by Deva Fagan
“No,” Captain Porphyra was insisting, “that’s not negotiable. Medasia must be reborn free of the taint of treason. We cannot risk another betrayal.”
“It happened over a century ago,” my mother replied, in what I liked to think of as her “negotiation” voice, a deceptively cool tone like a steel blade sheathed in silk. “He’s long dead. You can’t punish—”
“Be glad we’re not demanding a blood price,” Porphyra replied.
A pause. My mother pinched the bridge of her nose, then nodded. The day was already hot, even down along the shoreline, where tents had been erected to shelter the negotiations.
Beside me, Moppe groaned. “If I’d known being queen would be this boring, I never would have agreed to it. Maybe I should let Lyssa take over.”
“Do you regret it?” I asked, lowering my voice, though I doubted either of our mothers were listening, busy as they were with negotiations.
“No,” she said, rolling a slip of scrap paper into a crumpled ball. She’d been practicing in preparation for signing her name to the treaty. “I mean, it’s for Medasia. That’s more important than what I want.”
“What about magic?” I asked. “You can still study.”
“With whom?” Moppe tilted her head.
“My mother said they’ll release Master Betrys as soon as the treaty is signed,” I said. “We can go back to being apprentices, assuming she still wants us. It can be like it was before.”
“You mean with us hating each other?” She tossed the paper ball at me. It pinged off my scowling forehead.
I rolled my eyes.
“What about the Schola Magica?” Moppe asked. “I thought you were all fired up to escape Medasia and go off to get one of those fancy hats and capes.”
“I don’t think that’s likely now,” I said. “Just because the emperor agreed to the treaty doesn’t mean he’s happy about it.”
A missive had come just that morning, bedizened with gold flourishes and silken knots, granting Mother the power to finalize the negotiations on behalf of the emperor. It seemed he was desperate enough to ensure his supply of Medasian purple dye that he chose not to escalate the conflict any further. Especially not after the broadsheets had published their blood-chilling accounts of the Black Drake.
“Very well,” my mother was saying. “But only if you lower the tax on lemons another five percent.”
“Done.” Porphyra bent over the table, scanning the vast array of papers spread across the surface. “I think that’s the last of it. All that’s needed now are the signatures.”
My mother took up her plumed quill, inscribing her name with a flourish before passing it along to the five other men and women gathered about the table. “And here’s Councillor Pharon, just in time.”
I squinted along the shore to see the older man making his way toward us, supported by a walking cane and the arm of a stout young man in a physician’s smock. I had un-petrified him three days ago, but the curse had left its mark upon the poor man. He’d been recovering under close watch. This was the first I’d seen him up and walking.
Mother went swiftly to greet him. “Councillor Pharon, I trust you’re feeling better?”
The older man coughed, rubbing a hand along his throat, as if unused to breathing. “Yes,” he began, “I—”
He broke off as a scattering of shouts and anxious cries echoed from the harbor. We all turned to see a great slithering black serpent making his way past the fishing boats and trade ships toward our beach.
The Black Drake coiled up onto the shore, utterly heedless of the alarm his passage had provoked. He spat something onto the wet sand, then curled over it with an air of immense satisfaction.
“I have found the false king, effulgent one.”
Benedict’s stone body lay half-submerged, one fist frozen in defiance, his expression caught in that moment of painful realization just before my spell took him. I have to admit I felt not the least bit sorry, even as he began to sink into the wet sand.
“There he is!” Pharon croaked, waving his walking cane at Benedict as he marched forward. Before any of us could stop him—not that I necessarily would have—Pharon cracked his walking stick against Benedict’s forehead. “Traitor! This is all your fault!”
“What exactly do you mean by that, Councillor?” asked my mother, a slight frown creasing her beautiful brow. “Envoy Benedict is certainly responsible for petrifying you, though he claimed it was due to your own Liberationist leanings.”
“Oh, so he says,” Pharon sputtered. “I’m no rebel. I just know the truth about why he was sent here in the first place. He shows up dandying around, acting as if it’s some great mission, when really he’s just a washed-up, washed-out wastrel with barely a scrap of honor left. The Schola Magica rejected him and he’s never gotten over it. The emperor never ordered him to start a war. He did it out of pride. He thought he could prove himself by destroying the Liberation.”
“Mmm.” My mother made a slow circle around the petrified wizard. “Then we will trust the emperor to deal with him as he sees fit.”
“We’re going to leave him like this?” I asked. Not that I minded, of course, as long as I didn’t let myself linger too long on his expression of mixed horror and awe.
“For the journey, at least,” she said. “You can release him at the will of the emperor.”
I started to nod, then caught myself. “Wait. No. I can’t. We’re not going back to Regia Terra.”
Mother’s brows arched mildly. “Of course we are, darling. Now that the treaty is settled, we have a week to pack our things and depart.”
I shook my head. “But that was just because you were afraid there would be a war. Now there’s a treaty. Everything’s going to change.”
“Yes,” said my mother. “Everything is changing. And we have no place here. Not anymore.”
“What?” Moppe demanded. “Why?”
“Because it’s one of the terms,” answered Captain Porphyra, crossing her arms as she regarded me. “All those who carry the bloodline of the traitors who murdered your great-great-grandfather are hereby exiled from Medasia. Forever.”
“But that’s not us,” I said, turning to my mother. “Grandmama was from Regia Terra, so she couldn’t have been involved. And Grandpapa was so traditional! He loved the old kings and queens. His family couldn’t have been traitors.”
“It wasn’t my family.” She was looking up into the hills, toward the billowy crest of Mount Turnip, her lips a fixed, implacable line. She gave a small shake of her head, then turned to meet my desperate gaze. “It was King Goros’s steward who did it. Slipped the poison in the cakes the king had ordered for his daughters, to celebrate the Feast of the Red Moon. He loved the king, but he loved gold and power more. And he had both, once Medasia became an imperial colony. His family prospered from his betrayal. They moved to the southern shore to escape the rumors. Built new lives. But there is always a cost.” Her voice caught.
I shook my head.
Her face went hard. “Your father’s grandfather made his choice, but you, unfortunately, must bear the cost. We have no place here,” she said. “We leave Medasia within the week. And we can never return.”
23
NO!” MOPPE’S VOICE TWINNED MY own as we both cried out in shock and dismay.
“That’s ridiculous,” said Moppe, setting her fists on her hips as she scowled at her mother. But Captain Porphyra’s stern expression did not waver.
“You’ll understand when you’re older, Agamopa,” said Porphyra. “You’re queen now. Sometimes queens must do disagreeable things, for the sake of their land. This is one of those times.”
“No, it’s not! Antonia is my friend! I’d never even have found the crown in the first place without her help. She doesn’t deserve to be punished for something her great-grandfather did!”
“It’s not about punishment,” said Porphyra. “It’s about the precedent you set as queen. You have to show strength. You can’t let them
think they can destroy you, as they did Goros.”
“Banishing my best friend isn’t a sign of strength,” Moppe said fiercely. “It’s a sign of weakness.”
Porphyra stifled a sigh, then looked to my mother. “It’s too late. We’ve already decided things. Isn’t that right, Councillor?”
My mother eyed me grimly, then nodded. “Indeed. And it’s for the best. This island has brought our family nothing but sorrow.”
“Sorrow?” I exploded. “You can’t just give up on things when they let you down. You have to fight for them. Even when it’s hard! Like Fl—” I gasped as the word slipped away. “Like my brother,” I finished. Mother’s brows arched in surprise at my tone. And yet there was something softer in her eyes. “What would he say, if he were here now?” I asked.
“We signed the treaty,” began Porphyra, but Moppe interrupted, cheeks flushed.
“I didn’t sign any such treaty. And in case you didn’t notice, I’m the one with the crown.” She jabbed a finger at the pearly circlet.
At the gesture, the Black Drake suddenly lifted his great wedge-shaped head, sinuous neck curving over us curiously. “My queen, are you certain you are well? You are turning very red. Shall I acquire more chocolate?”
“No, thank you,” she told the creature politely, her gaze still fixed on our mothers. “I think I have everything I need right here.” Then she glanced toward me, holding out her hand.
I took a step closer, reaching out. Our fingers twined fast, clasping tight against the world. We spoke no magespeak, but the current that ran through me then was as powerful as any spell. In that moment I felt the same click, as if the universe had suddenly shifted all around me, setting me in my proper place.
“Queens don’t rule alone, Mother,” said Moppe. “Not the good ones. And if you really want what’s best for Medasia, you’ll stop trying to rip people apart and accept that I need friends. I need help, Mother. From people I trust. And I trust Antonia. I couldn’t have done this without her.”
Warmth flared through me, as she squeezed my hand tight. She was right. Together, we could do anything. Even convince my mother to change her mind. “We can’t give up, Mama,” I said. “I know terrible things have happened here. But we have the power to make something better. I know you don’t think much of my magic, but I did this. Me and Moppe. We stopped a war. We didn’t have cannons or treaties or the writ of the emperor. We just had each other, and our magic. I’m not giving that up.” I finished my speech breathless, bobbing up on my toes. It was all true, and somehow that filled me with the high, billowy freedom of the clouds above. If only my mother could understand.
She and Porphyra were both silent. But there was a spark of something almost like pride in my mother’s green eyes. Had I finally reached her?
“You make a compelling argument, Antonia,” Mother said. “I see you’ve learned something from me after all.” The faintest of smiles curved her lips. “Well done. I believe we must reconsider, Captain.”
“Very well,” said Porphyra. “I only want what’s best for my queen.” She looked to Moppe, her frown softening. “And for my daughter.”
My mother nodded, then turned back to the table of papers. “I’ll start a new copy of the treaty, without the exile clause.”
Moppe turned to face me. “You can stay! Think of all the adventures we can have now!”
Her smile shone as bright as the glitter of the sunset sea. I wanted to say yes, more than anything. I opened my mouth to agree.
“No,” I said instead.
“What?” Moppe’s fingers went slack. My hand fell from hers, loose to my side.
“I mean, not right now. I… I’m going to go to the mainland.”
“But we just—you’re not going to be exiled!” she sputtered. “You can stay!”
“I know,” I said. “And I’m glad I have that choice. Medasia is my home. You—you’re my queen. But I want to be a Master Wizard. I’m going to the Schola Magica. I’m going to find a way. And I’m going to learn everything I can.”
The shock in Moppe’s brown eyes hollowed my heart, but I pushed onward, trying to explain. “And then I’m coming back,” I told her. “I’ll come back. I swear it, by the First Word.”
She tried to smile. “You’d better. You’re my Lyrica Drakesbane.”
“And you’re my Queen Meda,” I said.
Then I flung my arms around her, hugging her tight so that she’d understand everything I hadn’t said, everything there were no words to express, not even in the language of the gods.
She hugged me back. “I understand,” she said softly. “But I’m going to miss you.”
* * *
I stood along the railing of the Perseverance, taking one last look at Port Meda. It was early, the stones of the city gleaming in the pale gold light of morning. Gulls wheeled above the dockside. The dark water slapped at the hulls of the fishing boats, matching the drum of my own heart. Only a slim gangplank still connected the ship to the docks, and soon even that bridge would be gone. We would be sailing away, out across the sea, to Regia Terra.
My trunk was packed below, crammed full of grimoires and gowns. I didn’t know how long I would be gone. Mother had arranged for me to stay with my great-aunt Eglantine once I reached the mainland. Supposedly she had a friend who had a sister who might know someone who could introduce me to one of the Masters at the Schola. It was a long shot, but it was better than nothing.
I would make it happen, even if I had to sleep on the doorstep of the Grand Library for an entire year. It was my dream, and I wasn’t giving it up.
And then I would return to Medasia. Because that was my dream too. I belonged here, to these deep blue waters and green slopes, to the scent of lemons and the stark majesty of the mountains. To turnips and goats and olive trees. To Moppe.
A sharp blade seemed to cut my chest. I hadn’t seen her since Liberation Day. She’d been swept off by Porphyra and her people for ceremonies and feasts and meetings with various influential Medasians. I’d hoped she might come to see me off, but she was so busy now.
It didn’t matter. Our friendship would endure. I knew that, felt it deep in my bones, in my breath. We had faced nightmares, enchanted ferrets, stone lions, the Speakthief, murderous mermaids, and averted a war together.
I slanted a sideways glance at the stone figure lashed to the deck a few paces away, then stepped closer so I was in the line of sight of his blank stone gaze. “I’m not sorry,” I told him. “Moppe is my friend. I might always be jealous of her, but that’s my fault, not hers. And I’m better than that.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said a voice behind me. “And never happier to be proven wrong.”
It was Master Betrys, looking as poised and scholarly as ever in her neat blue robes, her cap perched smartly atop the glossy coils of her dark hair. “You’ve made me very proud. Both you and Moppe. I knew you were capable of great things, provided you recognized your own strengths.”
Her eyes, shifting to Benedict, had an odd, faraway look. Almost sorrowful. “A shame that you never learned that lesson, Benedict,” she said softly. “It did not need to come to this.”
I frowned, trying to read the strange expression on her face. She shook her head, pacing away, and gestured for me to follow. She led me to the far side of the ship, away from the petrified wizard.
“He was the reason you went to the Cave of Echoes,” I said.
She nodded. “I hoped it wouldn’t be necessary. But I’m glad Rhema answered me. And that you’re a clever, brave girl with a very good memory.” Her smile was warm, but there was still a shadow on her face.
“I’m going to release him when we reach the mainland,” I said. “He won’t be petrified forever. Though I suppose they may throw him in prison for a rather long time.”
“You hold a rare power now, Antonia. The power to petrify. And the power to undo it. Tell me, have you shared the counterspell with anyone else?”
“Moppe,” I said. “On
ly Moppe.”
“And what of your own answer?” One brow quirked meaningfully. “I know you asked a question at the cave. And I suspect it had something to do with how you and Moppe managed to free the Black Drake.”
“Er. Yes. But…” I hadn’t shared that word with anyone. Not even Moppe. It was, in some ways, even more powerful than a solitaire. If it became common knowledge, Medasia’s purple dye would be worthless. And there might be even greater dangers. I coughed. “Is it true that the Imperial Treasury is guarded by purple doors, to protect it from enemy wizards? And that the emperor himself wears violet robes, to guard him against sorcerous attacks?”
Master Betrys frowned. “Yes.”
“So it would be a bad thing if anyone ever learned the magespeak for purple.”
A light of understanding flared in her eyes. “Yes, it would. We will simply have to hope that if anyone ever does learn such a powerful word, she’s a sensible and thoughtful wizard who uses it wisely.” She gave me a small smile, then continued. “Guard what you know well, Antonia. In our art, words are power. And you will need all the power you can muster, if you’re to enter the Schola Magica.”
I had started to nod along, but at her last two words my mouth fell open. “What?”
She cocked her head curiously. “I was under the impression you had an interest in attending. Or is there some other reason you doodled ‘Schola Magica’ and ‘Master Antonia Durant’ all over my copy of Principles of Enchantment?”
Heat flooded my cheeks, but she was smiling. She tugged a furl of paper from the folds of her robes and held it out. “Here. This should be sufficient to gain an audience with the headmaster. You’ll have to pass the entrance exams, but I’ve no doubt you’ll make top marks. You’re a brilliant theoretical wizard, Antonia. You belong at the Schola. They will teach you far more than I ever could.”
“Th-thank you.” I stared at the paper in my hand. At Master Betrys’s handwriting, forming the letters of my own name, words of praise, a glowing recommendation.
