The seas surrounding Eidolonia were disputed territory of sorts. Water fae lived there and claimed it as theirs, but of course humans could not avoid traversing the waters when traveling by boat. Direct attacks were forbidden as part of the general truce, but many water fae disagreed, claiming the ocean did not count as part of the island. Furthermore, it was notoriously hard to tell which faery was responsible for mischief at sea. Thus they meddled with sailors often enough and were seldom caught. It had been true in Larkin’s day and evidently had not changed much since.
“I’m ready to approach the palace,” Larkin said. “What might be the best way to do so?”
Nye turned his chair to face Larkin. “I wish I could escort you straight to the gates, but if we’re protecting Merrick, I guess we can’t have you seen with any Highvalleys. So I suppose I could drop you off near it and you can walk there alone, if you’re willing. Do you have a story ready?”
“I have a thought for one. I wish to discuss it with Merrick.” Larkin glanced toward the kitchen door leading to the garden, through which Merrick had disappeared half an hour earlier. “Where might I find him?”
“Probably on top of something. It’s the kind of place he goes when he’s upset.”
Larkin entered the garden. It was a little after four o’clock, and clouds had dimmed the spring sun—perhaps some of the same weather tormenting the poor sailors. The wind smelled of chilly seawater, and though the rain was not falling yet, he could
sense it coming. The shiny leaves of the fruit trees fluttered and whispered. He peered at the house’s roof and into the highest branches, but Merrick was nowhere to be seen.
At the back of the garden, with the help of a bench and a fig tree, Larkin climbed onto the wall and looked about, the wind shoving at him from the west.
Lord and Lady, what if Merrick had fled to the fae realm? People did such things in moments of despair, and generally regretted it afterward, if they lived long enough to feel regret.
Two dwarves crawled down a branch of the fig and dangled from it, staring at him. They were no bigger than rats, with almost as much brown fur as the creatures, but had faces like tiny monkeys and linen garments like medieval peasant tunics.
Larkin resisted the urge to pull away, and instead said with respect, “Good afternoon. Have you seen the man who flies? The half-faery?”
One of them lifted a skinny arm and pointed.
Larkin turned. Merrick sat in the biggest tree in the field, an island redwood easily a hundred feet tall. He was nothing but a smudge of blue trousers and gray-and-red jacket a few feet from the top, sitting on a branch with his back to the trunk.
“Thank you,” Larkin told the dwarves. He found a spare button sewn onto the inside of his shirt, ripped it free, and offered it, hoping it would do as payment. When dealing with the fae, even the smallest of favors should be treated as a balanced transaction in order to avoid offense.
One dwarf took the button, examined it, and handed it to the other, who stuffed it triumphantly into his tunic. They both climbed up into the tree and disappeared.
Larkin dropped down outside the wall and strode through the meadow grass to the tree. “Highvalley,” he called through cupped hands. “Do come down and talk.”
Merrick glanced down, then rose, spread his arms, and flung himself out into the air. It stopped Larkin’s breath—would he ever become used to the sight?
Merrick descended like a falling leaf and landed as lightly as one, within arm’s reach.
“See, the thing is,” Merrick said, “I wouldn’t leave the island. I’ve been crosswater. Japan, Alaska, South America. I had a memory charm on me, so I remembered home, but I couldn’t fly when I was in those places. I had no magic at all. And I hated it.”
Even those born on Eidolonia forgot its existence when abroad, unless carrying such a charm. And none had the use of their magic in other countries, charm or no. Eidolonia hoarded its powers on its own territory.
“Most grow accustomed to the loss of magic while they’re away,” Larkin said.
“I didn’t. I couldn’t live anywhere else. This is my home, I love having magic, I love having the fae all around us. I’m half fae; I belong here. But now I’ve started something terrible. Killed people.”
“You didn’t kill them. And you broke me free from a dreadful spell. Your intentions were honorable.”
“But I acted recklessly. So, yes, I’ll take Rosamund’s box to Sal, find out the right thing to do, and do it, but I’m scared. Because I’m going to lose my magic either way. Either by leaving the country, or by getting arrested and having shackle charms slapped on me. You get to be the noble one by coming forward. I’m only ever going to be a criminal.”
“Highvalley, I came out to tell you that I feel no disdain for your wish to escape. I understand better than you realize.” He looked away, at the grass rippling in the encroaching storm. “When Rosamund caught me and threw me under the compulsion spell, I was in the midst of packing my bags. I was going to run away, without telling a soul.”
A frown pulled a line between Merrick’s brows. “Where?”
“Anywhere. It mattered not. I was sick of it all—the attacks, the deaths. I’d lost Boris, my lover, you know.”
Merrick’s features softened, and he nodded.
“I was going to disguise myself in common clothing,” Larkin went on, “walk to the docks, and take passage on the next ship leaving. I had no plan beyond that. My attempt came to nothing. Rosamund entered my rooms that very hour, divined what I was doing, and immobilized me.”
While Merrick turned his face toward the sea, Larkin continued:
“She said, ‘If you’re willing to leave it all behind, you might at least be willing to give it up for a time, for the good of everyone.’ You know the rest. She enchanted me, the truce was enacted, and she never fulfilled the rest of her promise, to confine Ula Kana some new way and free me. I’ve been regarded as a hero ever since, when in truth I was on the brink of deserting.”
“Who could blame you?” The wind lifted Merrick’s black curls. Larkin caught a glimpse of the blue and white downy feathers at his nape.
“I cannot stand it. The difference between the courageous soul as which I’m honored and the coward I truly was. I was willing to flee, let this island tear itself apart, leaving everyone upon it whom I had ever loved. Instead I’m hailed as the means for saving the country. I must make amends, restore my own respect for myself. I cannot run away this time, not when others are once again being killed.”
“You’ll still be regarded as a hero even if you tell the whole country what you just told me. I won’t be—I’m the villain who started this whole thing. Still. I’ll at least find out what I can do.” Merrick began walking toward his father’s house.
Larkin fell in step beside him. “You’re no villain, and you didn’t start it. Perhaps Rosamund did, or Ula Kana, or even the first settlers, but not you nor I. And I stand with you. I will shield you by any means I can. After the long service I’ve given this nation, the least they can do is pardon someone at my request, should it come to that.”
Merrick’s face stayed as stormy as the coastal skies, but after a moment he allowed, “Royal pardons do sometimes happen. I remember a case a few years ago.”
“I shall convince them. I was considered a highly skilled orator in my time, I remind you.”
He hoped the remark might make Merrick smile. In that he did not achieve his purpose.
But Merrick responded after a moment, “What will you tell them? We should go over your cover story.”
Nye, Merrick, and Larkin stepped onto the front porch. Rain pattered on the eaves; gusts blew in and sprinkled their shoes. Larkin carried his pack. Merrick brought his too, with Rosamund’s box inside it, wrapped up in his clothes.
“You know what you’ll tell them?” Merrick checked, for about the tenth time.
Larkin nodded. “Let’s hope it will keep the peace and avert any disastrous action they may be planning.”
“Maybe the royals can talk sense into them.” Nye sounded optimistic. “They’ve been through all kinds of administrations.”
“And their job is to support the government,” Merrick pointed out.
“That’s true,” Larkin said. “I was much chastised for daring to speak against policies. That said, there’s much discussion that happens between palace and Parliament behind closed doors. If I can effect any change, I shall.”
Nye turned to Merrick. “You’re off to Sal’s? Are you coming back tonight?”
“I don’t know. I might stay with her if she offers. Depends on what she says about Rosamund’s things, and what else happens today. I feel like I shouldn’t come back here. If anyone does start looking for me, they’ll look at your place.”
“Everything’ll be fine.” Nye stepped up and hugged Merrick. “Keep in touch. Let me know.”
“I will.” Merrick released his father and turned to Larkin, who gazed at him with clear hazel eyes. When Merrick offered his hand, Larkin took it. “Remember,” Merrick said. “Don’t let them put you back under. You’ve done your time. I freed you, and I want you to stay that way.”
“There we are in full agreement. I will endeavor to see you again, friend.”
While Merrick’s heart performed a sad little flutter at the unlikelihood of their ever truly being friends, or even seeing one another again, Larkin added to Nye, “Both of you. Please convey my gratitude to Cassidy and Elemi as well
. I could not have done without the hospitality and kindness of your family.”
“Elemi’s going to be so excited when she finds out who you really are,” Merrick said.
Larkin picked up the braid over his shoulder and glanced at its green clovers. “Will she want these back, do you suppose?”
“Nah, keep them. She’d want you to.”
They separated, Merrick to his car, and his father and Larkin to Nye’s. Merrick turned on his engine, then sat with the windshield wipers flicking back and forth, watching until Nye had driven the prince away down the street: another piece of enchantment evaporating from Merrick’s life.
CHAPTER 20
NYE LET LARKIN OUT OF THE CAR A FEW streets from the palace, after many warm handshakes and another exhortation to stand his ground and retain his freedom. Larkin removed the resistance chain and slipped it inside the scabbard of his sword, alongside the blade, where it slithered to the bottom.
With the blue cap concealing his hair, he shouldered his knapsack and walked alone to the palace gates through the rain, unnoticed by passers-by. He stopped before the guards, removed his cap, and informed them that he was Prince Larkin and wished to speak with the Witch Laureate.
Evidently this was not the first such claim the guards had heard today, for they seemed more annoyed than impressed. Nonetheless, they called for their captain, who asked a few questions and became more intrigued as she examined Larkin’s scars, jewelry, and the tatters and sword from his pack. He was brought within the gates to the guardhouse.
The Witch Laureate, Janssen, was summoned from the Researchers Guild, which, he gathered, had replaced the Court Sorcerer’s League as the group of foremost witches in consultation with the crown and government. She was around age fifty and had short-cropped hair and stoically immobile features. A yellow sash of the finest gleaming silk marked her an exo-witch, like himself.
The results of a “magic-boosted DNA test,” which Larkin did not entirely understand, but which involved him donating one of his hairs to a glass vial, caused everyone to look at him with wonder and begin calling him “Your Highness” and sending hurried messages by phone.
