by Hannah West
A great evil lost to memory…
My attempt to salvage my reputation had only further demolished it, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what Devorian—what I—had unknowingly summoned, though my mind did its best to dredge up dreadful ideas.
But the longer my guilt stewed, the more Grandmum’s secrecy needled me, stoking a lick of anger. She had offered me tantalizing morsels of truth. If she had trusted me with the whole of it, I wouldn’t have interfered.
I scratched oblivious Calanthe behind the ears and nudged my wayward satchel back under the carriage seat. A week ago, when we had left Pontaval behind, I had wrapped the stolen artifact in one of my nightdresses and shoved it beneath my other belongings.
Rayed had let me brood without interruption, even when I didn’t emerge from my room at the last inn and forced us to tarry two extra days. As we traveled, he read books, scratched missives, and only occasionally peeked at me with concern. Brandar’s inner life must have consumed him as mine did, for he rarely spoke but never seemed to tire of the silence.
Another magical missive appeared on Rayed’s lap. He read it, frowned, and nodded as if agreeing to a command before leaning forward. His mahogany eyes were intent. “Queen Jessa plans to be discreet about Devorian’s situation. She will steer the discussion toward solutions for the future rather than condemnation for what’s already occurred. The Lorenthi princesses have agreed to stay quiet about their brother’s plight so long as he faces no serious consequences for his actions.”
“Why does Queen Jessa want to keep this quiet?” I asked. “Shouldn’t she send someone to put Devorian to rights?”
“She has dispatched elicromancers to do so, but she doesn’t want mortals to hear of his plight and become hysterical thinking elicromancers can’t control their own kind. Governing is difficult when rumors fly wild.”
“It’s that simple?” I asked, doubtful. “No one besides Queen Jessa will know what I did to Devorian?”
“As you may learn, more matters are settled in the cloakroom than the communal chamber. It’s just the way of things.”
“Good,” I said, relieved. “I don’t know what the others would do to me if…”
“People fear what they don’t understand,” Rayed said when I trailed off. “As a child, I was frightened to leave Erdem for Nissera. I worried elicromancers might see my father as a lesser being to subjugate rather than a respected diplomat. Yet he was treated with dignity, and Kadri and I have flourished in Nissera even after his death. It was nothing like I expected, and I learned that very quickly. All elicrin gifts can be destructive until they’re properly managed; it’s how you came about your power that disturbs the others.”
Rayed sat back, scratched his beard, and closed his eyes. At rest, his angular, clever features and prominent cheekbones seemed to soften, and I found myself feeling encouraged about my allies.
But as Beyrian appeared at the horizon, my nerves seemed to cinch tighter. Word of my latest mistake would only stay quiet for so long, especially if the ruthless, rule-worshipping members of the Conclave caught wind of it. And what of my next move? Scandal seemed inevitable so long as my magic stayed out of my grip like a wet, writhing fish determined to swim free.
The enclosed compartment began to feel like a prison cell. I yanked on the bellpull and the carriage gradually eased to a halt.
“I’ll just be a moment,” I said, disembarking and planting both boots firmly on the dirt road. My mother would want me to wear a dress, bat my eyes, and look altogether powerless, but this morning I had donned a fitted tunic, breeches, and shin-high leather boots. My sheathed dagger dangled at my hip. I felt helpless enough without a wardrobe to match.
I shut the door on Calanthe. She wouldn’t wander off as long as there was a carriage to chase, but at rest I couldn’t trust her not to fling herself after a rabbit. Noticing a patch of trees across the road, I fought through high grasses and clambered over the gray rocks toward it.
As soon as I entered the shade and raked in some fresh air, my worries ebbed a little. Since my companions probably already suspected me of doing it, I squatted to take a piss, steadying myself against a coarse tree. My fingers landed on sticky sap—but when I pulled them away, I found it was not sap.
It was dripping blood.
I hurried to pull up my breeches one-handed and glanced around me, pulse aflutter. In all likelihood, the blood belonged to a maimed animal that had already fled at my approach.
But then a low moan rose over the whoosh of the pleasant seaborne breeze—a moan that sounded human.
Following the voice, I emerged from the other end of the tree patch and found a young man sprawled on an outcrop of smooth rock.
His left eye was bruised so badly it looked like an overripe fruit, plum purple against his light golden skin. He wore a tunic of shabby gray cloth bearing a fresh bloodstain, as well as a necklace made of twine and metal that held a gray-green gem I suspected of being an elicrin stone.
I took a knee beside him. He was in no shape to cope with the jerkiness of a materialization attempt—if he was indeed an elicromancer and able to materialize at all. He groaned again as I peeled back his shirt and found a vicious stab wound on his flank that could be fatal if not properly tended. If I could get him to an elicrin Healer at the Beyrian palace, or at least a talented mortal healer in the city, he would survive.
Extracting my knife, I rent one of my sleeves at the elbow and removed my belt to secure the fabric around the wound. The young man turned his head to peer at me through his good eye, which glistened the brown of barley wine.
“I don’t suppose your elicrin gift is healing?” I asked under my breath. I leaned into my heels and negotiated my arms beneath his back. If he didn’t have the wherewithal to cooperate, I would have to hurry back and ask Rayed and Brandar for help.
But he found the strength, and with a moan and a wince, he helped me help him to his feet, mumbling something so close to inarticulate that I barely caught it. “I suppose it isn’t yours either?”
“Far from it,” I muttered. “But I have a carriage and I’m on my way to the city.”
When we staggered to the other side of the grove, Rayed and Brandar hurried to assist me without questions and we loaded the wounded young man into the carriage. Calanthe wagged her intrusive tail and licked the newcomer’s swollen eye until I yanked her away by the scruff of her neck. I reached for the skin of water I’d stowed in a satchel and tilted the young man’s head to let it drip into his mouth.
My traveling companions settled in next to me and the coach took off. It would take time to make our way through the crowded city to the palace on the shore, time I feared this boy could not spare. Instead of wishing Beyrian would stay minuscule in the distance, I willed it to rise up and meet us.
“What happened to him?” Rayed finally asked.
“There must have been a skirmish of some sort,” I replied. “It seems the victor left him for dead.”
The young man closed his good eye. I took the opportunity to look beyond his wounds and study his features. His hair was sandy brown but his eyebrows, beneath the dried blood, were a few shades darker. His nose was succinct and graceful, his jaw well defined. A small, dark mole decorated his cheek. I guessed him to be about my age, perhaps a bit older, on the cusp of elicrin immortality setting in. The deep purple bruising rimmed in splotchy yellow made it difficult to be certain of much except that he was a fine-looking fellow, and his contours only grew more pleasing the longer I scrutinized them.
Warmth blossomed in my cheeks as I realized that both of my companions were watching me watch him. Smoothing the crease of concern between my eyebrows, I slid back in my seat and looked outside.
At last, Beyrian rose up around us: the taverns, bakeries, inns, and market tents that welcomed travelers from the north. Beyond them lay residences, craft shops, and smithies, and beyond those lay the palace, which met with the edge of the vast blue sea.
But we wouldn’t reach the
shore anytime soon. Carriages, carts, pedestrians, and livestock jammed the overused and rutted streets. There seemed to be some sort of obstruction ahead of us.
“I’m not sure this poor fellow has any time to waste,” Rayed said over the young man’s rattling breaths.
“Is there not another route?” I asked, peering out the window.
“We’re hemmed in.” Rayed cracked the door to get a peek up and down the road. A jarring array of smells wafted into the compartment. Calanthe’s wet nostrils throbbed in intrigue.
“We can take him to that inn and summon a healer,” Brandar said, jerking his head. “May be his best chance.”
“Yes, that’ll do,” Rayed agreed, exiting the carriage. “I’ll go see what this nonsense is about up ahead.”
I slung the ungainly satchel over my shoulder, unwilling to risk leaving the artifact behind in a bustling city. As I restrained Calanthe, and Brandar negotiated the wounded boy out of the carriage, I glanced up and noticed the sun inching higher in the sky. The hearing would start just after noon. I had time, but not much of it.
Gritting my teeth, I shouldered half of the boy’s weight and we shuffled between stalls with pans of searing scallops suspended over blazing fires. The beggars at either side of the door to the inn didn’t hold out their cups for a thesar, not after seeing the boy so bruised and bloodied.
Once inside, Brandar deposited the stranger in a chair and I wove through the tables toward the scruffy old man tending the tavern. “I would like to pay for a room for this fellow, and I need you to summon a healer.” I pointed in the boy’s direction.
The man squinted and pursed his lips, swaying on the other side of the counter. He reeked of ale.
“It’s a simple request, sir,” I said, plopping a pouch of silver aurions before him. “I’ll pay you double to be quick about it.”
The old man grabbed a pint and poured ale from the draught, managing to fill the mug without sloshing a single drop. “There you are, pretty missy,” he said.
“No, I—”
“You can’t rely on old Piers, here,” said a nearby patron with a woolly beard. “Give me the coins and I’ll fetch a skilled healer.”
“Do you take me for an imbecile?” I demanded.
“Only trying to assist you, miss. Figured you were from elsewhere and I could save you the trouble of dealing with rotten Piers.”
“I am from elsewhere: Arna, to be specific, because I’m an Ermetarius. Go find me a healer.”
The man stood up, knocking his chair over on the way out. He stumbled over the doorstep before wandering off. Brandar pursued the man to ensure that he adhered to his quest.
Grunting a curse, I snatched the pouch of silver aurions and escorted my perspiring, delirious companion up the stairs. Why couldn’t I have chanced upon hospitable folks? I had always found Yorthans more accommodating than my northern compatriots, but come to think of it, my royal blood had usually blazed me a path straight to the palace.
When I had managed to haul the boy to the top of the stairs, we encountered two women and a man conferring in the hallway. They refused to step aside until their sinister glares had probed us from head to toe. The coins jingled as I hobbled past. I realized I might have beckoned trouble by announcing my family name for the world to hear.
I knocked and tested locks until I found an empty room. The housekeeper hadn’t tidied up, but I didn’t see any signs of occupation. I laid the moaning young man and my satchel on the bed and opened the shutters. The carriages and wagons jammed front-to-end hadn’t budged in the streets, but from here I could see a small crowd banding together to lift a wagon with a broken wheel, which must have caused the delay.
Embers glowed in the hearth, and I hurried to make the most of them. Crouching on the dusty floor, I nursed them to flame with my breath. Then I shoved past the hallway loiterers to fill a metal basin with water from the pump. I heaved it back upstairs and started it boiling. At the very least, I could clear the way for the healer to work quickly before I resumed my journey.
After rifling through drawers to find clean cloths, I tramped back down to the tavern kitchen, which I raided for salt and honey in spite of old Piers’s incoherent protests.
Back in the room, I shut the door and dumped my supplies and my satchel on the bed. The young man’s eyes fluttered, shining with fever.
I heard commotion and glanced out the window to find the carriages in front of ours moving into action. “Hurry, Brandar,” I whispered while soaking a cloth in hot water. We had allotted plenty of time for delays, but if we couldn’t find a healer soon this would escalate into a predicament.
“Are you expected somewhere?” The boy’s voice was weak and quiet, but I detected a chuckle behind it.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean for you to hear that. I’m expected at the palace soon, but I’m loath to leave until someone even remotely trustworthy arrives.”
I approached him with the clean cloth and peeled his tunic away from the wound. He hissed. After absorbing the damage with a straight face, I let my gaze roam briefly over the taut landscape of surrounding skin. Though I’d grown up playing games with boys, studying alongside them, dancing with them, I felt as though I’d never come this near to one, not even when Knox had pressed his hand flush against mine. The scent of perspiration mingling with blood, the heat rising from his skin, made this stranger feel more real, as though I’d just realized the other boys had been statues and only he was flesh and bone.
“I’ve studied some healing arts,” I assured him, though I refrained from sharing how briefly my Herb Magic lessons had touched on healing.
“Why the palace?” he croaked, then bared his teeth in pain as I dabbed the cloth on the wound. “Are you important?”
I felt my eyebrows hitch upward. “Not in the way I want to be.”
“Are you an infamous outlaw?” The lilt in his accent reminded me of Grandmum’s, and others from Darmeska, but its rural northern character was even more distinct. “An oppressed princess escaping your confines?”
I surprised myself by laughing. It felt strange, as if my esophagus were an old spout coughing up rusty water. “There’s a little truth to both.”
“Thank you for helping, princess outlaw,” he muttered feebly, his eyes glazing over.
“What happened to you?” I asked, worried he might fade away if I let him. “Give me a tragic tale to tell in case I’m late. The worse it is, the more selfless and brave I’ll sound.”
“You have my permission to tell the important palace people whatever you’d like,” he mumbled.
“Helpful,” I snorted. I mixed salt into a glob of honey and began coating the wound with the ointment.
“Gayr efthit,” he cursed in a low growl when the salt met his torn skin.
“Old Nisseran?” I asked, proceeding in spite of the protest. Just as knowing how to stitch thread through fabric didn’t make me a seamstress, knowing spells in Old Nisseran didn’t make me proficient in the language. But I’d learned enough to easily recognize it. “Are you one of those elicromancers who learned more filthy words than spells and enchantments?”
“I know more than filthy words.” His eyes fluttered as he started singing a song in the old tongue, his low voice cracking. The melody rang sorrowful in my ears, reminding me of songs sung at my father’s funeral in Darmeska.
The boy seemed to choke on his own breath, the color draining from his face in a rush. I feared the loss of blood was dragging him to death’s doorstep.
But that didn’t explain the pale gray film that slid over his eyes from corner to corner.
I recoiled in fear but recovered to slather more ointment on his wounds and apply new cloths as bandages. Hopefully, a true healer would soon arrive to close the skin and address this unsettling fit of sorts.
As I dabbed the excess ointment from his facial cuts and bruises, his cloudy eyes cleared. “Are you all right?” I asked with relief. “I thought you were slipping away.”
He bl
inked at the ceiling and mumbled something that sounded like, “You can do more than destroy.”
“What did you say?” I demanded, but the sound of wheels and hooves clomping over stone—punctuated by Calanthe barking at the commotion from inside the carriage—brought on a pang of selfish urgency. I’d need to leave soon, healer or no.
“Mistress?” someone called, knocking on the door.
“Come in.”
A middle-aged woman with ink-black hair and an umber complexion entered, wearing an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry about Old Piers. Didn’t think much would happen while I left him in charge for half an hour. The healer will be here soon. I’ll have a maid refresh the room and fetch anything you need.”
I sighed with relief. In my haste, I nearly tossed her the whole bag of coins from my pocket. I glanced back at the injured boy. He seemed to have heard of me, but I didn’t even know his name.
Concern and curiosity—plus something else unfurling like a ribbon of heat beneath my ribs—managed to prevail over my impatience. I dropped several silver aurions in the woman’s palm. “This should be enough for his room and board and treatment. I plan to return tomorrow if I can. If you tend kindly to him, there will be more for you.”
“He will be well looked after, mistress.”
I doubled back for my things. One of the tablet pieces had slid out the mouth of the satchel. I stuffed it back inside and rushed out to the carriage.
HE balmy air tasted of the ocean as we rattled into the palace courtyard. Through the carriage window, I saw Kadri Lillis perching on the edge of a marble fountain that depicted frolicking sea maidens.
Wary of allowing myself even a scrap of happiness, I put on a measured version of her broad smile and looped a leash around Calanthe’s neck. I shouldered my awkward satchel and followed the others out of the carriage.
“Valory!”
“Kadri.” When she embraced me, I smelled lavender in her dark waves and felt warmth on her sun-kissed russet shoulders. Calanthe forced her way between us to bestow a generous lick on Kadri’s chin that made her laugh and stagger back.