by Adalyn Grace
“Did it smell like this?” She offers me the bag, but Shanty takes it first and draws a deep breath before passing it to me.
It smells like lemongrass and sage.
Bile rises to my throat. “Who was the last person you sold that to?”
The merchant’s face remains impassive. “It must have been a while ago. I can’t remember—”
I slam a fist against the shelf, letting more vials shatter to the floor.
“I’m not playing games.” I grab the merchant by the hand and yank her forward, ignoring her sharp breath and plea of protest as I draw Rukan along the back of her index finger, pressing the hooked blade deep enough for her blood to bubble up. Lines of blue crisscross immediately over her skin as the poison enters her bloodstream. She screams, and I stuff my hand into her mouth to smother the sound. When she bites down, I press Rukan deeper into her finger, until her biting breaks into sobs as the blade nearly cuts clean through.
“You have one minute to give me a name.” I wrench my hand from her mouth, and the moment she starts to scream, my knee finds her stomach and knocks the wind from her lungs.
One life is not more important than the kingdom. If I die, so does the people’s chance at freedom. Unlike the fight on Kerost, here I can and will attack freely after what she’s done, out of sight from any wandering eyes.
Slowly, ensuring the merchant feels every inch of this blade, I drag it across a second finger.
“The more poison that’s in your blood, the quicker it works. You try that again, and you won’t get another chance to speak. I’ll cut your throat.”
She tries to glare at me through watering eyes, but the fear is too potent as I steady Rukan against her neck. She trembles, her resolve splintering.
“Someone ordered them a few days ago, that’s all I know! They never came to the shop, but they knew who I was. We used mind speak to communicate, and they hid their face with a cape. We exchanged goods, that’s it.”
I don’t remove my weapon, but instead press it deeper against her skin. “For your sake, I hope you think of something else to give us.”
“Amora—” Vataea starts, but I don’t turn back.
Panic quickens the merchant’s breath and makes her skin clammy against my hands. “B-blond! I saw blond hair, and they were tall. And … gods, I don’t know anything else! I think their voice had been enchanted somehow; it was different every time I spoke to them. But I never saw a face, I swear.”
I draw back to look at the other two. “It would have been someone who knew we were coming. They’d have known which room I’d be in.”
“Amora.” Vataea’s voice is tense now, her eyes on the stairs. “She said they communicated through mind speak.”
The implication in those words stills me. Dread sinks its way from my fingers to my toes, and my grip on Rukan falls lax.
“We need to get out of here.” The merchant hadn’t been lost through the jungle after all. She’d been stalling. “V, Shanty, go!” These tight quarters are the last place we can afford getting sucked into a fight.
The girls don’t hesitate. They sheathe their weapons and dart for the stairs, and I jerk Rukan back from the merchant, whose head falls back with a cold, pained laugh.
“I’d always heard our queen was vicious,” she snarls. “I should have given that customer a stronger poison.”
I leave her on the floor and take hold of the oil lamp.
“We’re not going without you,” Vataea warns from the base of the stairs, beside a fidgeting Shanty who very much appears to be having a mental struggle over that promise. “What are you doing?”
I look to the wall of powders and poisons. I might not be able to stop these poisons from being made, but I can certainly stall their sales.
“If you make it out of here alive, good luck cutting off your own hand,” I tell the merchant. “That’ll be the only way to stop the poison.”
The woman stumbles to her feet, rivulets of fresh blood trailing like wine from her fingertips. She makes a choking sound as I kick the shelves, letting the vials fall and shatter.
I don’t turn to look at her horror. Instead, I send a prayer to the gods, toss the lamp onto the leaking poisons, and turn to run as fast as my legs will carry me, pushing Shanty and Vataea ahead. Thankfully it takes longer than I expect for the poisons and oil to catch fire, but the explosion nearly knocks the ground out from under my feet when I’m halfway up the steps. One of us screams in the darkness, and the next thing I know the blackness is awash in snarling red flames.
The merchant stumbles after us as Vataea kicks open the makeshift door, pushing open the trunk. She reaches for Shanty and me, dragging us out. I barely have time to pull the merchant through before Vataea slams the door back shut as if in hope to snuff out the fire.
Rukan’s poison is tearing its way through the woman; navy lines make a feast of her skin, devouring her fingers and spreading through her arms. If she’s to save her life, she’ll need to work fast. But beyond pulling her out before the flames could make a meal of her, I’m through helping. She dug this grave herself.
At some point in our distraction, Shanty’s enchantment wore off. I don’t notice until she stumbles to me and lets the warmth of her magic settle into my skin like melting candle wax, coughing. In my periphery I see she’s made my hair appear to be a warm copper red, and has tightened it back into curls. From where she touches, I know she’s altering the shape of my jaw and my nose before masking my clothing.
Her work with Vataea is swift, making the mermaid’s face smaller and rounder, and her hair a warm brown. She works on herself last, aging her skin, tiring it with heavy bags under her eyes, and lightening her hair to a short crop of gray.
“You horrify me,” I tell her as I get my bearings. My eyes sting from smoke and poison, whether from last night or from breathing in fumes, I can’t be sure. “The boys’ disguises will have worn off as well. We need to hurry, and—”
A blow to my face strikes hard, making me stumble. Gasping, my hand flies to my aching jaw on instinct, anticipating blood. But there’s nothing there, and no threat stands before me.
“Did anyone see—”
Another blow. This time it knocks the wind from my lungs, and I clutch my arms tight around myself, hunting for the source through watering eyes.
Realization strikes a beat too late. My breaths hitch into sharp, tiny breaths. It’s not me who’s being hit—it’s Bastian.
“The boys are in trouble.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Though my body protests, aching with pain that’s not my own, I force my burning legs into a sprint. Neither of the girls asks questions, keeping close as I break through the jungle. Unlike on our way in, I’m not lost. My soul knows where to go; it’s my body that’s struggling to keep up.
I feel us fast approaching the others when all breath is stripped from my lungs. I drop to my knees, clutching my throat. Darkness plagues my hazy vision, reminding me of the time I was in the water with the Lusca, drowning as the ocean held me in its clutches.
And then it’s just gone. I clutch desperately at the roots beneath me as I gasp in my breaths.
Bastian’s suffocating.
“Keep going,” I rasp, shaky as I drag myself from the tree and force one foot in front of the other until I can regain the ability to run. “They’re close. Keep sharp—”
Another wave of breathlessness hits, and I start to sink when the other two hook their arms beneath mine and haul me up between them until I can steady my trembling knees once more.
Damn this blasted curse.
My chest seizes, skin warming in a sign I know means Bastian’s near. But the jungle is dense and dark beneath the canopy of thick leathery leaves, and I can’t see him.
Why can’t I see him?
“Look out!” It’s Ferrick’s voice, but the warning comes too late. Oversize roots rip from the ground beneath me, forcing us back. They lift into the air, and I realize what they’re doing
just in time to push Shanty and Vataea back. The roots triple in size before they smack onto the ground at full force, striking me hard in the chest. I wheeze, but there’s little time to gather myself before more roots are torn up, stretching and elongating as they reach to ensnare us.
“That’s enchantment magic,” Shanty whispers, awestruck. She shrinks back, narrowly avoiding the roots that wrap around my legs, slicing her knife through them to free me. Quickly, she reaches into a pocket and draws out one of the poached vials of poison with a skull on the label. She dunks several needles into it, then pins them against the underside of her fish bone bracelet. Two of the needles, however, she keeps tucked between her fingers.
“And levitation magic, by the looks of it.” I drag myself closer to them, throat raw.
“Which one of you is the queen?” The low, familiar voice twists my chest, creating knots that threaten to steal my breath. “Show yourself and I’ll let everyone else go.”
Before I can say anything, Vataea’s nails are digging into my wrists. “Not one word.”
When none of us step forward, there’s a break in the canopy overhead and a shift of movement. I clutch Rukan’s hilt tight when I see them—the boys hover in midair, suffocated by the vines that threaten to drop them at any given moment.
If they were dropped, Ferrick might stand a chance with his restoration magic, and Casem could use his affinity to air to cushion the blow, but it would undoubtedly kill Bastian.
“Stay back! It’s—” Bastian’s words are cut off as a vine snaps from around him and whips to his mouth, lodging itself in his throat. He chokes on it, gagging. I feel Bastian’s pain in my bones, like it’s my own. It takes everything in me not to show that pain. Not to choke on the ghost of the vines squirming in my throat.
I won’t reveal my curse before my enemy. Besides, I don’t need Bastian to tell me who I’m fighting. With a pit in my stomach, I realize I already know. While several people knew I was coming and which room I’d be staying in, only one person was in Ikae recently, and would have had the chance to study enchantment magic.
“Stop being a coward and show yourself, Elias.” I wrench my hand from Vataea’s and step forward. Shanty’s enchantment magic may be all over my skin, but Elias takes the gamble that it’s truly me. Perched upon a too-thick branch, he uses levitation magic to float his body to the ground, hazy white eyes locked to mine.
“I was hoping you’d be dead before morning.” His voice thins. “You’re smarter than I gave you credit for.”
“That’s what all the boys tell me.” I clutch Rukan close, trying to figure out how to get near enough to strike. “I thought you practiced mind speak.”
“Have you never considered there are a few of us who practice both?” His pride is sickening.
I hate that I scream when the ground falls out beneath me, my body yanked forward by his levitation magic. When he catches sight of Rukan, however, he gives pause to whatever idea he’d been brewing and drops me back to my feet. Behind us, there’s a sharp whooshing in the air followed by both a scream and a series of vibrant curses as the boys tumble to the ground. They fall so swiftly that my entire body seizes; Casem barely has the chance to cup his hands around his lips and blow, creating a gust of air that knocks Ferrick and Bastian to the side seconds before they hit.
But there’s little time to protect himself. He’s barely able to cushion the blow, hitting hard enough for his scream to tell me he’s broken something, but not so hard that the impact kills him.
Elias’s frown deepens at their safe landing, and his frustration is enough to give me pause—Elias is no fool. I’ve been in enough fights to know not to take risks when you don’t know your opponent’s magic. He knew nothing of these three, and yet he risked allowing them to fall back onto the battlefield and out of his clutches.
At once I think back to Ferrick trying to learn mind speak on Keel Haul, remembering the blood that poured from his nose and the headaches Casem nurses when he uses the magic too frequently.
New magic takes growing into; it’s taxing on the body. And Elias is no exception to this rule; he’s revealed the flaw of his magic too easily—it has limits. Weight, time, or distance; one or all of those factors prevented Elias from being able to fight me without releasing the boys.
This fight won’t be easy, but Elias isn’t invincible.
“Why are you doing this?” I have to dig to find my voice. “I’m trying to help Visidia.”
His response doesn’t come with anger, but with deep, unsettling resentment. “Do you really think you’re what’s best for Visidia? For centuries my island has been at peace, in spite of your family’s rule. We’ve taken every precaution to protect ourselves and maintain that. But from the moment you took the throne, you’ve been a threat to Curmana. You’re encroaching on our independence. Our power. You’re the last thing this kingdom needs.”
“Your power?” I find the steel in my voice and bite into it. “What about the power of the other islands? Should your stability mean their ruin? Why should they have to struggle, just so you can be comfortable? Look at Kerost—having multiple magics is helping them.”
He snaps his hand to the side, irate. “You said yourself that Curmana has always been self-sufficient. Why can’t the other islands be the same? Why must we share our resources, our strength, because we are forced to live under your rule? Why can’t we govern ourselves?”
My throat’s dry, aching from the smoke and the vines that had suffocated Bastian. I try to speak, but find I have no answer. Only a question. “You want Curmana to secede?”
“I want every island to secede.” He spits the words, tensed and seething. “I’m tired of seeing my island responsible for the lives of others. We work hard; why shouldn’t we reap our own benefits? Why should we have to share them?”
“I don’t understand how you can be so callous that you’re willing to watch others suffer when you have the ability to help them.”
“And I don’t understand how your family has managed to convince an entire kingdom into following the Montaras for centuries when you’ve done nothing for us! We don’t need you.”
Try as I might, my mind struggles to keep up with his words, still lingering on the idea behind them. I’ve never considered it seriously, but Elias’s words strike hard—why does the kingdom need one ruler?
To keep them safe with the royal soldiers? To ensure safety in the prisons? To be the deciding factor of passing laws?
What do we do for the islands that they can’t do individually?
Am I doing any good for my people at all?
Heavy footsteps distract me, and I turn in time to see Bastian’s broadsword raised in preparation of an attack. But his movements are too slow, and it’s with a sinking realization that I can feel the poison coursing through his body, slowing him. Though I know it’s not within me, it bites all the same, making me sluggish. If it comes down to physical combat between Elias and me, there’s no way I’ll win. Lack of magic aside, this curse has hazed my mind and made my body weak from the poison inking through Bastian’s veins. If I’m going to end this, I’ll need to be quick.
“If you died, it would be enough to stir the kingdom,” Elias says, using his magic to pull the vines protectively around him. They swell until they’re thick as trunks, hovering over us. “We could start a revolution of freedom for each of our islands. We’d be responsible for our island, and no one else.”
His conviction gives me pause; the confidence in his words and the way he squares his shoulders reminds me of Kaven. Of someone who perhaps once truly did have a sound idea, but who has lost themselves in their ideologies.
“You don’t want freedom.” I take a step forward as he appraises me with caution. “You want power.” Even without my magic, I will not stall. As I lift Rukan, I see in my mind’s eye all the blood this blade has spilt. I may be weak, but I am not helpless. I will defeat him.
The next step I take, wind rushes from my lungs and I’m jer
ked off my feet, reeling toward the wall from his levitation magic. Casem reaches up, trying to stop it from happening, but his body buckles, unable to summon the air in time. My back slams into a tree and I cry out as blinding pain tears through me. My shoulder shatters, cracking in a dozen places.
Vataea and Shanty are there to catch me, while Ferrick still hasn’t moved from the vines constricting him. His eyes are shut, and my heart seizes, thinking the worst. But then I notice the creases of concentration between his brows, and it dawns that he’s not hurt—he’s healing himself from the same poison Bastian’s fighting against. It’s something Casem is undoubtedly struggling with, too.
I look at Elias as Bastian moves behind him, though I’ve no idea how he’s still standing. It must be adrenaline alone that has him taking another swing at Elias, though the strike never lands. There are vines at Elias’s back within seconds, smacking Bastian in the jaw and winding tightly around him. He hits the ground with a pain so fierce that I grab my chest, gasping against it and my throbbing jaw.
As he struggles to get back onto his feet, body shaking, I realize three things:
First, there are enough of us to outnumber Elias. But because he practices mind speak, we need to keep him sufficiently distracted so he can’t call for backup.
Second, Bastian needs healing for the poison that’s clawing its way up his throat, threatening to overtake both of us at any moment.
Third, I know how to win this fight.
As Shanty tries to help me back to my feet, I grip her hand and squeeze it tight, slipping the bracelet from her wrist as slyly as I can manage. Her eyes flash with a warning to be careful, but she doesn’t ask questions or let on as I slip the needles tucked within it between my knuckles.
“You bastard.” Bastian, stubborn as he is, has his sword raised against Elias once more. He looks as he did with Kaven, rage in his eyes and his body poised to kill. His movements sway, and though there’s no way he’ll win, he refuses to back down, buying us time. “You’ll burn for what you tried to do to her.”