The Glass Spare

by Lauren DeStefano

  But Rala’s smile was patient nonetheless when she said, “Almonds have proven more effective than organ meats—and more palatable.”

  “I’m sorry,” Wil said. “I didn’t mean—”

  “You’ve managed to find one with a heart like yours,” Rala interrupted, speaking to Loom.

  Wil felt her face going hot in her embarrassment. But her gaze fell back onto the child.

  Gray Fever wasn’t highly contagious. It found the frail ones and sank its talons in. The other children were safe if their resistance was strong, but watching it take hold of someone they loved was its own affliction.

  Looking at this sick child was like staring into the past. She wanted to go outside and pluck the gray flowers from the graves and turn them to diamonds.

  “Wil isn’t all I’ve found.” Loom handed Rala a handful of ruby alber blossoms that Zay had cut into gemstones.

  “Bits of a necklace I found on a ship,” Loom said. “But they’re real. Wil, could you let her see your data goggles?”

  Wil handed them over. At least he was asking this time.

  “It will be more than enough for you to afford to bring the herbs you’ve collected to Cannolay and have them processed into medicines,” he said.

  Rala’s eyes filled with tears. “Thank you.”

  She tried to recall the howling winds the night of the storm, tried to remember how real her brother’s voice had sounded then. Tell me what to do, Owen. Try to stop this war? Is it even possible?

  She looked at Loom. He crouched at the bedside and smoothed the child’s fevered brow with his thumb. He may have lied to her in the past, but he couldn’t fake this level of care. After years spent at a bedside in a room whose air was thick with death, she knew that devotion better than anyone.

  This love he had for the kingdom changed him—or perhaps, Wil realized, she was seeing the real him for the first time. Here, he was not a scheming one-time prince. He was a king, in his own right, of broken things.

  She cleared her throat. “We should go,” she told him. “You said it wasn’t safe to stay long.”

  He stood. Rala took his hands in gratitude. As they said their good-byes, Wil hugged her stomach and stepped outside. The sun had moved higher against the sky, candying it bright blue with its light. Bits of the city glinted with minerals in the mountain stone. It looked nothing like the forgotten outskirts of the Port Capital, and yet this place reminded Wil of home.

  The homes in Messalin were falling into disrepair just like the homes in the Port Capital’s outskirts. But their architecture was still lovingly upkept: carvings in doors and in the stone walls, not unlike Loom’s tattoos, and fresh coats of paint over rotting frames and panes.

  They made their way back to the boat in silence. Between alleyways and over hillsides, she could see the famed mountain palace keeping vigil high at the heart of Cannolay.

  It was so close. She could run for it now, cut through the cemetery and climb the iron fence that bordered the Southern capital. Loom was fast, but she moved like water, and he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself. Once she was in Cannolay, there would be too much risk. Someone would recognize him and want to collect the bounty on his head. Sweat was already beginning to wash away the concealer over his tattoos, and he was tugging his collar to hide his inky crown.

  From Cannolay, she could find some way out of here, surely. Hire a boat, or steal one. But then what? She was no closer to finding Pahn. Loom was the only one who knew where to find him, and besides that, he also knew about her power. There was no telling how else he might use it against her. No. She had given him her word, and she would keep it. She would play the part of an ally. But they were enemies, under all of it, and she needed to remember that.

  Especially when she looked at him just then.

  Though he should have been accustomed to the stifling heat, his face was flushed, his eyes glassy.

  “Are you going to drop dead in the middle of the streets?”

  He cut her a wicked smile. “And make things easy for you?”

  “High winds forbid.” He stumbled, and reflexively she snared his elbow. “Loom? What is it?”

  He waved her off. “The heat. I’ve been away for a while. I’ve forgotten how stifling it can be.”

  Clearly a lie. Wil had lived her entire life in the far North, where it sometimes flurried in the summer, and this heat wasn’t affecting her nearly as much.

  Loom plodded onward and straightened his posture. “The Heir to the Royal House of Heidle was quite the celebrity,” Loom said, and Wil felt her palms go slick with sweat inside her gloves. “I imagine you’ve met him?”

  Wil shrugged. Her legs felt rubbery, going numb. She focused on the horizon.

  “I met him once, a year ago,” Loom went on. “It was in the Western Isles—neutral territory agreed upon by both parties, and he’d come to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage.”

  Wil stalled at that. He’d met her brother. She remembered their surroundings and lowered her voice to a whisper. “He wanted to marry the princess?”

  “I don’t think it was his idea. He was his father’s errand boy, and so was I.”

  “What happened?” Her throat felt dry.

  “I rejected his proposal on behalf of the family. I was carrying out my father’s orders. My sister and I have never gotten along, but I’d sooner die than see her marry anyone from that vile Northern king’s family. Who knows what would happen to her? King Hein would probably keep her trapped in his castle as leverage. Threaten to kill her if we don’t meet his demands.”

  Wil couldn’t argue this. It was exactly the sort of thing her father would do. But Owen—all this had happened a year ago. Wil tried to recall her brother’s ventures out into the world, but half the time he didn’t tell her where he was going, much less what he was doing, no matter how she’d nettled him. She did know her father had wanted a marriage alliance with the Southern princess, but she hadn’t known the steps he took to make it happen.

  Loom went on. “As a show of good faith, Prince Owen had arrived in the Western Isles without reinforcements. That night, my father ordered that he be assassinated in his bed. Ten men crept into the prince’s bedroom. None crept back out.”

  “He killed the assassins?”

  “All of them. I saw the slaughter myself in the morning. By the looks of it, they never stood a chance. Blood on the ceiling. He was long gone by then. King Hein never tried to negotiate with us again. Any promises to open trade lines between our kingdoms became an impossibility. King Hein refuses to negotiate. He wants all or nothing, and he tried to use my sister—a child at the time—to establish a direct line to my family.”

  She remembered now. It was a cold September over a year ago when Owen returned. He’d ruffled her sloppy ponytail as he passed her on the castle steps, and then he’d gone straight to his chamber and locked the doors. Nobody saw him for days. It had annoyed her when her knocks went unanswered.

  Wil felt her heart sinking. She felt nauseous and weak. She was well aware of the horrors her father wrought as king. She knew that he had done his share to cause this devastation in the South, and within his own kingdom too.

  But Owen—she knew Owen. She knew his heart. Over and again, she and Gerdie had readily betrayed their father for him, because he was going to be a good king, a just king.

  Maybe there was no such thing. Owen must have known this, and it must have been a lonely realization. She felt a glimpse of that loneliness now, and it threatened to destroy her.

  Oh, Owen. I wish you’d told me.

  Loom narrowed his eyes at her, and Wil threw her defenses back up.

  “And you went along with the assassination plan?” Wil said.

  “I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” Loom said. “I was just following orders. Such is the life of an heir.” He said it with mock tragedy.

  Wil said, “If there are more people in the Isles like Rala, people who know you, who would trust you, why not star
t your own army to overthrow your father?”

  He laughed, and it irritated Wil how condescending it sounded. “It wouldn’t be as easy as it sounds.” They were back to the shoreline now. Loom paid the boy who had guarded the small rowboat, and Wil waited in tense silence. Once they were back out on the water, away from spying ears, Loom went on. “I need to buy alliances. Then kill the Northern royals. That’s the only way I’ll be able to redeem myself to my father. Once I have his trust and stand to inherit the kingdom again, I’ll kill him. Successfully this time.”

  Wil steeled herself. You’re wind, she reminded herself. You are everywhere. She forced her mind out of this tiny rowboat. She saw her castle with its remaining princes, its king and queen. Her father was not always a reasonable man, but the Southern Isles had things he wanted. He would be open to negotiations. Baren was the heir, and her father had seen his efforts wasted on that one; he struggled where Owen had excelled; he wasn’t clever, nor was he reasonable, nor would his cocky demeanor make him any good at foreign relations. Her father would be open to communicating directly.

  “You don’t have to kill them.” She spoke slowly, trying to feign detachment from the situation. “After I’ve gone to find Pahn, I think you should head to Northern Arrod. Talk to the king. It can be mutually beneficial.”

  Loom shook his head. Sweat made the satin cling to his skin. His eyes were languid. He looked so tired, and Wil began to wonder if he’d caught something, but what contagion could be floating around Messalin that would affect him this quickly? Not Gray Fever; he appeared far too healthy to be vulnerable, and anyway it wouldn’t come on so suddenly. Whatever it was, he seemed determined to ignore it. “You don’t understand kings. Killing them is the only way to stop all this war.”

  “Killing to stop the killing?” Wil said.

  “The Northern king is already killing us,” Loom pressed. “He hijacked all our trade ships, did you know that? He released the captains but kept the wares for himself, and he refuses to trade until we give him our entire kingdom. Wil, he’s exiled us. Our hospitals are falling apart. We’re dying, and if he continues to breathe, all he needs to do is wait until we’re too weak to fight at all, and take us over.”

  Wil knew that what he was saying was true, and still she refused to let him know it. Her family was not to blame for her father’s actions. Where Loom saw cold murderers, she saw a genius boy in his lab, a woman who sang her children to sleep, an heir who had wanted to change things, who had died to spare her life. “You would murder an entire royal line in the name of peace.” Wil folded her arms. “Sure, makes a lot of sense.”

  “In the grand scheme of a greater good, their lives are nothing,” Loom said.

  Wil barely knew what happened next. In a blink, she had taken him by the collar and hurled him into the water. He fell with a loud splash, and she was grasping the edges of the boat, trying to steady its violent rocking.

  He bobbled up to the surface, spitting water. “Has it ever been suggested to you that you have a problem controlling your impulses?”

  Jaw clenched, Wil grabbed the oars and propelled herself toward the island. He was struggling to keep up with her, but it was no use for all her fury as she rowed.

  He disappeared under the water, and when he didn’t surface, she considered going after him. She scolded herself for having the thought. No. Let him drown. He deserved it, after everything.

  Seconds went by. “Burning gods,” she cursed, and stilled the oars.

  Before she could decide whether or not to go after him, his arm hooked over the side of the boat. Loom hoisted himself above the surface, gasping. Something was very wrong; she had seen him swim farther than this without effort before, but now he looked as though he could barely stay conscious.

  “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of the royal family,” he gasped.

  She glared at him as he struggled back onto the boat. They traveled the rest of the way in silence.

  Zay was sitting on the beach, rubbing a frothy salve on Ada’s arms to protect his skin against the sun. When she saw the boat approaching, she stood and waded into the water to pull it ashore.

  “You were gone too long,” she accused Loom, by way of greeting. “How was Rala?”

  “The same,” Loom said, accepting her help guiding him onto the sand. He stumbled. “She asked after you and Ada, of course.”

  Zay rubbed her fingertips against his neck, smudging the sweaty concealer. “Too long,” she said again. She cast a disdainful glance at Wil.

  Zay was stunning in the daylight and all her fury, Wil thought, as she sat uneasy under her scrutiny. Her skin was shimmering with sweat; her haphazard hair was gathered high atop her head.

  But where Zay had nothing but contempt for Wil, her little boy had fascination. He stood at the water’s edge watching her disembark from the rickety boat, and reached for the long curtain of Wil’s hair as it fell before her.

  “No, no, Ada,” Zay said, catching his outstretched hand. “Don’t touch the witch; she’ll turn you into a rock, and I will be very sad. I’ll have to strangle her with the boat ties to have my revenge.”

  Wil narrowed her eyes. “It sounds like you’ve already written the novel.”

  “I’m hardly the only one who fantasizes about strangling your kind with boat ties,” Zay said coolly. “The fact that you’re a witch has nothing to do with it.”

  “Enough.” Loom’s voice startled both girls, freezing them still. He turned on Zay. “You don’t talk to her like that.”

  Shock washed over Zay’s eyes like a shadow. The shock quickly turned to anger, and she folded her arms. “You’re out of your head right now, ansoh.”

  She was right, Wil thought. He pressed his palm to his temple, wincing. He sucked a breath through his teeth, and something within Wil lurched. She touched his forehead. Burning hot. “You need to rest,” she said. “You can’t die on me.” He raised his eyes to her. “Not until you’ve fulfilled your end of our bargain,” she added.

  Zay let out an indignant huff and tugged Loom by the wrist. “There are some lyster leaves back at the castle. Let’s get your fever down.” She didn’t seem surprised by the state of him at all.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Wil started to follow them, but Zay stopped her with a glare.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “He doesn’t look—”

  “Zay’s right,” Loom interrupted. “I don’t do well in this heat. I’ll feel better by tonight.”

  Only he wasn’t. He didn’t come from his room even after the sun had gone down. Zay hovered in his doorway keeping constant vigil, as though she thought Wil would try to kill him in his sleep.

  Wil wouldn’t, but it suited her just fine if they thought so.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  THE BREEZE ROLLED THROUGH THE open window, salty and cool.

  Loom lay on his stomach, chin on his overlapped arms, and he sighed in tandem with the gently turning sea. For hours he had coasted in a half-sleep of sullen dreams, but now he was awake.

  Zay was sitting cross-legged on the bed beside him, and she pressed a cold cloth to the back of his neck. She touched her hand to his forehead. “Your fever is finally breaking. How are you feeling?”

  He tilted his face to her. “You don’t have to dote on me.”

  She scoffed. “Don’t pretend not to need me. Without me you’d sail right off the edge of the world.”

  “Only if I were in pursuit of something worthy of the fall,” he said.

  “Like a certain Northern girl with a pretty face and a fistful of raw diamonds?”

  Loom glanced sidelong at her, smirking. “You think she’s pretty?”

  Zay doused a fresh cloth in a bowl of lyster-infused water. She wrung it out and gently dabbed at his bare shoulders, which were still pink with fever. “I worry about what’s happening to you since you met that girl. You used to have more sense.”

  He closed his eyes. “You want to talk to me about sense, ansuh?”
<
br />   She straightened her spine, wielding the majesty to rival any queen. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You don’t want to have this conversation with me.”

  “On the contrary,” she said. “I want to know what you’re so smug about.”

  He sat up to face her, and the wet cloth fell to the blankets with a dull sound. “I said nothing of your sense,” he began, “when you were fifteen and you snuck out of the palace walls after midnight to be with a man leagues below your class. Again and again. I said nothing of your sense when he got you pregnant. I was the one you screamed curses at as you brought Ada into the world. I say nothing of your sense even now, when you row out to Lamponay, slum of the Southern Isles, to continue your affair with the man who doesn’t even ask about his son, a man who will never deserve either of you.”

  At that, Zay’s eyes burned defiant. “I have told him not to worry about Ada,” she said. “Ada belongs only to me.”

  “Yes, and he listens to you, and I know that drives you mad. He doesn’t even love his son enough to fight for him,” Loom said. “I don’t save you from yourself, Zaylin. Even when someone should.”

  “That girl could kill you,” Zay whispered, seething. “You don’t know who or what she is. You don’t know where she came from, or what else she can do.”

  “She isn’t dangerous,” Loom said. “I can’t explain it, but I just—know somehow that she won’t hurt me. She isn’t the evil thing you make her out to be.”

  “There’s something off and you know it,” Zay said. “She’s hiding something.”

  “Find me someone who isn’t.”

  She laid her hand to his heart, pressing down hard to feel it beating. “You are in very deep waters, my dearest one.”

  He laid his hand over hers, and his fingers curled, holding on. “I know.”

  Her eyes softened at the pain on his face. “I want you to have all the things that make you happy in this world,” she said, giving his chest a shove. “But I won’t let anything hurt you. I will kill that girl if she tries.”