The queen’s voice lowered to a plea. Evandro shook his head as her small hands clutched his arm and pulled him forward. Her eyes, as golden as her son’s, were rimmed in red, her delicate features smeared in soot and blood.
“Tell me that he lives. Tell me that not everything is lost… Please, Evandro, I need you to…”
Ligeia let out a low snarl and arched her back. The doctor, whose name he couldn’t recall, tried to take her hand and support her, but the princess swatted him away.
“He’s not going to make it,” she hissed, and Evandro hung his head.
“He sent me to… escort you out. But I fear you are not in shape for…”
“Shut up.” Ligeia closed her eyes and tensed in a new contraction
Queen Althea sniffed and dropped her hands. Evandro wanted her to scream, to cry for her lost family, but the lady was a statue of bones and steel.
No time to mourn.
“His orders, Dawn Star. What are your prince’s--your king’s orders?”
Evandro could’ve cried. Somebody needed to, in such a dire situation. But all he managed was a flat whisper.
“I’m to leave him. He’ll hold the inner gate, and I’ll escort you out. Somehow. From there…”
“Shut up!” Ligeia screamed.
“My lady, you should not… fret like this, the baby…”
“The baby will have to wait. Evandro, help me to my feet. If that’s my king’s command, I expect us all to comply.”
And despite her harsh breathing, her skin going pale around her lips; despite the soaked underskirt and the clash of battle all around them, Ligeia slipped from the bed.
“But the castle’s taken, how are we going to…”
Althea bared her teeth and shut the doctor’s sensible objection with a glare.
“We know a way.”
“My lady, he’s right. I can’t take you out, there’s soldiers everywhere, and…”
“Are you even listening? There’s a way out, and--nngh!” Ligeia clenched her swollen belly and doubled over.
“Help her,” queen Althea snapped. She picked the pistols she’d dropped and tucked them in her jeweled belt. “If we make it to the tunnels, we can leave the palace. Hopefully the battle will stay in Nikaia and we’ll make it to the countryside.”
Tunnels? What tunnels? Evandro wanted to express his confusion, but there was no time for questions.
Even death and life had to wait.
Ligeia took a deep breath. It broke halfway through, but she let out no sound, only squeezed her eyes shut for a second before raising her arms.
A faithful knight. And a good friend.
Evandro sheathed his sword and banned his past and future from his mind. Now he needed to act, and quickly.
He pulled Ligeia up and lifted her in his arms, ignoring the doctor’s warnings. She was heavy and couldn’t stay still, but she hooped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. The ring on her forehead was barely visible--how much power had she used to survive this long during the siege?
“The inner courtyard?” the queen asked, stuffing a bundle of clean clothes in a leather sack and slinging it across her shoulders.
“Gone,” Evandro said. He adjusted Ligeia against his torso and looked above her head. “We can only go through the service pathway.”
“But it’s so… narrow and dark! And unsuited for a queen and her heirs, and if I may, her conditions are…”
The doctor’s words turned to a whine when Evandro glared at him.
“It’s our only chance,” the queen said, and she took her daughter-in-law’s hand. Her white gloves were stained in gunpowder. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Eliodoro's brilliant plan didn’t include a new queen in labor, a trembling old man and a woman hardened beyond the point of tears. But it was a plan nonetheless, and Evandro didn’t have anything left to lose.
Lowering Ligeia in the trapdoor required a measure of balance and strength, and only the princess’ stern determination not to be a burden made it possible. Still, when they scuttled down the steep staircase, Evandro cursed his bad luck. Dying on the battlements would’ve been so much easier…
But here they were, one slippery step at a time, Ligeia muffling her grunts against Evandro's shoulder and her fingers digging into the nape of his neck. The doctor held the lantern, its dim light bouncing with every jolt of the poor man’s shoulders.
Queen Althea closed the scrawny parade.
“It’s one of the family’s dearest secrets,” she panted under her breath. “There’s a system of tunnels under the palace, leading out of town.”
Evandro blinked in the darkness. A jealously guarded secret indeed, for even he, the First Knight, Eliodoro's best friend since childhood, had never knew anything.
Over the sound of their steps the battle raged on. One muffled boom, and the very walls of the staircase shook. A rainfall of dust settled on their shoulders, and Ligeia sighed in the crook of her sleeve.
“Hold on, my lady,” he surprised himself saying. No matter what, this girl struggling in his arms had been her friend, and she too had lost the love of her life. He owed her this. “We’re almost there.”
“There, sure. If I don’t die in childbirth or under the ruins, then we’ll get there.”
“Hush, girl! We’ll have time for snark later, if we make it,” Althea hissed.
Evandro bit his tongue in an untimely outburst of hysterical laughter he could hardly suppress.
This is madness. I’m escorting the soon-to-be heir to a stolen throne to a tunnel that may or may not lead us all to a rat’s death, and I can’t even properly comfort them…
Minutes notched up in a chain of fear and despair, punctuated by Ligeia’s spasms and muttered curses. She kept her legs tightly crossed, but Evandro could still feel something warm drip down his side.
“Are we there yet?” the doctor squealed, and immediately gasped. He turned around with a crooked smile on his gaunt face, pointing at the archway at the bottom of the stairs. The walls glimmered with dampness, and a cold gust of air made his lamp flicker.
The flames of his lantern splintered on the dark surface of the walls, and Evandro closed his eyes in a wordless prayer.
“Move on, kid! Let me pass, you need someone who knows their way around the undercity.”
Queen Althea pushed Evandro away and stormed down the stairs in a flash of dark silks. The doctor scurried in her trail, shooting Ligeia worried looks but in the end he followed the queen.
“Evandro…”
Ligeia’s voice was soft. How scared had she been? How hard was she trying to be brave? Evandro looked down at her. If she lived--if he succeeded--then Eliodoro's name wasn’t lost. Hope wasn’t lost.
“He loved you,” he said, brushing his fingertips to Ligeia’s cheek. “And you made him so happy…”
And when you got engaged, I hated you for it.,. I should ask your forgiveness...
“We were happy, all three of us. When we were kids and there were no crowns and titles and… and wars,” she said, almost a sob. “We could’ve been something different, if only…”
“We’re past the time for ifs. You…”
“You loved him, too. And I’m sorry if you two…”
Whatever other revelation she had in score, it vanished under a loud bang somewhere above their heads.
“This way!” a voice called from upstairs, and in a matter of seconds the rumbling of feet vibrated down the staircase.
Evandro and Ligeia shared one last look. Her black eyes were wide with fear, a drop of sweat rolled down her cheekbone.
“No. Not like this,” Evandro snarled. He leapt forward, stopping short of slipping on the damp cobblestones. “You deserve to live, and I’ll make sure they don’t get you.”
“Here! Quickly!” the queen called from the shadow. Her voice echoed in the depths of the network under Nikaia.
The doctor stuck his arms out and gestured to Ligeia, and Evandro looked up the
stairs. Torches were flashing on the walls.
“Hurry, Dawn Star!” the man urged him, and Evandro nodded. Hasty, almost brutal, he unceremoniously dropped Ligeia in the man’s arms, but she barely complained. With a loud groan she leaned heavily against the doctor’s shoulder, and Althea was there ready to help her.
Death had to wait. Life. Farewells, too.
Evandro turned his back to the party before they could acknowledge him. Footsteps. Clattering of steel. Curses and commands.
The Asares’ men were there.
He unsheathed his sword and closed his eyes for a second, focusing on the burning ring at his hairline. Not much power left, but enough.
It had to be.
Uneven steps sounded behind him in the dark. What was left of the royal family staggered away into the shadows.
Evandro couldn’t say goodbye. A stream of soldiers appeared under the archway.
“He’s the First Knight!” the first in line yelled, checking Evandro's shiny armor and flaming red hair. “Take him!”
“Not likely,” he grunted. The soldier who’d screamed for him charged on, a sword in one hand, a glowing sphere of fire in the other. It quickly swelled to a fireball ready to explode, but Evandro stopped the spell before it could burst in his face. His blade painted a silver arch in the narrow hall, and the enemy’s grin exploded in a splatter of crimson. The fireball dimmed and faded away as the man collapsed back on the stairs. His comrades charged on.
Five--six of them, Evandro counted. They needed to die, or the secret of the tunnels would leak. Ligeia would die, and her child with her. He snarled and swiftly moved his feet to a guarding stance. Before the soldiers could come, though, a torch blazed up the stairs.
Blades, he could parry. Spells, he could block. Firearms were beyond his abilities.
A gunshot boomed so near Evandro squinted and turned his head away. And the next thing he knew, a warm trickle of blood was running down his side. The hole between his pauldron and chestplate burned, his arm tingled.
One step closer to death.
Evandro's heart fluttered. Three men were running toward him, and more were bolding down the stairs.
Give them all you’ve got, Dawn Star. One last fight.
He lowered his sword and called for the magic inside him. It shone in the depths of his being, throbbing for release.
The shadow on Evandro's forehead burned as the remains of his power flashed through his veins. A beastly roar erupted from his throat, and half a dozen soldiers hesitated in their charge.
It was enough. Not much, but enough--if shaking the foundations of the palace and making it collapse above his head was what he needed to make sure Ligeia was safe, then be it. It was a good end to a life.
Evandro let go of the tensed string inside him. His magic, so carefully preserved for this moment, unleashed and seeped through the stones of the hallway. Plaster crumbled, rocks cracked and fell on the soldiers’ heads. On his own head.
The floor rumbled and he laughed. A furious, ugly sound.
The soldiers screamed. Somebody even shot again, but Evandro barely felt the bullet gnaw at his thigh. He stood there, sword in hand, the world collapsing around him.
Around them.
The narrow hall cracked open under his feet. The moment the archway crushed upon the troops, his foothold gave way.
He didn’t care anymore.
He laughed as dust filled his mouth, his skin sizzling with magic as he sunk under the chaos of ruins and debris.
He fell to death, and he welcomed it.
Chapter 2
Eight years later
* * *
The pitter-patter of dozens of feet was getting on her nerves. The presence of the white-clad guards all around her was suffocating. But a queen couldn’t give in to needs and wild desires.
Of those, Cibele Asares had many. Shuffling down the dark corridor, all polished marble and golden candelabra, she clenched her fists to stop them from shaking. Or, even better, from lashing at the man at her side, pouring her frustration and anger on him in a blaze of fire.
Passing in front of a flickering candle, her temper unleashed some of her power, and the flame burned brighter for a second.
Diocle brushed his hand on her elbow in a discreet warning.
Show some restraint, he seemed to say. Cibele couldn’t bear the sight of him, but his words rang through her bones nonetheless.
He was supposed to be there, of course. The captain of her personal guard. Her consort.
Gaiane’s father.
At least, she thought with bitter irony as they came in sight of the door at the end of the hallway, he wasn’t smirking as per usual. The situation was critical enough to strip him of his insufferable sarcasm.
By the door--a sturdy slab of iron, usually bolted by more than mere locks--the Council murmured with confusion. As they approached, Cibele squinted at thelight streaming through the crack under the door.
Sweat chilled down her spine. She stopped short of pulling at her hair and slapping Alcibiade's withered face. The old counsellor was pale, the sagging skin of his cheeks mottled in red.
Cibele raised her fist to stop the guards in her trail; only Diocle took the liberty to follow her.
“You… your majesty, I’m appalled. The tower was sealed, the glyphs on the door were untouched when we hurried to check. No guard noticed anything, we found no trace of break-in or…”
“Silence,” she hissed. It took her all her determination to keep her stride slow and steady. She couldn’t just run to the door and slam it open to reveal the unbelievable, horrible truth behind it.
Earlier that morning Gaiane had been there, polite and smiling, her wonderful daughter. Worth every sacrifice made and drop of blood spilled.
The room was at arm’s reach, now.
She stood motionless, clenching her jaws. Magic rumbled through her, as strong as ever. How much power was left in her? She dared not leave room for doubts now.
Diocle acted on her behalf. He marched among the counsellors, dispersing them like a flock of hens, and splayed his hand on the door.
Cibele was grateful for his presence of mind, and hated him some more for it. Her calves ached from the long climb up the endless steps to her daughter’s quarters, but the tension gripping at her throat and back was different.
Terror. Denial. Unbelief making the world grey and distant, a distorted version of her reality.
Diocle pushed the door open, and Cibele held her breath.
Two guards stood at the center of the circular room, and a third figure was slumped at their feet.
The queen ignored them all.
Gaiane’s apartment was unchanged. All her books, thousands of them, were neatly stacked on the shelves running all over the walls. The canopies of her bed hanging loose from the posts, the silver velvet shining in the afternoon sun. A carved stool by the window, the chandelier with its countless shining crystals dangling from the ceiling.
Cibele closed her eyes to banish a wave of sickness. No, it wasn’t unchanged, and the small details telling a whole different story were marked behind her eyelids.
The room was silent. The constant chirping of Gaiane’s little birds were gone, their gilded cage open. There was blood on the carpet, running from the nose and mouth of the old woman kneeling between the guards.
“Alcmena. Why?” All the queen could muster was a trembling whisper. She wanted to slap herself for such a show of weakness, but what was left of her scheming skills was buried under the terror of a grieving mother.
She forced her breath to a steady rhythm until she felt her voice wouldn’t tremble that much. She stood upright and stared at Alcmena. There were bruises on her face, and her left eye was swelling already.
Cibele searched for a hint of fear on the woman’s features, of the same terrified respect her guards and counsellors were showing.
She found none, and Alcmena chuckled through her broken teeth.
Her mind is broken, to
o. Of course, she must be terrified, shocked. She’ll beg for my forgiveness as soon as she comes back to herself.
Before the words were fully formed in her brain, Cibele knew she was wrong. And by the Spirits, she hated being wrong.
Alcmena’s black gaze was bright behind the tears, her smile crooked but sharp.
“Eight years. It took her eight years. Gaiane is stronger and smarter than all of us. Than you. She did it, and I’m so proud of her.”
The world warped.
Cibele didn’t even recoil with rage when Diocle took her arm to steady her. All she could see was Alcmena and the scale of the plan she’d carried out behind her back. Conspiring with her innocent, loyal daughter. To take her away.
“You knew. You knew it all along.” All the authority was gone from her voice, and she was a queen no more. Just a woman past her youth and the peak of her power. Bereft of her dearest treasure.
Alcmena sat on her haunches and threw her head back with muffled laughter. Her twig-like arms, abandoned in her lap, trembled with every jolt of her shoulders. The thin silver circles at her wrists jingled.
“I’ve seen her struggle to solve the riddle. Each time you let her free to exercise, she studied your movements. She practiced. And eventually she undid it.”
“Undid it?”
One of the guards swallowed loudly and took a step to the side. Behind him, a tangle of metal plates sparkled in the summer sun. A collar, tailored to adapt to a growing girl’s neck. The remains of the spell that bound it, blocking its wearer’s powers, was fading in the warm air.
“She’s free, Cibele. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” Alcmena’s voice dropped to a growl. Cibele didn’t even react to the outrage of the missing proper title.
The collar was in pieces. Gaiane couldn’t have opened it, it made no sense--it was designed to react to the queen’s touch alone, and not to that of a girl, no matter if the power she wielded was infinite and unlimited, never to run dry. She walked to the shattered collar as if in a dream and knelt to collect it. It was heavy in her palms. Unresponsive.
The Other Side of Magic Page 3