Realm of Ruins

by Hannah West

  “Do you like it?” Ivria appeared in the doorway, her raven hair tumbling around her shoulders. Her normally sharp gray eyes were as obscure as fogged windowpanes.

  “It’s breathtaking,” I admitted.

  The sunset was a simmering pool of blood orange through the west windows, and for a moment my cousin paused within the glow. When she stepped into my room, an ashen tinge washed across her porcelain face. She sat on the corner of my bed with a sigh, her lace dressing gown rippling around her feet. “Sit with me,” she prompted.

  When I obliged, she clasped my hands in hers, her knuckles turning white as bone. “You know you are a sister to me,” she said. “Closer, even. We don’t fight as sisters do. You are my dearest friend and our souls are entwined forever.”

  “I know that,” I said, freeing one of my hands to close over hers in reassurance. “You look pale. Are you worried about your ceremony? You know you have nothing to fear.”

  “Of course not.” She dismissed the notion with a wave. “I only wanted to wish you a happy birthday, properly, before all the commotion.” She plucked a gob of dried mud from my braid and at long last noticed the swollen cut on my lip. “Melkior?” she asked, her misty eyes flashing like blades fresh from a forge. “I can make him heal you—”

  “No, no,” I muttered, daubing again at the bruised lump, which tasted of metal. “Ellen likes having her work cut out for her.”

  Ivria laughed. “I ought to get dressed,” she said, then squeezed my hand and floated out of my bedchamber. I fought the urge to coax her back so I could somehow elicit another laugh. I hadn’t heard her laugh for weeks.

  But we’d be expected in the receiving hall soon. I would corner her after the celebration and pry her fears from her, remind her how fortunate she should feel to have earned access to the Water. I would do so more gently than Uncle Prosper and Aunt Sylvana, who grew agitated over their daughter’s tarrying.

  Ellen, my maid, attacked Melkior’s handiwork with powder, concealing the swollen cuts as best she could. She rushed to plait my straight chestnut hair, the hair that made me stand out like a daisy in a rose garden of royal relatives. Most members of the Ermetarius line were tall and fair-skinned with ink-dark, wavy hair, including my mother. I would have felt like an impostor if my mossy eyes hadn’t so matched those of my great-great-grandfather King Anthony, whose handsome portrait graced the corridor.

  While I admired my gown in the mirror, Ivria returned, clad in deep purple silk embellished with fabric petals. Her curls had been painstakingly arranged with sapphire hairpins. She held an ornate wooden box tied with a blue ribbon—my favorite color—and donned a soft smile.

  “Something you’ve always wanted,” she said. But instead of offering it to me, she slid the familiar box onto the mantel. “Since you’ve waited this long, you can wait until after the party.”

  “Why? I already know what it is,” I teased, eagerly imagining the intricate amethyst diadem, an enchanted family heirloom I’d always wanted to inherit. Grandmother Odessa had given it to Ivria instead.

  “It doesn’t match your dress.” Ivria linked her arm in mine. “And you don’t want to know what everyone truly thinks about you on your birthday, do you?”

  My heart pattered. I both desired and feared the truth-seeing diadem, whose power derived from the retired elicrin stone nesting amid its silver whorls. With it, I might unearth the deepest insecurities of cruel people like Melkior, and practice wielding the knowledge to gain respect. But I might also confirm what I sensed from my family, something they all denied: that only prestige and power could earn their deepest acceptance—that I, not Melkior, was the cracked egg.

  “You could have just let me borrow it,” I said. “Grandmother Odessa won’t be pleased you gave it away.”

  “She won’t be pleased to hear you call her Grandmother either,” Ivria said. And then her tone darkened a shade. “You deserve it more than I do.”

  As her gaze grew misty and distant again, I wondered: Was there something my cousin hoped I would see?

  Or, in making me wait to open the gift, was there something she hoped I wouldn’t?

  HEN we reached the receiving hall, Ivria hurried ahead, leaving me to make an ostentatious entrance as the guest of honor.

  As the herald announced my name and I stepped through the double doors into the gleaming marble hall, hundreds of noble guests paused to observe my dress and hairstyle and murmur among themselves. Anytime Ivria made an entrance, the revelry would fall quiet and intakes of breath could be heard echoing off the pillars of the vast ballroom.

  Garlands of blue delphinium decorated every archway and coiled up the bases of the shimmering gold candelabras. I felt so small walking across the glistening tiles, even though I was seventeen today and no longer considered a child.

  I was reminded too keenly of this as I took my place across from my mother, Ameliana, and my field instructor, the cold, mountainous Victor, both of whom had expected me to demonstrate an elicrin gift well before my seventeenth birthday.

  “Happy birthday, dearest,” my mother said, her eyes twinkling over her wine goblet. Her gaze snagged on the powdered cuts on my face, but she only pursed her plump lips.

  Becoming an elicromancer had halted her aging so that she looked but a few years my senior. I had never thought much of my relatives being older than their appearances would suggest—at least, not until recently. Coming of age made the subtle urgency to enter the Water ripen inside me.

  I smiled at her and diverted my attention to the extravagant spread. My mouth watered over goose simmering in spices, sturgeon cooked in parsley and vinegar, stewed venison, honey-mulled wine, and rosewater-poached plums. But a soft tinkling drew my attention to the king’s table on the dais.

  Most kings who had reigned for decades would exhibit signs of aging: peppered hair, wrinkles, or a substantial gut. But Tiernan Ermetarius hardly looked a day over twenty-two. Recently, the Realm Alliance had determined that elicromancers would be permitted to stretch their immortality for five decades before surrendering their stones to age as mortals.

  The light from the enormous chandelier glistened over the king’s thick, dark curls as he stood and raised his goblet in my direction. “Tonight, we gather to celebrate the coming of age of my great-niece, Valory Braiosa,” he said. “May your heart be as just, your mind as keen, and your spirit as joyful as your life is long.”

  “As your life is long,” the crowd echoed, lifting their drinks in my honor.

  At the table on the far side of the king’s dais, Melkior kept his glass raised long enough for me to notice his vainglorious smirk. Despite the prickling of my split lip, a small burst of sympathy tested its wings inside me. Melkior’s mother had died in childbirth, leaving his father to unfairly weigh that cost against the value of his son each day.

  I took a sip of red wine to hide my grimace and broke our gaze. Ander, who sat to my right, waited until I had finished serving myself to begin heaping food on his plate. “Quite the toast,” he said sardonically, carving a bite of venison with the stoic pride of a hunter who had felled the beast himself. “A rare show of emotion.”

  I laughed. King Tiernan tended to be brusque and taciturn, especially toward me, his great-niece, who stood only sixth in line for his throne, behind my mother as fifth—and that was without consideration to Ivria’s and Ander’s respective unborn children. “Right. I think I saw a sheen of tears,” I added. “He was one sniffle away from naming me his heir apparent.”

  “Oh, you three,” Mother said with feigned sternness. She’d included Ivria out of habit, but when I glanced from Ander to his older sister, I found her lips mashed together and no trace of humor in her countenance. Catching my concerned stare, Ivria stabbed a plum and nibbled dispassionately at the skin.

  “Ander,” I whispered. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. Had he truly not noticed his sister’s recent sullenness, the dread that seemed to stalk her like a sh
adow? He looked at Ivria and then concluded, “She probably laced her bodice too tight to eat anything. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Oleander,” my mother chided, absentmindedly adjusting the gold chain that held her teal elicrin stone.

  Ander succumbed and leaned toward his sister. “I’d wager Lord Davener brought you a grander gift than he brought Valory, even though it’s her birthday,” he said, gesturing at the gift table. “It wouldn’t be the boldest thing he’s done since he began courting you.”

  Ivria didn’t acknowledge his attempt at cursory conversation. Her hand trembled as she lifted a cup of water to her lips.

  “Speaking of courting,” my mother said, “Valory, would you please respond to the advances of young Lord Rodenia tonight? You’re embarrassing him and yourself.”

  She made a request rather than a demand. She had to be careful with demands, as her power as an Imperator made those around her suggestible to them. She chose each word vigilantly before she spoke, and was often ordered by the Conclave to help settle mortal disputes or force a criminal to come peacefully into custody.

  “Knox is my friend,” I said. “My practice partner in combat lessons. Just because we’re fond of each other doesn’t mean—”

  “Valory,” Ander interrupted, his voice flat. “Come, don’t be naïve.”

  “Victor,” I said, turning to the large, quiet man. “Tell them the truth. Knox and I are merely fellow pupils who—”

  “I’m your instructor, not a gossiping lady’s maid,” he responded.

  I sighed at his tone, which left no room for argument. Only my mother could pry a word of affection from him. As a child, I’d admired Victor, how pragmatic he was about teaching me the principles of magical combat. He never treated me differently from the other students despite the fact that I hadn’t manifested a gift.

  But a few years ago—not long after we learned that my aimlessly wandering father had died of wounds sustained in a bear attack—I began noticing the looks my mother and Victor exchanged. And then I noticed their long absences from court events, her sudden refusal to let me sleep in her chamber even though I felt as though grief would swallow me whole.

  Victor didn’t have a title; therefore, my mother couldn’t marry him without abdicating her bid for the throne—and mine—but that hardly discouraged their involvement.

  “Don’t make me command you to dance with him,” my mother went on, half teasing. “If you don’t, it will be a clear signal of disinterest.”

  “Fine,” I conceded. “Since it’s my birthday, I’ll be passed around like the last bottle of mead in a siege regardless.”

  Indeed, before I could polish off dessert, I got swept away in a sea of dresses and slippers and shining boots, anchored only by sweaty palms and arms encircling my waist. Looking up to find Knox as my fourth partner was nothing short of a relief.

  “You look beautiful,” he proclaimed, breathless. I wanted to believe it was from dancing.

  “Thank you,” I said, but my inflection hiked to a question. We both cleared our throats.

  “I know you didn’t want to hear my news today,” he said, studying my tactfully covered cut.

  “That’s not true at all,” I scoffed.

  “I’m an Empath, remember?”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m not happy for you. I am.”

  “I know,” he said with a sideways grin. “Buried beneath the bitterness.”

  “I am most certainly not bitter!”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “If being your friend after you receive your elicrin stone means having no secrets, I’m not sure I can suffer your company.”

  He rearranged our grasp so that our fingers interlaced and our palms met like lovers brushing cheek-to-cheek. A bright feeling raced through my gut, and the soft groove of my hand dampened. “What if we felt no need to keep secrets from each other?” he asked. “What if we were to grow closer after I leave the academy instead of drifting apart?”

  I swallowed and fixed my stare on his shoulder rather than his face. I had always liked Knox. But we were friends, nothing more. My thoughts and dreams fixated on one thing: inviting some hint of power to the surface and obtaining the immortality that would allow me to welcome each passing year instead of dreading it. If I did not receive approval from the Conclave by the end of my term at the academy, I had decided I would move to Darmeska to live with my late father’s side of the family in their ancient mountain fortress. I knew I could survive the cold, the lack of palace intrigue, and the quiet of the hallowed halls—but not if I first attached myself to Knox.

  “Do you think you would want that?” he prodded gently.

  Ever superstitious about voicing my fear of failure, I dodged. “Um…yes, of course,” I muttered in a rush. “I would like us to remain friends. I’m sure you will have so much to teach me, once you…” I trailed off.

  Knox filled his broad chest with a deep breath, understanding the emotional barriers I was erecting between us.

  “Are you afraid?” I asked just to close the gaping silence. “Of the ceremony?”

  He shook his head. “I may be, when I’m staring at the Water. But not now.”

  Are you afraid? My question seemed to linger even after he answered it. Ivria’s bone-white knuckles and haunted gaze loomed in my thoughts.

  The fog in her eyes—it was fear.

  She had held my hands. She had told me she loved me. She’d given me a prized heirloom with the murk of melancholy behind her eyes. Each separate action did not strike me as strange, but together…together, they amounted to some sort of quiet farewell.

  The song fortuitously drew to a close. Knox seemed to sense the worry spearing my chest and released me without question.

  I stalked back to the table and found Jovie Neswick in Ander’s seat. She wore a black dress with golden embroidered panels and an emerald the size of my fist at her throat. Flashy, nonmagical gems were the fashion among mortal courtiers, who tended to imitate immortals. But I suspected Jovie’s was, in fact, a retired elicrin stone. Once the possessor of an elicrin stone died, the artifact often took on a second life as a sort of trinket. Some stones gave luck. Others might help you find love or protect your family. Most simply dimmed out completely after the death of their wearer, magical no longer.

  “Have you seen Ivria?” I asked, searching for my cousin’s eye-catching gown amid the revelers.

  “She left a moment ago,” Jovie said flatly. I followed her gaze and found Ander dancing with an elicromancer named Elythia Carrow. She was merry and lovely, with shiny brunette curls, a plump build, and full, red lips. “They’re all so perfect, aren’t they?” Jovie remarked, clasping the emerald between her thumb and ink-stained forefinger. “Ever young, beautiful, powerful.”

  “Elicromancers have problems just like everyone else,” I said. “They’re not perfect.”

  “You’d know better than any other mortal,” she admitted.

  Mortal. The word pricked. “Do you know where Ivria went?”

  Jovie shook her head, fixing her round amber eyes on me. “She said she wanted to be alone. Do you want help looking for her?”

  “No, thank you. If she said she wanted to be alone, then—”

  “Then she probably meant completely alone,” Jovie muttered, a dark look passing over her face. Perhaps it was envy of Ivria, or of my nearness to her, or both.

  I brushed her off, knowing Ivria’s edict didn’t apply to me, and hurried out of the receiving hall. Outside the doors, I crossed paths with Uncle Prosper, who smelled of a successful hunting trip, like crisp woods and strong spirits. With dark hair, gray eyes, and a rigidly handsome face, Ivria and Ander’s father looked similar to his uncle King Tiernan, but emitted warmth and vigor where Tiernan exuded ice and indifference. Prosper wore a yellow-orange elicrin stone that allowed him to emit a bright light so powerful it could permanently blind onlookers.

  “Uncle Prosper, have you seen Ivria?” I asked.


  “She mentioned she was feeling ill. She may have retired early. I’m sorry I missed the toast…I’m certain it was quite touching.” Uncle Prosper squeezed my shoulder and offered a lighthearted wink before proceeding to the celebration.

  Just as I lifted my layers of skirts to mount the curving marble steps, I noticed a glimmer on the wine-colored carpet down the west corridor and found one of Ivria’s delicate sapphire hairpins. She hadn’t returned to our rooms, then. I continued westward, brushing past pairs of guards clad in red tunics, each pointing me farther west when I inquired as to Ivria’s whereabouts.

  At the end of the corridor, I nearly tripped over Ivria’s heeled purple slippers. I removed my own and hurried to reach the double oak doors leading out of the palace to the academic wing. The guards swung them open and I crossed beneath the stone arcade, bracing against the lingering chill of a waning winter.

  The windows of dormitories occupied by nonroyal students glowed above. After a long period without much magic, the return of elicromancy to Nissera had stimulated a reawakening across the realm. Even in the most remote villages, you might find one or two folks with a promising elicrin gift. “Magic calls unto magic,” my great-grandfather Olivar said the day he established the academy. “And we no longer fear it. We welcome it here, and we must teach the next generation of elicromancers to use it with integrity.”

  Magic these days was a neat and tidy thing, bound with ribbons and boxed up like the gift on my mantel. Yet I could feel the pull of a savage old magic strengthening with each step.

  Laughter and lively conversations drifted from the upper stories, but when I found the door to the academy unlocked—and another one of Ivria’s pins at the threshold—I proceeded into ghostly-quiet corridors and lecture halls. The academy was nowhere near as lavish as the royal residence. Metal sconces rather than ornate candelabras jutted from the walls. Instead of luxurious carpet, the surface underfoot was cold stone.

  I called Ivria’s name. Only my echo answered.