by K. A. Tucker
We pass through a tunnel where a thick bramble has been trained to climb hooped iron trellises, the prickly vines coiling around the metalwork. I flinch as something bites into the back of my hand. An errant tendril somehow missed by the gardeners’ judicious pruning. The cut is just deep enough to draw blood. Another mar to add to my collection. “How powerful is Wendeline?”
Annika watches me swipe at the wound with my thumb. “She is not an elemental, if that’s what you’re asking. But she has the strongest affinity to an element of the seven we have left, and is ranked highest. She is the only one of our casters who can heal. We value her skills greatly in Islor.”
“And what happens to the gifted babies that are born in Islor? The ones born to humans here.”
“Oh, you truly are so clueless.” Her perfectly shaped eyebrows curve with amusement. “There are no gifted babies born in Islor.”
My annoyance flickers. “Why not?”
“Because the fates have deemed it so,” she answers vaguely, leading us to the left, around the bend in the cedar hedge, her fingertips skating across the trimmed branches.
Another piece to add to my collection of information that I hope will make sense one day. I open my mouth to press her with more questions when I realize we’ve ventured into the rose garden. Three burly men in shabby brown pants and jackets far too heavy for the warm temperatures haul the last of the stone rubble onto a wagon. Beads of sweat drip from their faces and the pungent odor from their bodies carries all the way to my nose. Draft horses graze on strewn hay while they wait for their task.
Humans, certainly.
The men pause in their labors long enough to offer us deep bows before continuing their work, groaning and huffing.
“This is where he shot me,” I murmur, more to myself.
Annika’s eyebrows spike. “You remember something?”
“No. But I remember being here that night. I found an arrow right over here.” I wander to the spot. “Or over there.” The landscape all looks the same: rose bushes and cedar hedges, veering off in numerous directions.
“Yes, I believe it was this side. You were running from the guards. Boaz shot you down on the south side, right around here.” She waves a dismissive hand at a spot on the stone. “He fired true. He always does. It was utter chaos. They left your body there while they chased down the rest of the insurgents, with plans to retrieve you later. They assumed you wouldn’t get up and run away.” Annika reaches out to touch a bud on a rosebush. It unfurls beneath her fingertip, opening into a magnificent yellow bloom, the petals countless.
It takes everything in me to keep my jaw from hanging. “How did you … are you a caster?”
“No. I’m elven,” she responds evenly, adding, “as much as Ybaris refuses to accept that we are the same.”
Elven have affinities to the elements too? Does that mean—
“Yours is to water.” She taps the smooth black cuff around my left wrist. “You can’t feel it because of these.”
I eye the matching brackets with a new, albeit bewildered, understanding. Zander said they would keep me “in check” if I got any ideas. I didn’t understand what that meant, but Annika is saying they quell my ability to use my affinity.
But I wasn’t wearing them that first night, and I didn’t feel any different. Then again, I was in a state of shock. Would I know what to do?
“My mother wanted to cuff you when you arrived, but my father insisted it would be a show of bad faith.” Annika’s lips purse. “I don’t know that it would have made a difference to the outcome of the night, but at least you wouldn’t have been able to turn a water fountain into a weapon.” She looks pointedly at the center of the garden where the pile of rubble has been cleared.
“I did that?”
“You maimed a dozen guards doing that.” Her blue eyes cut to me before reaching for another bloom. The yellow rose that unfurls beneath her touch is larger than the first.
Yes, I get it. Princess Romeria was evil. Annika wants to make sure I receive a full and thorough list of my crimes, seeing as I can’t recall them.
“To think you could have harnessed that river for your escape, and yet you did not. Instead, you saved me, allowing yourself to be captured.”
“Should I have left you down there to die?”
She sniffs. “It would have made far more sense.”
Boaz warned Zander about the water that night, and then Zander sliced open my hand with the dagger. Is this affinity what he was talking about? I study the pale line running the length of my palm. “What can I do?”
“Besides make water fountains explode? I’m not permitted to tell you that.”
I sigh heavily, my frustration swelling. I nod to the roses. “Fine. What can you do then?”
“Very little. Our affinities aren’t as strong as those of our Ybarisan cousins. Cheap parlor tricks, mostly. Coax flowers into blooming and hedges into growing.” Her blue eyes flash to a climbing rose vine. I watch with fascination as a tendril uncoils from the lattice and lashes out like a whip, cutting through the air, its thorns searching for a victim.
My narrowed gaze flips to her to find a small smile curling her lips. Suddenly the cut on my hand from the leafy archway doesn’t seem like an accident. What was it? A test to see if I would suspect her?
“Compared to what you can do, it is nothing,” she says, adding abruptly, “I think I’ve filled your head with enough for one day.”
“Already?” But I still have so many questions—about these casters, about the fates, and the nymphaeum. Where even is it?
She must see the crestfallen look on my face, with the knowledge that I’m going back to my prison. “The king has informed me that I will be responsible for taking you on escorts around the grounds going forward. So, perhaps I can provide you more information on another day.”
My heart skips a beat. I know there is likely some ulterior motive to all these considerations as of late—some way that I am being used that I am unaware of—but I will happily accept any benefits. “Tomorrow?”
She sighs heavily. “We’ll see what Zander wants.”
It’s nearly midnight when I settle onto the floor beside the door, my legs crossed at my ankles, the bowl of fruit in my lap that Corrin delivered with my regular meal this evening. I’m still riding the high from today’s stroll through the grounds with Annika, and the hope that the long days of being locked within these walls might soon come to an end.
“What kind of grapes are these?” I call out, knowing Elisaf is on the other side, pacing. I hold my breath, hoping for an answer.
“The kind that grow on vines, Your Highness,” comes the composed response with the telltale lilt of humor.
I grin. “I’ve never had anything like them.” The entire bunch fits in the palm of my hand. The fruits are a deep bluish black, no bigger than jumbo blueberries, and sugary sweet. I have yet to find a seed on my tongue. If they’d served these at those high-society charity events and not slimy fish eggs, maybe I would have been more eager to sample the food.
“That you can recall.”
A flash of panic stirs in my gut. “Right. None that I can recall.” I need to guard my words better before I inadvertently talk of a life I’m not supposed to remember.
“They are a treat from Seacadore and highly sought after. We don’t often have them, as they spoil quickly once pulled from the vine. A shipment must have arrived at the port in the last day or so.”
“I’m surprised Corrin gave me any,” I say more to myself, studying my spoon. I spent the past hour with it wedged between my wrist and the cuff in my attempt to pry this magical shackle off and discover this affinity to water I’m said to have. But the cuff remains intact, my wrist is sore, and I imagine Corrin will have a lot to say about the utensil’s bent handle.
I work on straightening it while I listen to Elisaf’s hollow footsteps, deciding which angle to coax a conversation from him. “Hey, were you my guard before the attack?”
/>
“No, you had your own escort, Your Highness.”
“Honestly, Elisaf, you can drop the formality. It’s just us.”
There’s a long pause and then, “As you wish.”
“What was I like?” I ask around a mouthful of grapes.
“I didn’t spend much time in your immediate presence.”
“But you must have heard something? Or seen something? I know you’re always watching. I can practically feel your eyes boring through the door.”
His chuckle is soft, relaxed. It’s a moment before he answers my other question. “You smiled a lot. All the time when Zander was near. You made him smile, as well.”
“That’s definitely changed.” I think the man’s face would crack if he strained his stony expression.
“Your hands were never far from each other when you were in the same room. You would take long walks through the gardens at night, and you’d cling to his arm and flirt the entire time. You did not care who saw you. You appeared truly smitten with Zander.”
I think of the long walks I’ve seen the courtesans take and of the couple on the bench beneath the floral tree today, and my cheeks burn. “I’m having a hard time picturing that.” Then again, all I have to do is recall that moment in the tower to remember there is another side to Zander. I note the ring of familiarity in the way Elisaf said his name. “You’re friends with him. The king.”
“We’ve known each other for many years. Yes.”
“How many?”
“Too many.” Elisaf’s voice is closer. He must be crouching. “And I suggest you save questions about the king for the king so that I am not flogged.”
“Does he do that a lot? Hand out punishments every time someone does something he doesn’t like?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
Right. I’m sure that would go over well. “So, what else can you tell me about the other version of me? You know … evil Romeria.”
Another soft chuckle carries from the other side of the door. It’s been so long since anyone I’ve spoken to has laughed in a genuine manner. “She was highly agreeable. She went out of her way to show herself to be a supportive queen when the time came for King Eachann and Queen Esma to pass the kingdom on after the union, and she deferred to Zander’s opinion in all matters of the court.”
“Such as?”
I hear a soft thud against the door, Elisaf’s head leaning back, probably. “Such as matters relating to the laws that govern both mortals and immortals, and changes the mortals are desperate for.”
Mortals. “You mean humans?”
“Yes, Your Hi—” He catches himself. “Yes. And the few casters we have, of course. But mainly the humans.”
“And what changes are they asking for?”
“The most provocative would be the opportunity to live and work freely, as the immortals do. To not serve.”
I frown as his words take meaning. “Humans don’t live freely right now?” It’s obvious there is a social order within these walls, as I suppose is to be expected when you’re dealing with royalty. But is he saying it’s outside of these walls too?
“Cirilea is more progressive, but many lords across Islor would prefer to keep mortals in servitude.”
A wave of surprise washes over me with that word. “Are you saying humans in Islor are slaves?”
“That is not a word Islorians favor, but yes, in general, humans serve the immortals.”
“All humans?”
“You will find few households without at least one mortal in servitude. It is a requirement,” he says softly. Perhaps with a hint of shame? “There are degrees and ways they are in service. If you pay attention, you will see the marker in their ears that bears the house name of their keeper.”
“That’s what those are? Tags for ownership?” It’s like tagging cattle. I grimace. Under different circumstances, I would be “in servitude” here. Sofie called humans the lowest of creation. She said far greater beings walked among us. Is that what humans are to these elven? Lesser than, that they can dominate?
“In exchange for their service and loyalty, the mortals are guaranteed accommodations and protection for themselves and their offspring.”
“Protection from what?”
“Those who would abuse them if given the opportunity. Anyone who wears an ear cuff is considered property, and anyone who harms another’s property will be punished accordingly.”
A bitter tang fills my mouth. “And is that a big problem in Islor? The immortals abusing the humans if they don’t have owners?”
“We call them keepers, and we have strict laws against the abuse of the mortals, but some regions enforce those laws more readily than others. In Cirilea, it is considered a great honor to hold a position within the castle and the court.”
Is that true or is that what the slavers tell themselves? Do those gardeners who toil away in the hot sun from dawn until dusk feel blessed? Does Corrin feel fortunate to cater to the Ybarisan prisoner?
Korsakov owned me, and though my freedoms were many and my lifestyle was a far cry better than what I faced while on the streets, I felt trapped. Even with his name in my pocket to use as a shield if needed, I didn’t feel safe.
A thought strikes me. “Does Ybaris enslave humans too?”
“They do, though it is not the same as in Islor. Mainly with the nobility.”
The nobility, which would include Princess Romeria. I pluck the last of the grapes off the vine, hoping Corrin might deliver more tomorrow. “Did I bring any of them with me, here?”
“I believe there were three mortal lady maids with you. One died in the attack and the other two were punished accordingly.”
“And they were probably just doing what they were ordered to do,” I mutter.
“That is a safe assumption.”
I have so many more questions about the humans of Islor, but I’m desperate to glean more about my predecessor. “What else do you remember about evil Romeria?”
“The humans adored you. They thought you beautiful.”
I roll my eyes, even as the stroke to my vanity causes warmth to swell in my chest.
“There were whispers among the court, though—”
“Let me guess, the court are all immortals?”
“Yes. There were doubts about your acumen for politics. Some thought you simpleminded, better equipped for donning pretty dresses and warming Zander’s bed than ruling.”
My eyebrows lift. “You mean they thought I was an idiot?” It’s not even me they were whispering insults about, and yet I burn with indignation.
“They questioned whether King Barris may have been quick to make the arrangement so that his son Tyree could rule Ybaris in your stead. They say he is his mother’s likeness in both looks and disposition.”
“Princess Romeria has a brother?” Growing up, I always wanted a sibling.
“Yes. An older one. But as is custom in Ybaris, female offspring are considered first in line to the throne.”
“And do you think that’s true? Getting rid of me so my brother could take over?”
“I do not deem to have an opinion on Ybarisan matters. But King Barris first reached out to King Eachann when you were merely a babe, so your political shrewdness would not have been in question at that time. Besides, I believe you proved that you were well versed in scheming, and not at all the fool, even if your plans were foiled by a change in schedule.”
Right. “How exactly did I poison them?”
“I am not permitted to give you details of your failed coup.”
“Because I’m going to try it again? From here?” I shake my head. “Why didn’t King Barris and Queen Neilina come to Islor, anyway? Don’t parents attend their children’s weddings?”
“They did not feel it was wise to leave their kingdom unattended.” I note the slight hesitation in Elisaf’s voice. “But Prince Tyree traveled with you.”
“And where is he now?”
“His body was not found amon
g the dead, so it is assumed he fled the city as soon as the alarms sounded.”
“And left his sister here to die.” It is interesting, though. He must have been involved in the plan. “So, basically you’re telling me the peasants thought Princess Romeria ‘pretty,’ and the court thought her a fool.” Not exactly a glowing reputation I inherited, even without the murder worked in.
“I believe the exact term was ‘witless fool.’” I hear the smile in his voice. “For your part, you fed into that notion well. But some saw through the act, believing you were putting on a show to please the crown and the future king, but that you had ulterior motives.”
“Hope they dropped some coin on those odds. They could have made serious bank,” I mutter dryly.
“I’ve never met a Ybarisan before, outside of battle. Do they say such odd things as you do?”
I wince. I need to watch my words more carefully. “The queen didn’t like me, though, did she?”
“The queen did not trust you. Princess Annika was not an enthusiast either.”
“She still isn’t.” And yet she went to all that trouble to help me the night of the attack. There’s only one explanation—she must love her brother.
“You got along well enough with Atticus. He and a contingent of the king’s army escorted you and your entourage on the journey from the rift. Though, he could make pleasantries with his worst enemies.”
“I’d say that friendship is over.” I set the stone bowl down on the floor beside me. “And what are people saying about me now?”
“At the moment, most of Islor still believes you dead. There are a great number of rumors drifting through the villages and cities, causing confusion and fear.”
“Such as …,” I push.
“Many are calling you the Royal Slayer. Some believe the king should have made a spectacle of executing you with the rest of the Ybarisans for your treason.”
The urge to deny my supposed misdeeds blisters my tongue for what feels like the hundredth time. This is what innocent people accused of heinous crimes must feel like. Though, in my case, my inculpability is only half-true. “I guess I can’t blame them.” Zander would have executed me had the sun rose with me still in the tower. I have both Annika and a demon to thank for escaping that fate.
