by Adalyn Grace
“No person is meant to have that kind of power.” Gods, I can’t believe I’m even entertaining him. I lean back, ready to fetch Vataea and end this, but his next words freeze me in place.
“But imagine what you could do with it.” He tips his head back against the post. “You want your magic back, don’t you? There’s no use hiding it; Kaven cursed you. You’d be threatening me with more than a blade, if you still had it.”
Blarthe’s words cause the memories to leech in, obscuring his face and making it Father’s. There’s smoke around his body. Though I know it’s not real, fire devours his pants, and blood trails from the sword now protruding from his stomach and onto the ground below. Reminding me that I couldn’t save him. That he’s dead because of me.
If I wasn’t cursed—if I’d had my magic—I could have saved Father that night. I could have saved so many lives.
“You’re lying.” It takes effort to find my words, and to keep my hands wound tight around me so he can’t see how much they shake. “The list of your crimes could stretch from here to Ikae. What makes you think I’d ever trust a word you say?”
Though sweat beads his forehead, he shrugs as though this is a situation he’s in every day. “Because there’s more in it for you than for me if we were to strike a deal. Leave me here while you search for it, if that’s what it takes. Why would I lie when I’m the only one risking anything?”
I peer back at the door, looking beneath the cracks to ensure Ferrick’s shadow isn’t waiting outside. Though I see nothing, I crouch once more and drop my voice. “What you’re offering sounds like something of a legend.” But even saying it, I know from experience that every legend is rooted in the truth. The very dagger I carry with me now is from a beast that I once believed was little more than a story.
A cruel laugh rattles his chest, splitting his dry lips. “If you believed that, you wouldn’t still be listening.”
I don’t want to hope. But every time I shut my eyes, Father’s there waiting for me, his face shrouded in smoke and his hand stretched out, begging me to help him. Night after night I’m reminded of the void within me where my magic used to sit. I’m reminded that Visidia isn’t whole, and neither am I.
I need to break the curses that’ve been put on me—both the one on the Montara bloodline that keeps soul magic from my people, and the one that connects me to Bastian in the same way he was once connected to his ship.
Even if it’s too good to be true, can I turn away from this opportunity without trying?
“This object is the closest you’ll ever get to being a god yourself,” Blarthe presses, as though he can sense my hesitation. “With it, you’d have the power to amplify magic to impossible extents. If I use it to amplify time magic, I could reverse what’s happened to your body. I could restore your magic.”
I let myself drop to the floor, leaning back against the wall because I no longer trust my legs to keep me steady. “Why tell me this? What’s in it for you?” I’m as foolish as a fish, taking the bait he’s lured me with. And yet I can’t turn away.
Though we’re beneath the deck, it’s as though the storm itself fills his eyes. “I am a man who values his life. Isn’t that enough? Promise me my freedom, and I’ll lend you my magic.”
“I’ll find someone else—”
“Another time trader?” he snorts. “Best of luck. We’re as rare as they come.”
My hands tense with irritation, but he continues as though I’ve already agreed. “During my travels I met a young adventurer who claimed to be the child of a man who’d used the power of the gods in the past. I don’t remember much of their story; we’d probably had a barrel of wine between the two of us. But if you want to find the location of the artifact, finding them is your best bet.”
“And where can I find this adventurer?” When he doesn’t respond, I drag my hands down my face, groaning into my palms. “Do you at least know their name?” Without it, trying to find this amplifier will be no better than continuing to search for whatever charm Kaven had used when creating my curse. It’d be like searching the sea for a single shell.
“I’ll give you a name, and I’ll even show you how to use the artifact once you have it. But first I’m going to need you to do something for me.”
I clench my fists, knowing the threat of my daggers won’t be enough this time. Even with the skin beneath my fingernails stained black from the blood and innards of the prisoners I killed, Blarthe knows he won’t suffer the same fate tonight. Gods know I wouldn’t let him touch the artifact. But if I’m to search for it, I’ll need him around until I’m certain of how to use it. I’ll need him alive.
It takes nearly everything out of me, but I grit my teeth together and growl between them, “Name your price.”
“I need a promise,” he says. “A guarantee that you’ll not only let me go, but that you’ll pardon whatever past indiscretions might linger to convict me. Once we’re on the other side, I don’t want you looking for me.”
“Indiscretions?” I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek. The first one that comes to mind is Vataea, then Kerost, and guilt buries itself within me thinking of them. Pardoning Blarthe and pretending he’s not out there taking advantage of others by time trading would not only mean soiling my kingdom, but also betraying my friend. It’d mean letting her abuser go free.
But how do I say no to this?
Visidia could be whole, again. I could be whole, again.
No more lies. No more curse.
Though I wish with everything in me that it didn’t have to be this way, there’s one belief I’ve spent my entire life practicing: one life is not more important than the entirety of Visidia.
And besides, Blarthe is giving me too much credit. I may be extending his life, but in accepting his offer I am in no way sparing it. I will keep his presence here a secret for now, but the moment I have what I need from him, his life will end.
I’m not just Visidia’s queen, after all. I am its protector. Its monster.
Vataea and Kerost can wait, because this goes beyond them. This is how I fix everything.
Squaring my shoulders, I look Blarthe dead in the eye. “Give me a name, and you have yourself a deal.”
His voice is sweet as sap. “Ornell Rosenblathe.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
It takes hours to get the blood off my skin. Even after I’ve bathed, I can still feel the remains of those I killed only hours ago. Though I’ve scrubbed myself clean, it’s as if the blood’s part of me, now. Always and forever there.
I do everything in my power to distract myself as I lounge on the chaise in my sitting room, skimming through leather-bound tomes gathered from the library, while trying not to pick at the skin beneath my nails.
Though much of the library was destroyed in the fires last summer, I managed to find three salvaged books on seafaring legends. I’ve been poring over them for hours, reading stories of sailors who’ve watched friends be dragged into the sea by mermaids, only to claim they saw that friend’s face again years later, ghostly beneath the surface of the water. Myths of a giant serpent that’s said to live in the Valukan volcanos, and stories of water horses that carry people into the depths to steal their bodies for one full year before that body deteriorates and they’re forced to find another vessel or crawl back into the sea.
The goose bumps on my skin double with every picture and story, knowing full well that there’s truth to at least some of these legends. But as for whatever this item is that’s rumored to have been left by the gods, I cannot find a single word on it. There are pages that’ve been torn away by greedy sailors, or doused in ink and made illegible, likely by those whose prayers have made them paranoid. Perhaps I could find more stories if I looked hard enough, but it’s as Blarthe said—while I’m out searching, he’ll be withering away in the prisons. He’s clinging to the chance to live; there’s nothing in this for him, especially if I fail. So perhaps there’s at least some truth to his tale, after all.
My hands still upon the pages at the sound of Mother’s voice. I kick the extra tomes behind the chaise before opening the one on my lap to the least offensive page—something fantastical and ridiculous, about a treasure-filled kingdom rumored to exist within the clouds, only touching the ground once every hundred years. “Come in.”
The door cracks open, and tears fill Mother’s eyes the moment she sees me. Though I know it’s from relief, the fact that she even had to worry about the execution stings. She crosses the floor and practically throws her arms around me, pulling me tight to her body. In her nightgown, she’s frailer than she appeared when I last saw her in the throne room, her bones sharp and delicate, as though she’ll snap if I hug her too tightly.
“Oh, thank the gods. You did it, then?”
I draw back to get a better look at her. Either I was too distracted during the council meeting to notice the heavy shadows weighing her eyes and the sharpness of her cheekbones, or her handmaiden is incredibly skilled at masking them. Mother doesn’t look as though she’s been eating.
Day by day it’s becoming harder to look at her. Because when I do, I think of Father.
Mother’s skin would still glow if he were alive. Her cheeks would still be healthy and full.
But I took him away from her.
As much as I scrutinize her, she does the same to me. I’ve not slept for at least a full day, and my eyes are heavy and bloodshot. I don’t need to see my reflection to know there are likely bags beneath them, and that the color is slowly being leeched from my skin.
“Shanty really came through.” I try to ease away from her scrutiny, focusing instead on the flicker of movement over her shoulder. Aunt Kalea steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. Her arms are folded as though she’s hugging herself, lips pressed together and her head dipped like a scolded pup, uncertain if she’s welcome.
The muscles in my neck tighten as she approaches. Since her betrayal last summer, our relationship hasn’t been the same. It’s not for the lack of effort, or for my lack of desire of wanting things to go back to how they were, but my trust in her has shattered.
Kalea was meant to hold off on selecting her magic until I claimed my title as heir to Visidia’s throne and proved myself to the kingdom. But instead, she learned enchantment magic, making herself ineligible to even attempt becoming the future animancer in my place. Because of her, I thought I’d had no other choice but to go on a journey to save the kingdom. Because of her, I lost my magic.
Because of her, Father is dead.
I clench my fist as she hesitantly steps forward, digging my nails into my palm to steady myself. For the sake of our family, I do my best to keep things civil around her. But even now I find myself gripping the pages of the tome too fiercely, creasing them.
What would have happened last summer, if only she’d kept quiet and never revealed her secret to me? If she hadn’t put the pressure of the entire kingdom upon my shoulders, would I still be trying to carry the weight of the crown today?
“We wanted to make sure you were okay.” Aunt Kalea’s voice is low and cautious, and for Mother’s sake, it’s all I can do to bite down my bitterness as it bubbles to the surface. She doesn’t need any more pain where pain can be spared.
“No one suspected a thing,” I tell them both, drawing slowly away from Mother and easing her arms back to her sides. “But it’s not a farce I’ll be able to keep up forever. What we have is a bandage, not a solution.”
Mother draws my hand into her own, nodding softly. “We’ll find a way to get back your magic, Amora.”
“Or maybe you could learn a new one,” Aunt Kalea offers. She stiffens as my eyes find hers, likely oozing with every ounce of anger and resentment I feel. “The laws are different, now. You could learn a new magic; show the kingdom you’re just as strong and capable with something that isn’t so … vicious.”
The anger can no longer be swallowed down. My tongue is a poisonous, acidic thing. “You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? How dare you say that to me, after everything you’ve done?”
I refuse to feel bad for the way her face crumples. The only sliver of guilt I feel comes when Mother sinks into the cushions, a shadow of the woman she once was. Tension swells around us, its pressure excruciating.
There’s someone here who’s missing, and each of us feels the significance of his absence. This pain isn’t just mental. It’s physical, like claws shredding my chest from the inside out.
“I can’t learn any magic with half of my soul missing.” I sit straighter, tucking my feet beneath me. “And as well as my lie in the prisons went, the only thing the barracudas bought us is extra time. Shanty’s not someone I’d like to be indebted to; we can only use her services for so long. There are too many risks that come with needing to involve so many.”
What I need is a way to change Visidia. To find the legendary artifact and change my fate. Break my curses. Restore Visidia once and for all.
But I’m not able to do that here on Arida.
“I’ve been thinking about yesterday’s meeting.” I look at my lap, curling my toes and hesitating, as though I hadn’t been kept awake thinking up this plan. I have to sell this story. If I pretend to be excited, or give in too easily, Mother will suspect something. “The advisers were right; Visidia is too divided. I need to win our people’s trust now more than ever. They need to know that I’m here to protect them, and that practicing multiple magics is the way of our future.”
Mother cups my hands in hers. She doesn’t want to seem too excited, but it’s not difficult to see that this is what she wants. She thinks I’ll be safer this way, romancing all of Visidia and finding us a new king—one that our people will look to and adore. One she likely thinks will protect me.
That idea alone is enough to curdle my stomach, but I maintain the facade.
“I know this isn’t what you want,” Mother says, “but Visidia needs a distraction. We’re trying to change too much, too quickly. Our people need stability—a leader they trust and adore. The promise of a stable future, with heirs who will one day rule.
“I wish this wasn’t a burden you had to carry,” she continues. “It’s not easy for women in our position. Your father was seen as a capable and trusted ruler from the moment he was poised to take the throne. But us? If we are too firm with our beliefs, then we have cold hearts. If we don’t smile, we are uncaring. There are different standards for you and me, but especially for you as the queen of this kingdom. And part of those standards—part of your job—is marriage and children.”
I tense on cue, making it a point of looking away from her. Parading me around to bachelors is so far beneath a queen it’s sickening. “Father would never have had to do anything like this. He would have laughed at the idea.”
“Your father had the privilege of being a man, Amora. No matter how capable you are, things will be harder for you than they were for him.” She works at her jaw, like saying the words aloud is grating. But she doesn’t need to convince me; a distraction is exactly what it’s going to take to get me off Arida, so that I might find the adventurer who will lead us to the legendary artifact—Ornell Rosenblathe, who will hopefully be one of the many bachelors I’m to meet.
“So, you want me to parade around with men, making a show of it all while my kingdom is still suffering?” I make my voice bitter, not letting her think I’m giving in too easily.
“I want you to play the age-old game of court.” Mother buys into my nerves, squeezing my hand tighter. “The Montara line is dwindling, and our kingdom needs to feel that it’s secure. So give them a queen they will want to protect, and a royal family they will bow to. I’m not saying it’s fair or that it’s right, but it’s easier for the public to love and trust a woman who they see as kind and vulnerable. One who has a charming man at their side. Play their game and show them what they want to see. Put on a show and earn their trust all while doing the work to rebuild this kingdom. Mak
e them love you, Amora. Can you do that?”
It’s not right. I shouldn’t have to smile or change how others perceive me to be viewed as a strong ruler. I earned this crown by far more than blood right; who cares whether I smile as I give commands?
But I need to get off the island to break the curses, and this is the best shot I have at it. All that matters is that I find the artifact.
And for that reason, I exhale a deep breath and bow my head. “I can.”
The relief in Mother’s sigh squeezes my guilty heart. Her eyes water as she brings our connected hands to her lips, kissing them before setting her forehead against them. Under her breath, she whispers a quiet prayer I can’t fully make out.
She leans away and releases my hands. “You’re the queen now. The seas are rough this time of year, and we’re only just beginning to understand this new state of our kingdom. I need you to promise you’ll be more careful than ever. None of that.” She gestures toward Rukan, still sheathed at my hip.
I force myself to nod even though it’s perhaps the biggest lie I’ve told today. “Of course. And I’ll bring the strongest crew Visidia has to offer.”
“I’ll have my mind speakers watch over you, too,” Mother says. “No matter where you are, I’ll have eyes on you. Should anything happen, I’ll have you brought home or soldiers deployed right away. Bring Ferrick, all right? And that boy, too.” I hate the pitying way she says it. It awakens an angry heat within me, and I peel my hands away from her at the mention of Bastian.
“It’s not like it’s possible to leave without him.” The words hold every ounce of bitterness I feel. This time, I don’t bother attempting to contain it. “Believe me, I’ve tried.”
She lifts her hand as if to set it on my shoulder, then hesitates and returns it to her side. The movement’s enough to snatch my breath, reminding me so sharply of Father. I feel the ghost of his hand on my shoulder. The single squeeze—just one—and my knees nearly buckle. It’s everything I can do to pretend like I didn’t notice. To pretend that I’m fine. That Father didn’t die and leave me with a broken kingdom in his wake.