by Kaylin Lee
I kept my eyes on his feet and strained to keep my tears from falling.
He put one hand under my chin and forced my face up, so I had no choice but to meet his cold, emotionless eyes. “Remember this feeling. If you put our family’s interests at risk again, I'll kill you.” He released me and wiped his hand on his pants. “You used to be my greatest asset, Belle. But with that damaged brain, you’re practically worthless.”
Chapter 4
That night, after a quiet, hesitant Petrina finally came to get me out of that horrible gold dress, I paced in my room. My head ached with each step, but I couldn’t stay still.
He’d had no remorse—not the slightest bit of hesitation when he had lifted his hand against me.
I thought of my sisters’ downcast eyes and curved shoulders in the fomecoach across from me—the way Kaia always leaned away from our father, and how she never disagreed or challenged him. And the way Jade couldn’t seem to be in his presence without several fortifying drinks.
Of the three of us, was I the only one who had never had a mage come to remove a bruise in the morning?
I flung open my bedroom door. I had to talk to Kaia and Jade. I had to know if I was right.
Jade’s room was beside Kaia’s in the east wing of the villa. I walked quickly, my slippers silent on the cool marble floor of the dark villa. When I reached their hallway, a strange silver light shone through the crack under Jade’s door. I hovered outside the door for a moment, listening to the soft, feminine voices from outside the room. They must be together.
I tapped lightly on the door. “Jade? Kaia?” The voices suddenly went silent.
“It’s Belle. I just want to talk.” I tapped again.
There was a long, still moment, and then Jade opened the door. Her normally sour expression was peaceful and calm, and her skin glowed with the same soft silver light I’d noticed shining beneath the door. It was some new mage-craft appearance trend, perhaps. My skin tingled. The light might be pretty, but for some reason, I didn’t like it.
“Come back later,” Jade said slowly, her unfocused gaze landing on the bruise on my cheek for a moment before she turned away.
“What? Why? I just want to—”
“We don’t want you here.”
I stepped back just as she shut the door in my face.
~
I called for the healer at dawn, rather than wait for my father to send him to me. I didn’t want to risk any of the servants besides Petrina seeing the bruise.
True to my father’s promise, the healer took away the bruise on my cheek but just the discoloration to my skin and not a hint deeper. My cheekbone ached, but the skin looked perfect. The healer left the back of my head alone, and it throbbed with pain.
I wanted to despise the timid, pale healer mage for serving my father so dutifully, but I couldn’t bring myself to blame the man. After all, like every other mage in the city, he was controlled by his True Name, and my father was one of the highest authorities in the city, especially where service mages were concerned. He wouldn’t dare to disobey my father, even if he could. No mage would.
When the healer left, Petrina got to work, preparing me for my first day back at the bank.
She made my dress first—a dark-green, smooth morning dress that hugged my body loosely, hitting just at mid-calf. It wasn’t overly voluminous or shimmery like my last several mage-craft gowns, and I appreciated the change.
“And your hair, my lady?”
I held back a sigh. “Up, Petrina. But …” I risked a glance at her in the mirror. She avoided my eyes. With that damaged brain, you’re practically worthless.
Did I dare make mention of my weakness? I cringed inwardly at the thought of her piling another elaborate up-do against the partially-healed wound. Father might have ordered me back to work at the bank, but I wouldn’t be able to endure an entire day with pain like that.
“Looser than usual this time.” I kept my voice even. Let her make of the statement what she would.
Petrina nodded and waved her hand. Gold shimmers swirled around my head, and my hair twisted gently into an elegant knot at the base of my neck.
I nodded curtly. It was perfect. With the silky, green dress and neatly-twisted mage-craft bun, perhaps no one at the bank would suspect I was not quite at my best.
My father had taken away my inheritance and threatened to kill me.
My sisters hated me.
At least, for once, my hair didn’t hurt.
~
The early morning sky was a bright, pale blue, and summer’s heat had yet to descend upon the city for the day. My sleek, pale-pink fomecoach sped out of the open gate and down the wide avenue that ran in front of our family’s compound as wind whipped over my head.
I turned onto majestic Galanos Avenue, which was lined on both sides by towering, stone empires—the banks, trading companies, and public art studios owned by the Procus elite. The long, wide street extended the southern length of the city, whishing with countless gleaming fomecoaches heading both directions. Commoners and lower members of Procus families bustled on the footpaths on their way to work in the behemoth businesses of the Procus Quarter.
The morning sun heated my head and shoulders as I sped down the street, weaving through traffic. A stately column of tall, white-flowered goldblossom trees lined both sides of the street, filling the warm air with their fragrant perfume and making the street feel like a different city altogether—wealthy, thriving, completely in control. Galanos Avenue was nothing like the impoverished, decaying city that existed just outside the immaculate Procus Quarter or the mob scene at the palace that had nearly killed me two days earlier.
“Good morning, Lady Belle.” A white-gloved attendant in front of Bank Argentarius opened my door and helped me to my feet.
I gave him a passing glance as I accepted his hand. Not familiar, but that didn’t mean I didn’t know him. Perhaps I’d simply forgotten him too. The thought sent chills down my arms. “Thank you.”
He gave me an odd look, and I brushed past him and strode toward the bank’s front entrance. It was a building designed for intimidation and luxury, grand and overwhelming, yet somehow alluring. The mage-craft white stones towered over the street, going up nine floors, with dramatic marble support columns forming a stately line at the front of the building.
Detailed mage-craft carvings decorated the frame around the entrance and depicted the scenes every Argentarius knew by heart—the courageous Fenra rebellion against the mages, which our family had helped lead, the first Western explorers to encounter our city, and the booming construction and growth that followed in the golden age of trade.
Of course, no one had updated the carvings to depict the devastating market crash that followed the plague.
I strode past the squadron of private guards in front of the entrance and made my way inside.
“Good morning, Lady Belle.” A chorus of voices inside the lobby echoed the attendant who’d helped me from my car.
“Good morning.” I glanced around briefly. Once again, no one was familiar.
My feet followed a path of their own accord, leading me up several flights of stairs and into an immaculate office with tall windows and a wide desk at one end. I only hoped it was the right office. I stepped to the windows and looked out. The Procus Quarter spread out before me in an orderly grid of bright, clean streets and stone mage-craft buildings, the streets crowded with fine fomecoaches and well-dressed pedestrians. But in the distance, the city shifted into its true form—dark, crooked alleys, wild, mage-propelled trolleys, and garbage-strewn streets.
I sat at my desk and peered down at the unfamiliar papers on the desk. The inconsistencies in my memory were maddening. Why could I remember every time my father had ever humiliated or threatened me but not the work I had been doing at the bank?
A man cleared his throat, and my gaze shot up, toward the door. Ambrose. That was his name, wasn’t it?
“Yes?”
“La
dy Belle, it …” His throat jerked as he swallowed. “It is good to see you back.”
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my legs.
“Would you like coffee, my lady? And then, perhaps I might provide a … briefing of certain things you may have missed since you were last here?”
That sounded like a good idea. I tapped my fingers on the desk and eyed Ambrose. He was thin and balding, clad in a decent suit, though it obviously was not made of mage-craft fabric. He’d been my secretary since I was thirteen, had he? I had to wonder if it was a privilege or a punishment to work for the bank owner’s youngest child.
“That’s fine,” I said. “After my coffee.”
He nodded and bowed, then left me in my office, returning a short while later with a plain tray holding a cup of black coffee, a flaky, golden pastry, and the morning’s Herald. “Thank you, Ambrose,” I said, too excited by the sight of the Asylian Herald to engage with him further. At the sight of its familiar front page, my heart had flooded with an unfamiliar rush of hope. Ella. The mage rebellion. Perhaps I could find out what had happened.
I flipped the paper open and scanned past three headlines about aurae use in the River Quarter before I found the headline I sought—Crimson Blight Revealed, Mage Rebellion Ended. I devoured the article, feeling weak with relief.
The Blight had indeed been led by mages, just as Ella had said—beginning with a powerful mover mage at the top of the Transportation Ministry. My father had been wrong about the Falconus family. He’d nearly destroyed the city with his foolish private war. I gritted my teeth at the thought. Thankfully, Ella had come to me, and we’d been able to reach the palace in time. The article made no mention of her by name but thanked an unnamed commoner who had bravely come to the palace with information about the Blight’s hideout in the River Quarter. She must be alive, then. If she’d been executed after all, they would never have stopped the Blight in time.
I sipped my coffee, feeling a degree of peace for the first time since my father had woken me from my sopor-induced healing sleep. Ella had survived. We’d saved the city. Things weren’t so terrible after all. Eventually, my injury would heal, and my memory would return. It had to, didn’t it?
Ambrose tapped lightly on the doorframe, and I looked up. Buoyed by my new sense of hope, I flashed him a smile that felt all wrong on my face. “Time for our briefing?”
“Yes, my lady. And I have news for you. I tried to send you word before the attack, as it was of the utmost importance—”
“Belle! BELLE!”
My father’s voice echoed down the hall. Ambrose jumped and then darted to the nearest corner just before my father strode into the room.
My heart began to pound. “Yes, Father?”
“If you value your life, you will do what I say now.” He stopped in front of my desk. I stood awkwardly, pressed between my chair and desk, forcing myself not to search out Ambrose’s eyes over my father’s shoulder. He must not have realized Ambrose was in the room with us.
I bit my lip rather than answer, hoping for some sort of clue as to what was going on. The second death threat in two days? What had I done this time?
My father stared me down. “It's that simple, Belle. Either you will obey me, or you won’t. And if you want to live, you’ll go along with this, and you’ll keep your wretched mouth shut.” His nostrils flared, and he took a step towards me, his hands in fists at his sides. “I told you what would happen if you betrayed this family again.”
I had no time to agree.
Shouts echoed through the hallway.
“She’s in here,” my father shouted, his eyes locked on my face.
A moment later, five armed guards charged into my office. They wore the crisp, navy uniforms of the Quarter Guard and trained their crossbows straight at me.
“Lady Belle Argentarius,” said one guard, “you're under arrest for smuggling. The charges against you include the illegal import of undeclared goods, lying to royal inspectors, failure to submit to inspection of goods, and reckless endangerment of the city by circumventing plague purification standards. Come out from behind your desk, get down on the floor, and put your hands behind your head. If you dare to resist, we are authorized to use force against you.”
My father’s jaw hardened, and he clenched his fists, his eyes flickering to the floor as if he could force me to go peaceably by sheer will.
So, this was it. After I’d ruined his shot against the Falconus family, he’d decided my life was forfeit.
My mind raced, but murky, slow thoughts collided in my worthless, injured mind as I stepped to the side of my desk. I lowered myself to my knees and then onto my belly, my silky, green dress crinkling against the floor, and placed my hands awkwardly behind my head. The polished wooden floor smelled of lemonburst and expurgo, and my chest ached where it smashed against the floor.
Someone jerked my hands roughly against my lower back, and a moment later, I was tightly bound. The same hands hauled me to my feet and shoved me toward the door. I glanced once over my shoulder and accidentally met Ambrose’s eyes. He huddled against the far wall, still unnoticed by my father.
I stumbled and faced forward again as the guards forced me from the room. What would my father do to Ambrose if he knew he’d overheard the threat that preceded my arrest?
Halfway down the hallway to the staircase, I managed another glance over my shoulder. My father was following the guards, his lips lifted in a small, triumphant smile.
I exhaled in relief as the guards rushed me down the first few steps of the staircase. At least Ambrose was safe. I might not remember him, but he’d seemed like a good, kind man—not one who deserved to join me in the destructive storm of my father’s wrath.
The guards shoved me into an armored fomewagon and sat me in the rear-facing seat, with a guard on either side and three directly across from me. They were tense and alert, their hands on their weapons as we sped through the Procus Quarter toward the Royal Precinct.
Did they actually think I was dangerous? A true criminal? I huddled against the fomecoach seat as the back of my head throbbed.
No, they were watching the windows of the fomecoach, not me. They must have thought my father would resist violently when they came to arrest his youngest daughter. No one would guess he was glad to be rid of me, glad to make me pay for my actions the day of the Falconus battle in the streets.
He’d fooled the city for years. Why would anyone see through him now?
As usual, I was on my own.
Chapter 5
Instead of locking me in the palace dungeon, they took me through a small back gate, brought me into the palace, and straight to a quiet room on the fourth floor.
A soft bed with a simple, white coverlet took up most of the room, and the subtle fragrance of winterdrops hung in the air. The room was lit only by a narrow window and a small luminous light overhead.
One guard removed the binding on my hands while another bowed to me from the door. “His Royal Highness, Prince Estevan, has invited you to dine with him this evening,” he said. “A guard will come for you at the dinner hour.”
I rubbed my wrists and frowned. How much had my damaged brain caused me to miss? “I thought I was under arrest for smuggling.”
The guard shrugged, already on his way out the door. “You are. He said to tell you he thought you’d like the accommodations in the palace better.”
He shut the door. I sat heavily on the small bed and put my pounding head in my hands. My aching, confused mind could barely keep up with all that had happened in the past two hours, but I knew one thing for certain—nothing good would come of this.
I thought of Prince Estevan’s strange actions at the Founder’s Day celebration. What possible reason could he have for wanting me in the palace? The more I searched for an answer, the cloudier my thoughts grew and the harder my head pounded.
An hour later, someone knocked on my door. I opened it to find an unfamiliar palace guard. “The reading of you
r charges will commence shortly, my lady. This way, please.”
This had to be most courteous imprisonment a suspected smuggler had ever known.
Ten minutes later, a sweaty, red-faced Ministry of Justice clerk met me in a small drawing room two levels down.
I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, baking in the heat and squinting as the overwhelming summer sunlight poured in through an open window beside me.
“Lady Belle Argentarius.” The short, potbellied clerk adjusted his thick glasses and glanced up from the narrow table between us, where he’d set out a small stack of papers.
I lifted my chin and tried to appear confident. “Yes.”
He returned his focus to the first paper. “You’ve been called before me for the reviewing of the charges against you. Please note that this is not an opportunity to make your plea. When the formal reading of charges has been completed, your sentencing hour will be scheduled. You’ll give your plea to the justice at the beginning of your sentencing hour, and if you plan to call witnesses to your defense, you may do so at that time. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
His lips twitched. “Then let’s move on.” He shuffled the papers and leaned forward in his chair. “Two weeks ago, a shipment of imports from Draicia was brought into the city by a brokerage that is majority-owned by Bank Argentarius.”
I wiped discreetly at the sheen of sweat on my brow. Couldn’t he have chosen a west-facing room for this reading?
The clerk continued without looking up. “Three days ago, the import inspection captain reviewed his records and noticed a previously-disregarded discrepancy between the reported weight of the pallet and the actual weight recorded during inspection.”
I swallowed, the room’s oppressive heat instantly forgotten. They had actual evidence of smuggling?
“When the inspector sent a team of trackers to the broker to investigate the pallet, the Bank Argentarius broker informed them that the pallet’s contents had already been moved to their final destination in the city. The record of that destination was not available at the warehouse, so the trackers went to your father, Lord Argentarius, to question him.”