The thought of school made her angry.
No, not angry. Sad? Not exactly. But whenever she sat with her seventeen classmates in the dim lit room, with that sour-faced, boring Galeno writing endless streams of twitching symbols on the blackboard, an invisible weight crushed her chest. Each year, that traveling teacher pestered the village with his presence, and each year Leo hated him a little more. He called her lazy and sloppy, glared at her and frowned whenever she improvised a new reason for her missing homework. After her last ‘the billy goat ate it’ she was running out of ideas. And the goat hadn’t even liked her papers, either.
It wasn’t her fault if the lessons made her terribly nervous. “You’re distracting your classmates!” Galeno used to say whenever some other kid blamed a failed spell on her.
Even in the warm spring sun, shielded by the leaves that extended like a green, lacy canopy above her, she shivered. The yearly lessons she had to attend were what nightmares were made of: the boredom of learning through Galeno’s flat voice, geography and the basics of religion—the Mother who made fields, cattle and people fertile; the spirits of the ancestors that apparently were still checking on the living—were nothing compared to the books Leo couldn’t read, riddled with magic secrets and spells woven in every blot of ink.
As if that wasn’t enough, all kids old enough to walk was already proficient in magic, showing off the black ring on their brows. Hers was still smooth and evenly brown. What other people were born with, a talent as natural as breathing, still slipped her grasp. Leo couldn’t tell why; and the grown-ups insistence on waiting, because of course magic would come to her, too, only made her feel more wrong.
The knot was sturdier than expected. She wiped her sweaty cheeks with her forearm and stared into the distance. Colorful banners already adorned Elertha’s Mill square, and a pole wrapped in red and white ribbons emerged from the treetops.
Soon, the Spring Festival would turn the plain simplicity of the Mill into its festive version. Which, in Leo’s opinion, was equally as boring, only in a fancy outfit. She couldn’t think of many ways to make the cluster of clean roads, white plaster and dark wooden beams houses, and even the pretentious shape of the slightly taller building for assemblies interesting. The flowers at the balconies and swallows nesting under the mill’s roof were nice, but only added to the hopelessly rural look of the place.
And at least, the swallows got to leave…
The chatter for the upcoming Festival covered the murmur of the river. And sure enough it covered the footsteps under her tree, because when a sharp voice called her name, Leo almost rolled down the branch in surprise.
“Leo! Spirits’ sake, I’ve been looking for you all morning!”
Leo rolled her eyes and stuck her knife in the branch, crossing her arms over her chest.
Of course her mother would come to look for her. Because of course Galeno had sent word of her skipping class.
“Come down immediately!”
“Ma, it’s not…”
“I’m not joking, Leo. I have no time to waste, so you better bring your sorry hide here this very moment.”
“But I…”
“The whole village is paying for master Galeno's lessons, and you avoiding him is both a waste of money and a shame! Honestly, why are you like this? I thought you’d learned how to behave after last year…”
The stern tone surprised her a little. Ma wasn’t the strict one, and being scolded like that meant something was off.
In the past three years, Leo had done her best to avoid Galeno, and most of the time Ma had found a way to excuse her. Magic was necessary, and children were supposed to learn how to master it and get to work with their families as soon as possible. Those who showed an inclination or desire to delve into magic any further could attend some of the colleges in Epidalio’s larger cities, even in the capital Nikaia, if they were particularly gifted; everyone else was expected to put their powers to use in the fields or their families’ businesses.
Leo was hard-working enough, but in the wrong way.
With a sigh, she picked her knife up and placed it at her belt.
“Fine,” she grumbled. Going down was easier but way more terrifying, and she tried not to look down as she perched herself on one branch, and then another, lower and lower still.
Eventually, when she was still six feet up the trunk, she jumped down and landed with a grunt among the grass.
When she looked up, Ma was glaring at her. Alright, something was really off.
Her mother was pretty. She had always been, with flawless brown skin and deep hazel eyes. And she always wore the colorful red and orange dyed dress Da made for her. But now, with her fists on her sides and her lips pressed in a tight line, she looked really this close to a scolding.
Leo brushed her pants. Both her knees were scabby, and there was a wasp bite on her ankle, right below where her pants were rolled up to her calves“Listen, Ma, I’m sorry, alright?”
“No, it’s not alright! I had hoped you’d take education more seriously this year, and I’m done covering you up with your father!”
“But I…”
“We’re going home. Now,” she snapped, taking Leo’s shoulder and pulling her along.
“Hey! What’s up, Mom? You never…”
“Hurry!”
* * *
“No! First you tell me what’s happening!”
Ma glanced around and bowed to look Leo in the eye.
“It’s dangerous to be out there, and I want you home at once. Do you have any idea of how worried I was when I didn’t find you at school?”
Leo opened her mouth and blinked.
“Dangerous? Here? Come on, it’s festival day, there’ll be some more people around, but it’s never been anything but boring!”
“Leo! Don’t argue with me and go home!”
“I’m not a baby anymore, stop treating me like one!” She wiggled herself free from her mother’s grip and staggered back.
“Then stop behaving like one! Please, Leo, it’s not a joke!”
Leo turned her back on her and marched away down the path. Sure, go home, Ma had said. And suffer Da doing that face, the one that didn’t look angry or anything, just very worried about his messy little girl. Disappointed even, maybe.
She couldn’t hear Ma insisting with her lecture. Her face was on fire and her head buzzed with outrage.
What a pathetic excuse. Danger at the Mill? The most exciting thing that had ever happened was that time Tobias had fished a pike so big it had dragged him into the river and bit off a piece of his finger. The village was too small to even deserve the title of town, and its only perk was being close enough to the main road going to Nikaia. They didn’t have visitors often, but they weren’t exactly out of the way either.
She stomped on the dirt path, leaving her mother behind. When she took a side road and turned at the corner of old Clio’s house, at the borders of the village, she snatched a pale lavender twig and twisted it in her hands.
“Leo?” she heard from behind her, and promptly ignored it. She really, really didn’t want to get home and find a second serving of this nonsense.
“Leo!” her mother called again, and Leo rolled her eyes.
“If you expect me to stop here, I…”
“Run!”
Leo stumbled on her feet and turned around. No, that was not what she’d expected.
A low rumble vibrated under her feet; small pebbles and sand jumped on the ground, and every hair on her body stood up in sudden fear. She took a step back when the rumbling grew louder.
“Mom?” she called, still looking at the ground.
A horse neighed, and the sound sent shivers down her spine. She shook her head and ran her way back.
She emerged from the shadow of Clio’s house, and the world crumbled under her.
A living wall of soldiers came barreling down the road. She saw pale banners, steel armors, white and silver plumes on the helmets.
; She saw her mother turning toward her. The orange shawl slid from her shoulder, and her eyes big.
Terror, shock, confusion.
The horses didn’t slow down.
Didn’t stop.
Leo’s mother crumpled and disappeared under the hooves without a sound. The knights stomped over her and galloped on.
They didn’t even hear Leo cry.
* * *
...
* * *
“The… The king is dead.” The sentinel was fifteen at most, although it was hard to tell his age, battered and bruised as he was. Evandro left his post by the throne and knelt in front of the kid, helping him stand up. Blood stained his gloves as he grabbed his face. Easier than looking at Eliodoro's eyes, burning in a pale face.
“What?” He could barely recognize his own voice, strained and dry as it was after hours--days?--of fighting and mourning.
The boy slumped against him, leaving a trail of blood on the steel of Evandro's armor.
Not a knight. Not even a soldier--they’d ran out of trained troops to guard the walls, and what few remained were all stationed in the palace. Ready to die in a desperate last stand.
Evandro dropped his sword and tried to keep the kid’s head upright, looking into his eyes.
“Where?” Eliodoro spoke, low, his tone trembling. Evandro closed his eyes as his heart cracked some more.
“They’ve… taken the bridge. The king… tried to hold...” A red bubble popped at the corner of the sentinel’s mouth, and his dark eyes rolled back into his skull. He slipped from Evandro's grip and stood motionless on the blue and golden tiles of the floor.
Dead. One more.
Evandro couldn’t stand up. He lost his grip on time and reality, his eyes traveling over the features of the corpse.
I didn’t even know his name.
People screamed in the courtyards. A blaze of white-blue light flashed through the shattered glass of the windows. The voices shut at once, and only more distant wails remained to testify the slaughter happening in the palace.
“Evandro!”
To that call, the First Knight couldn’t but obey. He shuddered, grabbed his sword and bolted to his feet, turning to face the tall figure standing in front of the throne.
Eliodoro Laskaris, the Evening Star, heir to the throne of Epidalio, son of king Stelio.
Now a king himself.
“Long live the king,” Evandro muttered to himself. The room around him was a mess of broken furniture to shield doors and windows; the green and golden tapestries on the walls, the Laskaris banners hanging from the ceiling, everything was torn to pieces, useless rags that still showed the coat of arms of the royal family. The Laskaris star, stained in blood and dirt. Burned. A macabre mocking of glory.
A guard loaded his rifle, and the smell of black powder prickled Evandro's nose. He sniffed and touched his forehead with his fist. “I pledge my honor to…”
“Oh, shut it, it’s not time for formalities!” Eliodoro snapped. Tears glimmered in his eyes, and his face looked younger than ever in the shock of the tragedy. “This is not how I imagined my crowning…” A bang came from the window, a second one, and the stone frame crumbled under an enemy shot.
Evandro blinked. Eliodoro's skin glistened with sweat and blood was smeared on his cheek. His hazel eyes were reddened, spirited.
“You know what I need you to do.” Eliodoro's command shot through him and erased everything. The battlefield, their losses, the stench of blood and death all around them.
Evandro wrapped his fingers around the grip, and the leather of his glove squeaked.
“Your highness--your majesty,” Evandro corrected himself with a shiver, “no. I beg you, don’t ask me to…”
“I know!” Eliodoro jumped down the steps from the throne and marched to Evandro. He faced him, his jaw set in a stubborn line. The rest of his guard, seasoned fighters now watching helpless as their beloved Epidalio fell under the invader, glanced at them from their guard posts.
“Then don’t ask me!” Evandro shoved him back. Any other time he would’ve cursed his own name for such a show of public insubordination, and even more for forsaking his best friend in his time of need like this. Right now, he could barely control his voice. “I can’t leave you, I…”
Words failed him when the prince’s hands cupped his face. Battle-worn, calloused, familiar. Not the hands of a nobleman. The hands of a king.
All that time yearning for your touch, and now that you’re looking at me like that, I can’t say yes.
“Please,” Eliodoro said under his breath. “For our friendship. For the oath you swore. For what you feel about...” The young king hesitated, and Evandro glared at him, his face on fire.
“You’re using that against me. To… to force me to…”
“I am!” Eliodoro yelled, tears streaming down his dirty cheekbones. “I am, and I won’t ask for your forgiveness. But my father’s dead, the palace is destroyed, and our land is lost. It will forever be so, unless you leave me now.”
“I beg you,” Evandro growled, unashamed of his trembling lower lip, of this weakness he fed whoever of his guard was left. “Don’t ask me to leave you to die. Let me die with my honor--at your side, as a knight!”
A decade of words left unsaid choked him.
“Ligeia is alive, and our children with her. They’re Epidalio’s last hope, and you must take them out of here.”
“And abandon you! If our land is really defeated…”
The press of Eliodoro's lips on his brow burned like a mark.
“There’s still magic in you. I can see it,” the king said, his mouth against the faded ring on Evandro's forehead. He pressed their brows together, shaking his head. “Enough to take my wife from this nightmare and to the canals. To safety.”
“Your majesty, I…” Evandro sighed. Your majesty. My lord. My love. “Eliodoro. It’s too much.”
“It’s the last thing you can do for me. For us.”
Us.
Eliodoro never missed his mark, and that last word broke the remains of Evandro's determination.
There was no us, he thought bitterly, and hated himself for it. He still owed Eliodoro his loyalty and his unselfish friendship.
Against all etiquette and appropriateness, Evandro lifted his free hand and grabbed Eliodoro's wrist. He turned in his palm, leaning in that last caress.
Gunshots rang from the lower gate. A loud crackling, the shriek of someone on the battlements--magic barriers! We can’t hit them!
“You’ve been the best companion I could’ve asked for, Evandro. I wish I could’ve made you as happy as you deserved.” Eliodoro took a step back, and Evandro was cold and alone. Behind the veil of tears, Eliodoro was smiling, a flash of white teeth and his black hair sticking to his cheeks.
“As you command, my king,” Evandro dragged from his chest, laying the words at the feet of the man he’d loved for his whole life. In vain.
“The southern staircase! They’re breaching in!” Yelled a woman by the window, crouching to load her rifle.
“Go!” Eliodoro growled. “Go, with my blessing and my gratitude.”
Evandro stumbled back toward the door. What had been the throne room was unreal. No more carpets and nobles in bright colored robes, no dogs sleeping by the vast fireplace or giddy young ladies gossiping in the corners. Furniture was piled by every entrance, benches bolted across the doors. Dead men and women lay scattered around.
It looked like a tomb already.
“Now!”
Evandro took a shivering breath andE jumped to the small door behind the throne. Little more than a secret passage, a narrow corridor so low he had to crouch to get in.
Eliodoro shouted orders to his guards and Evandro caught one last glimpse of his tall frame, the red cape twirling with every movement, the flame dancing in his raven hair.
Then the Asares’ troops flooded the throne room, and someone closed the secret passage behind Evandro.
Done.
And there was nothing he could do but obey.
In the darkness, his face burned, and his blade caught in the walls, raising a splash of sparks.
He ran, breathless, his eyes filled with tears he couldn’t shed. For a lost future, a lost home.
Through the hidden paths inside the castle, Evandro fled from the fight. Ahead of him, a woman was screaming in a different kind of agony.
Maybe it was already too late, he thought. But this didn’t free him from his vow.
“Go, with my blessing and my gratitude.”
Eliodoro's last words rang hollow.
One arm outstretched, Evandro slammed his hand on the door. The frenzied voices behind it shut at once, but above the rumbling of his heart he could still hear ragged breaths and bitten off curses.
He kicked the door open, and out of sheer instinct he ducked behind the jamb. The bullet struck the wall in front of him, crumbling the bricks in a cascade of dust and red fragments.
“I’m Evandro!” he shrieked before a second gunshot missed his shoulder by inches. “Don’t shoot me!”
“Sweet Mother of the Fields! Come in, come in!”
The explosions subsided and a gloved hand grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward. Before he could take a step Evandro found himself hauled inside. The door slammed shut behind him, and in the dim light of a single lantern he squinted and took a panting breath. The air smelled like blood and sweat.
“What… are you doing… here?”
Ligeia sat up on the bed, her black skin glistening and her tight braids loose on her shoulders. She bared her teeth and threw her head back, grabbing handfuls of sheets, growling.
“He… he sent me. To take you away,” he managed to stutter. It was too late indeed, and he’d abandoned Eliodoro for a hopeless waste of lives.
“Eliodoro? He lives then!” There was a glimmer of desperate expectation in that second female voice. Evandro couldn’t look away from the princess, her swollen belly rippling and hardening under her torn robes. “Evandro! Tell me that my son is still alive!”
Queen Althea. A widow, and soon a childless mother. Evandro closed his eyes as a third figure slithered from the door and by the bed--Ligeia’s personal doctor, a frail man with a sparse blond ponytail.
The Other Side of Magic Page 2