by Bex Hogan
Wrapped in gloom, the vast black stone building looks cursed. Walls have fallen, plants have taken over, the water surrounding it is murky. The trees seem perched precariously on the hillside beyond it, their roots clinging like talons to the ground.
It’s magnificent.
As we approach, my nerves shimmer inside me like light on the sea, even as I’m aware of the tension rising in my Guardian friends.
Mordecai, Jax and Astrid are recognised on sight by the guards at the palace gates and we’re quickly granted admission. Olwyn and I are watched more closely as we pass over the threshold, but while Olwyn seems fascinated by our surroundings, the weight of history hits me like a wall.
It feels like I’ve been here before.
Like I was always meant to come.
Like I should never have returned.
‘You all right?’ Astrid asks, tucking in beside me.
I nod. But I’m lying. I feel as though the dead are watching me.
Up close, it’s even clearer that the palace is utterly dilapidated, ravaged by nature over the centuries. Mordecai leads us through hallways where the windows have long since lost their glass to ivy, tendrils clawing their way inside. Stone crumbles away from the roof and light bleeds in through the cracks in the walls. Thick tree roots have invaded the floor, and, like a shadow squid enveloping a ship in its mighty tentacles, seek to sink the ground beneath our feet.
We reach a set of vast double doors guarded by two men who greet my Guardian companions with a warm embrace, before giving Olwyn and me more tentative looks.
‘You were successful?’ From the sound of the man’s voice he hadn’t been expecting them to return at all.
Mordecai’s smile is so wide it’s infectious. ‘Oh yes.’
‘Good luck then,’ and they push the doors open.
Jax and Astrid fall naturally but noticeably to my side, and I sense they’re trying to protect me. It doesn’t feel patronising or irritating – it feels caring and loving and I’ve never wished Grace was alive more. She would have been so proud of this moment.
This throne room makes the Eastern King’s look minute. Massive stone slabs – now invaded by moss and weeds – pave the floor, while the ceiling – home to birds nesting in the beams – towers above us. Two thirds of the way up the room is an impressive archway, where a pair of trees have been planted, presumably for decorative effect. But left to their own devices for centuries, the trees have taken over, their roots sprawled and intertwined across the ground and up the archway, hanging from it like thickest rope. They’ve climbed up and pushed through the roof so that I cannot see the tops of them. And still even they cannot make the room seem small. It’s awe-inspiring.
What’s not so appealing is the group of men and women watching us approach from the throne end of the room without a great deal of excitement. In fact, they look distinctly dismayed at our arrival.
The boy who sits at the foot of the throne must be Prince Rafe – and he is a boy, with to my eye no more than fifteen winters to his name. And while Bronn was already a man by that age, having lived a hard life as an apprentice assassin, this Rafe looks as though life has treated him rather too kindly. There’s ample flesh on his bones and a childish petulance in his eyes. It appears he’s not yet permitted to actually sit on the throne, which is an unexpected relief.
My throne.
I shake away that unwanted thought and try to focus on plastering a winning smile on my face. I suspect what I achieve is more like a threatening scowl.
‘Mordecai,’ an older man says, stepping forward. ‘We did not expect your return so soon.’
‘Or indeed at all?’ There is no malice in Mordecai’s voice, only a gentle teasing tone that implies he’s aware of how things are, but doesn’t care.
‘You found her then?’ And the older man glances from me to Olwyn, wondering which one of us is the woman he should be kneeling before. From the look on his face he finds us both lacking. It occurs to me that in our bloodstained clothing we look far more like warriors returning from battle than royalty seeking the crown.
Jax touches my elbow. ‘Yes.’ He gestures to the man before us. ‘Let me introduce you to Arlan, the Master of Guardians. Arlan, this is Mairin of Vultura. Our one and only true heir.’
Again, though the point is made lightly, it is made firmly.
‘Call me Marianne,’ I say, extending a hand of friendship.
But Prince Rafe jumps to his feet, coming to stand beside Arlan. ‘Forgive my scepticism, but what proof do you have of such a claim?’
Astrid gestures to my neck. ‘May we?’
I nod, and turn round, sweeping my hair away to reveal my birthmark. The intakes of breath make me suspect it’s a lot sharper than anything Rafe possesses.
‘That alone is hardly conclusive,’ I hear Rafe protest, and I will him to stop. I didn’t come here to challenge him but calling me a liar may just tempt me to change my mind.
‘She rode a snow mare,’ Olwyn says. That gets everyone’s attention.
Mordecai capitalises on it. ‘She summoned the water raptors.’
‘She raised the dead on the Ninth.’ Astrid’s voice shakes slightly, her grief ever close to the surface.
‘There is no doubt,’ Jax says. ‘Marianne is the direct descendant we’ve been seeking all these years.’
Even Rafe has no answer to this, though I see him looking desperately at his advisors for some assistance. But they seem to have been rendered speechless.
‘I haven’t come to cause any trouble,’ I say, which is true, though I neglect to mention that trouble seems to follow me everywhere whether I want it to or not. ‘I came to see if there was anyone in the West willing to help me.’
Arlan frowns. ‘What help could we give you?’
‘I need an army.’
It’s Rafe who laughs first. ‘And you think I’ll give you mine?’
I force myself not to glare at him. ‘I thought there might be some willing to stand with me to bring peace to our Isles once more. I was led to believe the Guardians were brave and strong.’
‘We are,’ Arlan says, clearly affronted. ‘But our role is to restore the crown, not fix all the problems of the world.’
‘A role you’re apparently willing to bend the rules on.’ I fail to keep the bite from my voice. ‘Perhaps it’s time to do things differently.’
Astrid attempts to diffuse the rising tension. ‘We all took oaths to protect the bloodline. Marianne therefore requires our loyalty.’
A woman with greying hair steps forward, and her features are similar enough to Rafe’s for me to suspect she’s his mother. ‘I would say she seems capable of protecting herself. And protection is all that is owed.’
We’re rapidly heading to a fight, much to my dismay, and I can feel everyone tensing for battle, when a door off to the right flings open, demanding our attention.
An impossibly old man enters the room, dragging his feet across the stone floor. With every pained step his robe pulls back to reveal the cause: both feet are missing all their toes. The stick that aids him pounds the ground like a tedious drumbeat. But what I notice more than anything else is the magic radiating from him.
‘Gaius?’
His ancient features break into an expression of sheer joy as he reaches a clawed hand towards me, stopping just before he actually touches my face. ‘You’ve come at last. I knew you would.’
Seeing their Mage greet me with open arms clearly unnerves the other Guardians and their boy-prince. Perhaps they were counting on him to advise me to leave, or dismiss me as an impostor, but one thing is certain – his opinion holds more weight than most and my dwindling hope is rekindled.
‘May I see your mark?’ Gaius asks me, his eyes bright flames set in withered skin.
Once more, I lift my hair to reveal my neck and he reaches his misshapen fingers towards it, but again he refrains from touching me.
‘There is no doubt,’ he says, loud enough for everyone to hear
. ‘She is our heir.’
‘And what of Rafe?’ The woman I’ve guessed to be his mother is incandescent with rage. ‘You have been advising him all these years, training him to be King. Would you dismiss him now for this stranger? This girl ?’
She emphasises the word ‘girl’ with contempt, which I think is rich considering Rafe is not only younger than me, but more importantly lacking any life experience to aid him as a ruler.
‘Eena, I’m merely confirming she is the descendant from the bloodline,’ Gaius says with what sounds like forced patience. ‘But … as to whether she wishes to claim the throne, that is a question still to be answered.’
Everyone looks at me, and I wish they wouldn’t. Always people want answers to impossible questions. I attempt to be as non-committal as possible. ‘Like I said, I came for help.’ I won’t be pushed into making a decision about the throne as if I were merely playing dice. Too much is at stake. ‘Help taking down the King in the East.’
‘We will never aid the East, not after what they did,’ Arlan growls.
‘That was two hundred years ago.’
‘They came here,’ he says. ‘They murdered our people.’
‘They murdered my people.’ My temper is fraying now. ‘Don’t tell me what the East did to the West. I’ve spent my whole life paying for it. But we have a chance now to put things right. My mother was a royal, my father a Guardian. I am the Viper. I am the one who will unite East and West once more.’
I didn’t even know that’s what I was going to say until I said it, but the words fill me with bubbling excitement. That is what I intend to do, by whatever means are necessary – even if I have to die.
Eena wraps her arm round Rafe’s shoulders, but I can tell the gesture isn’t to comfort him; it’s to silence him. ‘You are a stranger here. You know nothing of the West and its trials. We have enough problems of our own to contend with and don’t have the resources to help our enemies.’
But before I can ask her to expand, Gaius stabs his stick on to the floor. ‘Enough,’ he says. ‘Our guests have had a long journey and must be allowed to rest. I suggest we convene on the morrow to discuss further how we should proceed.’
His words carry weight and it is agreed our talk will resume in the morning, though I have no doubt many conversations will be taking place before then. Knives are about to be drawn.
Gaius beckons to me. ‘Perhaps we could have the chance to speak alone for a moment?’
I turn to Jax, who nods his approval. ‘I’ll come and fetch you in a while,’ he says.
I can feel many others frowning, though, as we leave the room together, and I gain a little more insight into how influential the Mages were – and still are – to the royalty. I remember what Mama warned me, of how those with power don’t like to share, and a sense of dread grips me.
Gaius shuffles slowly down a corridor off the throne room and leads me into a far smaller, pokier chamber, which couldn’t be more cluttered. Books spill from overcrowded shelves on to the floor, and papers are strewn across every surface. Gaius gestures for me to take a seat, and he positions himself in a chair behind the desk.
For a moment he simply catches his breath, the exertion of the walk taking a toll. In addition to his toeless feet he’s missing three fingers on his left hand, and I’m certain the misshapen fingers on his clawed right hand were at one time all broken, and left to set poorly. I wonder what has happened to him to cause such injuries.
‘So,’ Gaius says after a while, fixing an unnervingly intense stare on me. ‘Now that we are alone, let us talk freely. I believe I know why you are really here and it’s not the throne you seek.’
I shake my head. ‘No. Not the throne.’
We hold each other’s gaze for some time, weighing the other up. Trust is essential, yet so hard to gain.
Gaius speaks first. ‘Magic is not something that can be taught. You either possess the gift, or you don’t.’
‘And if I do?’
Now Gaius smiles as if I’ve confirmed what he already knew. ‘Then I can show you how to master it. How to enhance it.’
Excitement spreads through me like fire, my smile bright like flame. ‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘Royals and Mages have long since ruled together, but to have someone who is both?’ he says, his voice full of wonder. ‘You would be unstoppable.’
‘I’m not interested in power. I simply want peace.’
Gaius laughs, but it sounds more like a cough in distress. ‘Liar.’
‘Excuse me?’
Now he leans forward, knocking a precarious pile of books to the floor. ‘You came here with one desire: to become a Mage. Am I right?’
‘Yes, but—’
He slams his hand down on to the desk. ‘Foolish girl. You cannot believe that the ability to wield magic is anything but power. Stop lying to yourself. Admit the truth. Revel in the freedom of honesty. You. Want. Power.’
His forthright manner is jarring and yet liberating. I’ve never spoken openly to anyone about the depths of my yearning for magic – not even Bronn. He never really understood the pull it has over me, saw only the danger it posed. But now here’s someone who shares my love of it and is drawing something I’ve been unwilling to admit out of me. I do want power. There’s nothing more exhilarating than bending the laws of nature to my will, to alter what shouldn’t be altered. But therein lies my conflict. Balancing the power with the darkness lurking always behind it.
‘How do you resist giving in to the magic?’ I ask him, the words escaping before I have a chance to consider the wisdom of asking a stranger this. I’ve revealed my fear without meaning to.
Gaius leans back now, content to have broken my defences. ‘It isn’t easy, but it can be done. You just need to focus on what you want to achieve. Then you can master the magic, not the other way around.’
His words are as seductive to me as any I’ve ever heard. ‘And you’ll teach me?’
He stretches his arms out in submission. ‘You are the rightful heir. It is my duty to obey any order you might give.’
Now I’m the one to lean towards him. ‘No. I don’t want you to do this because you must.’
‘You will be obedient to me?’ He raises his eyebrows in surprise.
‘You are the Mage, are you not? I am merely a student. I wish to learn all I can.’
Satisfaction glimmers in Gaius’s eyes and I wonder how long he’s waited for an apprentice to show up.
‘Then we have an understanding,’ Gaius says. ‘It will certainly be a relief to young Prince Rafe to hear you wish to be a Mage, not a queen.’
The thought makes me squirm. Apparently some part of me is not entirely ready to relinquish the prospect of ruling altogether just yet. ‘He should concentrate on being the best the Western Isles deserves.’
Gaius sighs. ‘If you think that boy is capable of ruling, then you have more to learn than I thought.’
‘Why?’ I’ve already made my own judgements about the boy, but Gaius has been advising Rafe since he was five. His opinion matters.
Gaius gives a mirthless laugh and shakes his head. I’m going to have to earn information. There’s something he wants to hear from me first. ‘Do you want power?’
Taking a deep breath, I lift my eyes to meet his. ‘Yes. I want power.’ The words are barely audible, but Gaius hears.
‘Then shut the door.’
The meeting is called before the sun rises. Perhaps the Guardians think that I’ll oversleep and miss it, but as I barely slept anyway I’m ready the moment Mordecai knocks on my door.
I’ve tossed and turned all night, unable to stop thinking about what Gaius said to me alone in his cluttered chamber.
‘The first rule of magic is that there are no rules,’ he’d said. ‘It is everywhere: in nature, in the elements. The wild energy within every living thing. It is chaos. It is savage. And you, my dear, are one of the rare few who can communicate with such a force.’
Even n
ow those words thrill me.
He’d gone on to explain how magic manifests differently in every Mage, that every individual has a talent unique to them. That I must discover where my gifts lie.
But it was what he’d said right before I left that had kept me awake through long and lonely hours.
‘I can teach you all I know, guide you towards your potential, but to become a Mage you will face an ultimate test, one not of my choosing. I cannot tell you what it will be. Each Mage endures their own, a trial that will challenge you and your magic to your very limits. You alone must understand what is required of you, and if you should pass … well, then you will finally have embraced the power inside you.’
It sounds an awful lot like a Snake Initiation to me – something I failed. And those that passed? Well, Bronn certainly paid a high cost. I can’t shake the feeling that this magical equivalent will be no different.
I have to remind myself that I need the power being a Mage will bring. Not to rule. Not for a throne. But to protect myself and the people I love.
It doesn’t unknot the coil of fear snaking inside me, though. And Old Tatty’s words whisper louder than ever.
I have seen your death.
I follow Mordecai through the labyrinth of corridors, until we reach our destination. In a damp room, where the fire struggles to spit out sufficient heat, is a long, thin table. Gaius, Arlan, Eena and, of course, Rafe are seated round it, as are another man and woman whose names I don’t yet know. I’m dismayed not to see Astrid and Jax, but I’m furious not to see my cousin.
‘You can’t exclude Olwyn,’ I say, before anything else can be discussed. ‘She’s a Protector of the Snow Mares, and her links to the bloodline are arguably as strong as Rafe’s.’
There’s an intake of breath at my lack of respect, but I refuse to give Rafe a title he doesn’t deserve. He can call himself Prince to his heart’s content, but I won’t do so.
When I refuse to back down, Gaius clears this throat. ‘Perhaps it would be wisest to fetch the young woman? What harm can it do?’
Glances are exchanged and Arlan nods, issuing orders that a guard brings her to join us. We sit in silence while we wait for our group to become complete.