by Sarah Dalton
“Mae, dear girl, what is it we’re looking for?” Allerton asks. His eyes travel from the whip to my empty hands.
“I don’t know.” I sigh. “Instinct told me to come here, but it has left me now. I don’t know what I’m doing. What would the Nix want from the castle? Why am I the only one not asleep?”
“Slow down, Mae. Think of what you do know—not what you don’t know—and then we can fill in the gaps as you work everything out.”
“I know that everyone is asleep. I know the Nix is here in the castle. I know that my powers can’t break the spell, and I keep being pulled into visions. The first one showed me Cas as a little boy, hiding from his brother and afraid of his father. The next showed me Ellen who was beaten by her father. Then I met Beardsley, afraid of his own inventions. He helped me solve the brass rings on the queen’s chambers.”
“What does all that tell you?”
“That the visions are important. The king is bad. Beardsley made something for the king that he’s afraid of—”
“There!” Allerton claps his hands together. “That is the key. If Beardsley created something for the king that he’s afraid of, it must be important. And if it is important, it is something that the Nix might desire.”
“So I need to find whatever it is that Beardsley has invented. But how?”
Allerton shrugs.
“And that means the Nix is sending me clues in my vision. Wait, no. Not necessarily. It was only in the vision with Beardsley that I received any kind of clues, at least that I’m aware of. Apart from the riddles.” I groan. “This is so frustrating.”
“The Nix is a trickster. He likes to play God with his subjects. He wants you to question what you believe. He wants to confuse you as much as possible. It’s how he weakens his prey, by working at destroying your mind.”
“Well, I won’t let it,” I say, attempting to dismiss my worries and focus on what I do know—there are secrets in the castle and if my conversation with Beardsley is correct, they lead back to the king.
I set to work on the desk, rifling through the documents. Most are bills of some kind. There is written evidence that the king has sent a vast amount of money to Jakani, but that he owes even more.
“Could this be to do with diamonds?” I ask Allerton. “There are rumours in every tavern in Aegunlund that the king makes illegal diamonds to sell in Jakani. They say the great Jakani mines are drying up, and the slaves are dying under the sun.”
Allerton places his hands together like a steeple. “That would certainly fit into the money and power spectrum. The Red Palace is in disrepair and he needs his jewel exports in order to recoup costs. If there is some sort of treaty with Jakani for diamond production, perhaps that would account for the tension in Cyne.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s hardly a secret, and it doesn’t explain what Beardsley is afraid of.”
I keep digging through the papers, uncertain as to what I will find. What I’m doing now could be seen as treason and my throat tightens at the thought of the possible consequences.
“Wait, what’s this?” I pull a wide sheet of paper out from under the pile. On it there are diagrams, jotted numbers, and an invoice of some kind. “These sketches are like the mechanical spider that chased us through the castle. And below… look, here.” I push the paper under Allerton’s nose. “It’s a command to all the blacksmiths in Cyne to make these specifications.” I tut. “He’s paying these people a pittance. It’s little more than slave labour. Father earned pennies less than that trading wood at the market.”
Allerton shakes his head. “He’s a tyrant king. But why would he be building such a large quantity of weapons? If the man is making money with the Jakanis, why would he need to create an army?”
I read more of the paper in front of me. “This command demands complete secrecy. Anyone caught talking about the weapons will be sentenced to death! That’s what it says here. Something strange is going on. It looks as though the king is financing weapons for an army. But why?”
Chapter Seven – The Alternate Perspective
Even Allerton remains in quiet contemplation as I search the rest of the king’s chambers. We find no more information regarding the large order of weapons or the mechanical spiders. There is nothing that details plans by Beardsley. I can’t imagine who the king intends to attack with his army. For all we know he could be stockpiling the weapons for a later date. Perhaps he is waiting for an attack from someone else. My mind immediately goes to the Jakanis. They are the most hot-blooded of the people in Aegunlund with their many mines and slaves. They dominate the salt and diamond trade. I can imagine the king wanting control over their riches, especially with Cyne in such disarray. But as far as I know, the king needs the Jakanis on his side, he needs their money. None of this makes any sense.
Allerton continues with his lessons. The Nix often fights his battles in the mind, but it is still a large physical presence, and if I am to destroy it, I must use all my powers. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make the flame appear in my hands. However, I have learnt to create a small tornado, the size of a book or a plate, and I can control its course. Wind seems more drawn to me than any other element. I can’t help thinking that it matches my personality. I am not cold or hot, I am forceful, wild and untamed.
“Very good, Mae. You are able to control wind with your mind. From my readings, many craft-borns have found this to be the hardest.”
“What about fire? Did they find fire the easiest? Why can’t I conjure fire?”
“That depends on the craft-born’s heart. Those who are hot-headed and easy to anger usually do well with fire.” He laughs. “That gives the Borgan protector a lot to handle.”
“But I’ve always been easy to anger,” I say. “Why can’t I do it?”
“You’ve been through a great loss,” he says. “It could be the grief you feel for your father that has changed your heart. Are you still easy to anger?”
“I’ve gone through many changes since Father died. I don’t know anymore. I don’t know who I am.”
“Do any of us?” he replies. “I’ll let you into a secret that you learn as you get older. None of us really know what we’re doing. We just muddle along the best we can. The person who tells you they know everything is a bare faced liar.”
I let out a sigh. It pains me to say it, but I must. “Maybe the reason I can’t create fire is because I’m working with the man who killed my father.”
Allerton’s eyelids droop and his jaw slackens. He seems more resigned than I’ve ever seen him. “I can’t change the past, dear Mae. One day, I hope you will believe how sorry I am.”
I shake my head, thinking back to the time in the tent when Allerton had seemed conniving, cold and tricky. Even though he is now with me as a protector, I cannot shake the unease his presence brings out in me. And if I can’t ever shake that unease, how am I supposed to work with him? After all, I have not just myself to think of, but Cas and the rest of the court. “Why are you my protector? Why can’t it be someone else?”
He pauses and looks me up and down. “Well, I’m certainly the most able from my camp. I am the Borgan with the most knowledge. I have studied more books than anyone else. But it would seem that, despite being the best at what I do, and the leader of the Borgans—by appointment I might add—that our first meeting is something that we might never be able to overcome. Will you see me as anything but the monster who caused the death of your father?”
I ruminate on that for a moment. “I’m trying, but I don’t think I am ready yet.”
The words hang between us. They create a wide gap, a distance.
“Why don’t you use it?” he says with pursed lips.
“What?”
“Use the anger you feel towards me. You can’t hurt my soul. Use it on me. Set me alight.” His amber eyes flash with wicked mischief.
I suck in a deep breath and stare at Allerton, imagining the first time I laid eyes on him. I remember
it as though it had happened just minutes ago. He had walked through the Borgan camp with a line of guards. I watched with the hatred burning in my stomach, knowing full well that those guards were the same men who ransacked our village. They killed my father so they could kidnap the craft-born. On his order. Allerton. I was supposed to be taken, but instead they took Ellen. And in the fighting they killed the one person I love in this world. They killed the man who raised me and looked after me and taught me how to behave.
For the first time since I watched the flames lick the sky during my father’s funeral, I feel the heat rising from my belly. I concentrate on that heat, building it up to my chest, but as I begin to let it consume me, an image of Cas’s face pops into my mind. We sit by the campfire talking and laughing. I see his gentle nature and it makes me want to be better. It makes me want to be better than vengeful. The heat dies and I slump.
“I can’t.”
Allerton frowns. “Idiotic girl! Don’t you see that you will put lives in danger if you cannot get angry enough to use the fire element?”
“Can’t I defeat the Nix another way? Why can’t I do it with wind?” My breath comes out in rasps. A slick of sweat forms on my forehead. I must have used more energy than I had imagined. Now, I feel my arms and legs begin to weaken, and the desire to lean down on the cold stone floor of the king’s chambers. The familiar fade takes me over and the room begins to darken…
…and the voice comes…
What lasts a lifetime but takes a moment?
What resurrects those who have gone?
What remains as a mirror image in the mind?
What is different for others but the same for you?
I’m sucked down into a vision.
*
Pine and birch. I know the trees simply by inhaling their earthy, sweet, spicy scent. The air is familiar. It’s home. I open my eyes and see twisted branches, feel the mud on the forest path, and hear the thundering noise of horse’s hooves.
I dive out of the way, missing the hooves by a hair’s breadth. A gasp escapes my lips as I curl up into a ball. When the hooves sound further away I open myself and sit up. In the clearing of the forest a chestnut mare comes to a halt. Two other horses stop behind her. The first rider wears a cape. He has sandy-blond hair.
Curious, I climb to my feet and step forward. There’s something familiar in regards to those horses and their riders. My hand rises to my mouth in shock. A dark skinned short girl stands next to the chestnut mare. The sight makes my blood run cold. That’s me. And I know that boy… it’s Cas. This is the exact moment that we met.
“What does it look like? I fell,” says an irritated voice. My heart sinks. That is my voice? Is that how childish and insolent I sound.
“You Halts-Walden folk are strange,” says Cas. “And rude. Is that how you address your prince?”
The other version of me lets out a curse. I notice the slight wariness in her eyes as she tries to compose herself. She is afraid, so small and afraid, and yet naïve, too. She does not know that within hours Father will be dead. My heart pangs for us both. “Sorry, um, Your Majesty.”
“Highness,” he corrects. “Well, that’s quite the worst curtsey I’ve ever seen in my life, but I suppose it will have to do. I must confess that we’re rather lost and late. My guard saw a rare white stag and we thought to hunt it. Father would be so impressed to mount the head of a—”
“How dare you.” The version of me standing in the mud clenches her fists in fury.
The prince’s jaw falls open. “I beg your pardon?” As the prince’s skin prickles with annoyance I realise that this time I am connected to him, too. I feel what he feels, see what he sees. He’s curious about the girl below him. He wants to learn more, but he’s irritated by her, too. She gets under his skin with her attempted wit. At the same time, he thinks of her like a wild animal: a wild cat who does not want to be tamed and who is treated with wary respect.
“How dare you hunt my stag?”
“I’m sorry, your stag? Surely you don’t own the stag.” He moves his horse closer and stares down at her with a curious expression on his face. I remember how at the time I thought he was pampered and entitled. Now I see him as interested and inquisitive. “You.”
“Yes, he is mine, so no one touches a hair on his head, or I kill them.”
The guards begin to unsheathe their swords, but Cas stops them. It pains me to see them again. I remember their mangled bodies in the tavern. Poor Cas. They were his friends. I was torn apart by my own grief, not realising that he was also in pain. It’s like a revelation to recognise how our own pain blinds us from the pain of others. I hope I never let that happen again.
Why am I being shown this scene? Even though I’ve lived it before, I see it from an alternate perspective. This time I’m closer to Cas. Even though I am not in Cas’s body, I see me through his eyes. I’ve always been confused by Cas. He always treated me as an equal, which is something no one else except Father did, but at the same time I was either an annoyance or his friend. Now it seems as though I am interesting to him. It’s as though he has never met anyone like me before and wants to know what makes me the person I am.
“No, it most certainly isn’t. Thank the Gods. I wouldn’t swap places with that ninny for all the sticky pastries from the bakery.”
The prince shares a glance with his guards. “Are you saying my future bride is a ninny? She’s not… She’s not ugly, is she?”
I remember how Cas’s words had annoyed me. He’d seemed shallow and overly concerned by the superficial. This time I see a young boy terrified by the prospect of marrying a stranger. When I hid my craft from the villagers I did it because I was afraid of marrying a prince I didn’t know. Why shouldn’t Cas have been just as frightened?
“Stout? Oh Gods above, she’s a pig, isn’t she? Father assured me she was the most beautiful girl in the village. But, well, no offense, but looking at you hasn’t given me much hope.”
This is the moment where he made me feel ugly. Cas clearly thought I was plain the moment he saw me. But now, when I see me through his eyes, I don’t get that impression. Now, I understand that he was trying to save face, and that he didn’t think I was ugly at all. In fact, there’s a slight twinge of heat in his cheeks, as though he feels exactly the opposite.
How strange.
“Some people think that a person’s personality is what matters.”
“Does she have a good personality then?”
“Oh no,” I reply. “She’s horrible.”
I cringe at my own words. I am childish. Such a fool. Instead of traipsing through a muddy forest in my mother’s dress, I should be spending my last hours with Father, appreciating him and everything he did for me. Instead I annoyed him with my disobedience, and I caused him to be angry with me for the rest of the day.
I’m pulled out of Cas but remain in the Waerg Woods. The riders move away and I feel the prick of tears in my eyes. I want to scream at the Nix about how pointless this is. Why is it showing me my first meeting with Cas? What does it mean? More importantly—can I trust it at all?
Instead of being sucked back into the king’s chambers, I sit down in the grass of the Waerg Woods, contemplating the scene I’ve just witnessed. What if the Nix is trying to distract me from my task? I can see how this would be tempting, watching a Cas who appears to like me from the very beginning. But then, what would be the purpose? The Nix has trapped me in the Red Palace for a reason, and it can’t be to moon over a boy I can never have.
Unless the Nix has no control over the fears of the people he has cursed. I know that the visions are our own fears brought to life, rather than a prediction of the future as I once worried. What if these visions are the same? What if I—somehow—have to overcome the fears of each person in order to break the curse?
I climb to my feet in excitement. For once I have a clear plan. If I can learn to control the visions I am sent to, perhaps I can change the outcome of whatever it is the Ni
x wants to happen. The problem is—I have no way of knowing how to do this.
A low moaning sound, deep like a wounded animal, erupts through the air. My muscles respond at once.
“Anta!”
I would know his cry of pain anywhere. I rush through the forest, tripping on my dress. In that instant I am back in the moment I first rushed away from my father, worried for Anta, worried what will happen to him. He’s my guardian, according to Allerton. He has been sent to protect me, to help me grow into a woman. Memories flash through my mind as the branches of the Waerg Woods scratch my face—Anta as a foal, staring in through the window, as a calf when I was a child, lowering his head so I could slip onto his back, then later, riding furiously through the woods, free as a bird.
“Anta!”
Another call rips through the forest. What was once the brightness of midday has turned to the dark of night. When I move through the trees, I see little of the path. My aching muscles force me to slow down, and once or twice I trip and fall into the nettles below. My hands sting from their bite but I do not care. I push forward, terrified of what I will find, but terrified to turn back and leave him alone.
I slow until all I can hear is my own breathing and the snapping of twigs. Where am I? I could be close to the deadly fog, or the vines that suck blood, or the Nymph. I could be anywhere. I press on, shifting obstacles out of my way as I search for my one true friend.
A low moan. So low and tired that it frightens me.
With trembling fingers, I part the branches of a bush and push through the foliage. It’s there that I see him, nestled in the fallen leaves. I drop to my knees at his side, my insides turned to water from fear. Fear of losing him. I forget the visions in that moment. It is only me, and my one true friend, a pure innocent being who should never be hurt like this. Anta’s breath exhales, warm and foggy into my hand. He nickers to me. And then I feel the warmth of his blood. It’s everywhere, seeping into the muddy floor of the forest, spreading thick and fast over his coat. I can’t find the wound, but I know deep down in my heart that he is badly injured, that he could…
