by Hannah West
I recognized the scales on my plate. They were the same silver-white of the sea maiden’s. The hair on my arms prickled, and I fought to keep down the nibble I’d already consumed.
“I appreciate narratives of transformation, the process of metamorphosis,” Valmarys continued. “The elicromancers who raised me were supposed to teach me and care for me, but they vacillated between treating me like a son and a captive. At times they wanted to kill me so I wouldn’t become as powerful as they feared. They isolated me in the mountains to keep me from the Water, but also to protect me from other elicromancers. They loved and hated me, and I loved and hated them. They could be delicate, obsequious almost, and sometimes gave me everything I wanted. Other times they denied me food and water, as though the problem of me would simply fade away.” He took a thoughtful bite and swallowed. “I began to understand the devices people use to manipulate one another. By trying to keep me weak and dim-witted, they had made me strong and clever. I escaped them, and ever since, I’ve been fascinated by what causes creatures to change, to grow stronger, to peel back pretenses and invite the truest self to the surface. That’s what I’ve attempted to accomplish with this realm, studying and manipulating the natural and the supernatural to produce the most dynamic results. I am Nissera’s most ardent admirer and its most avid pupil.”
“You’re its oppressor.”
“You can’t study a moth’s intricate pattern unless you pin down its wings.”
But if you grind it to a pulp…I thought. However, I would not pique him yet. I needed to learn more about him, to locate a weakness before I acted. “Is that what you were doing with Ambrosine? With my family? Stimulating transformation?”
He smiled, but it was not an evil smile. It reminded me of a professor pleased by a pupil who cared enough about a droning lecture to pose a question. “By inviting true natures to the fore. Naïveté, vanity, blind ambition. Yorth was too welcoming to outsiders, so open-minded and unwary. Their border security was lax and they were slow to suspect strangers. And Volarre’s royals, with their love of fine things, were too easily mesmerized. Oh, and the Ermetarius family, so proud and puff-chested! But they helped my devotees restore me to power, so I let them cavort about in their paper crowns, spoiling everything with the corruption that lay dormant in their hearts for so long.” He paused, then beckoned me, mysterious. “I like to coax creatures out of hiding.”
My breathing hitched as I feared he would show me Mercer as a blight, as a wrecked, tortured, unrecognizable creature. I warily followed him to the back wall of glass, chancing glimpses at the cases holding motionless elicromancers. A knot formed in my throat when I recognized Queen Jessa, Professor Wyndwood, and Professor Strather. Small patches of decay crept over their skin. Each face that wasn’t Mercer’s drove dread deeper into my soul.
The elicromancers were still, watchful, their eyes too blank for silent pleas. They were compelled into frozen resignation.
Valmarys faced the cliffs spanning from the base of the tower toward the distant western sea. It was too far to view from Darmeska or even the surrounding cliffs, but this tower reached so high that I could see for leagues and leagues. As he looked out, Valmarys didn’t seem worried I would attack, but Tilmorn’s watchful eyes bored holes in the back of my head.
I stepped up to the window, feeling I stood on nothing but a thin wisp of a cloud, and could not look down for the height sickness that came over me.
The Moth King flicked his fingers. A glass chamber dislodged from somewhere in the tower and glided off into the distance. It held two thrashing, panicked sea maidens with bright green flukes.
A massive shadow started rising up in the faraway sea, the water rushing off it. I squinted and made out an array of lashing black and blue tentacles, followed by red eyes and jaws so gigantic that each tooth looked to be the length of a longsword only the mightiest warrior could wield. As the sea creature rose, it revealed an armor of black scales.
The maidens were bait.
The mammoth creature emerged from the sea, gripping the distant cliffs with clawlike limbs, hiking closer as the water slammed the rocky shore in its wake. The glass chamber holding the maidens halted, far enough from the shore to draw the monstrous thing inland.
I knew what would come next, and barely averted my eyes before the monster tore the writhing sea maidens to shreds.
“You should see his father,” Valmarys said. “An ancient thing, lurking beyond time, trapped by a sea witch’s spell as I was. This one isn’t as powerful, but he pleases me. His ancestors bowed to no man, nor even to time itself, but now he submits to both. I lured him from the south and he surfaces each morning for his treat.”
Valmarys turned to look down at me, licking his thin lips, clearly relishing the awe on my face as I watched the creature retreat into the distance and sink back into the depths. This explained the destructive wave that would have sunk the whole city of Beyrian if not for the elicromancers. I wondered if he’d conspired with Neswick to orchestrate the disaster on the day Prosper was meant to hold the vote.
Either way, like Kadri, I would never set foot on a ship again.
“I must boast that I possess an intuitive understanding of innumerable creatures, humans not the least among them,” Valmarys went on, motioning for me to return to my seat before gliding back to his own. Tilmorn slid out my chair again, his rugged face wiped clean of emotion. “To lure them out of hiding, to change them, to train them…that is a triumph indeed. Look at Glisette and Ambrosine: two sisters cut from the same cloth, both vain and languorous. But when trials come, one rises to the occasion, steps out into a perilous world, while the other retreats into a mirror. I sharpened opposite edges of the same blade. Ambrosine is a pustule of foul qualities draped in silk and feathers, while Glisette lets her lovely skin become marred for the sake of heroism. And you, no one expected much of you, accepted only because you were your cousins’ lapdog. No one would dare lay a finger on Valory Braiosa when Ander and Ivria waited around the corner to defend her honor…yet here you are, storming my tower, breaking bodies with nothing but the flutter of an eyelash. It was interesting to see how pitting Darmeskans against you might change your approach. And it was interesting to see that it didn’t.”
The blood on my hands was starting to dry, congealing into a crust. My skin twitched with the longing to scrub it off. “Forgive me, but are you crediting yourself for others’ bravery and downfalls?”
“I pull strings you don’t see, Valory Ermetarius Braiosa.”
“And what is the meaning behind your dark deeds? To rip down dominions and cause chaos?”
“Dark deeds?” he demanded. “What are my offenses, Valory Braiosa? Tell me what crimes I committed to have earned hundreds of years of imprisonment in the mountain and the spite of a girl who has only grown stronger for the challenges I have thrown in her path.”
Underneath the coolness, there was a hint of petulance in Emlyn Valmarys’s voice that reminded me of a greener Melkior. He did not seem to enjoy being accused of atrocities, despite committing them without restraint. He set down his fork, pursing his narrow lips in displeasure, and the clouds seemed to darken behind him.
“Shall I start from the beginning?” I demanded, gulping down my fear. “You declared yourself a king when there is already a King of Calgoran—”
He couldn’t listen to even one of his wicked acts before rushing to his own defense. “What makes a man a king? Hundreds of years ago, one of your ancestors was the most powerful man in the region and therefore named himself sovereign, drew boundary lines, and claimed lands. Maybe his subjects liked him or perhaps they hated him. It didn’t matter. He was powerful and wealthy enough to maintain the self-imposed title, and the lines he drew became his country’s borders. Since I have returned, I have approached sovereignty with civility.”
“Civility? You’re holding the people in this city captive.” My voice cracked. “You tormented and killed the elders, forced people to murder against thei
r will—”
“I began my conquest of Darmeska through legal procedures, securing my right to this fortress and the lands around it by permission from the King of Calgoran. A ruler is entitled to treat defiant subjects however he sees fit.” He tapped his finger hard on the table.
“You received permission from an usurper,” I growled.
“He wears the crown and his people call him king.”
“You kidnapped elicromancers. You took them from their families. You’re holding them hostage—Tilmorn among them.”
“Tilmorn is like a brother to me,” Valmarys said. “He’s the only person I’ve ever been able to trust.”
“There may not be chains on his wrists, but that hardly means he isn’t a prisoner.”
He leaned back in his chair. “That’s what Mercer Fye wants to believe.”
That name sent fire through my chest, an engulfing indignation. The Water inside me undulated forward, a heavy, off-kilter thing, ready to take control of my body. I pondered using it, ending this when Valmarys least expected it. But when I batted through the murk of fury to look at him again, I caught him studying the flicker of renewed rage in my eyes. I blinked it back into hiding. “You burned the northern stretch of the forest,” I went on. “You sent blights to Yorth.”
“That was a bit much, I admit. As I said, I’ve gone wild hunting you. I let fear rule me to the point of obsession. But I believe you and I can be diplomatic. My proposition is both practical and generous: I will agree to let the people you care about go free, even Mercer, who deserves to die, if not to be imprisoned for an eternity himself. I will give you vengeance against your uncle and seat you on the throne of Calgoran, if you wish. I will not destroy the land as I have, or set any more blights on the realm.” He shifted to cross his legs. “But, in return, Darmeska and the Brazor Mountains must remain my domain, a new, separate kingdom that is mine to name and rule. I must be permitted to continue my studies and experiments without challenge, granted that neither you, nor anyone you care about, nor your precious court will be involved. We can live in harmony in our separate spheres.”
“And if I’d rather snap you in two?”
“If you refuse, or try to hurt me, Tilmorn will kill Mercer. If you try to hurt Tilmorn, well, you’ll be lighting your own funeral pyre.” I looked at Tilmorn again, cold, impenetrable. It was impossible to believe he was ever the man Mercer had described.
“We will subvert prophecies and make our own futures,” Valmarys went on. “How does that strike you?”
I stared at him, confused. Thrones, crowns, riches, titles, they had to be trivial to him. If he wanted omnipotence, he could have it. If he wanted to rule Nissera with an iron scepter, he could have killed the royals. So what did he want? Freedom? Freedom to do whatever he desired, to treat Nissera and all of its creatures like a board game, to strategize against the powers that be just to see what exciting things might happen when he knocked over the pieces?
I thought of my father, abandoning our family to trudge through the mountains, exploring the unexplored. After he had scoured every inch of stone and shadow in the north, he would probably have set out to sea, looking for new lands or godlike creatures slumbering in the deep. The world had been too small for him.
And the world was too small for Emlyn Valmarys. But instead of looking to tame the restless fire in his soul, he started other fires.
How could one best a man so removed from feeling, so intent to flee boredom that he turned living creatures, humans, fairies, elicromancers, sea folk, into personal subjects of study?
“Well?” he asked.
“Jovie brought Mercer to you,” I said, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms. “I want proof that he’s alive before I agree to anything.” And that you haven’t tormented him enough that I’d die just for the privilege of striking your arrogant face.
“Fair enough,” he admitted, pushing back from the table.
Tilmorn held up a hand and wordlessly took the light from Valmarys’s elicrin stone. This is it! Everything in me screamed it.
But I wasn’t quick enough. Barely had I noticed that the exchange was underway before Tilmorn had bestowed a different light upon the Moth King’s stone.
I might have missed my chance, but the exchange revealed something vital: Valmarys could hold only one power at a time.
He didn’t just keep the collection of elicromancers to use as puppets, preventing dark magic from leaving its mark on him and Tilmorn. He needed them as vessels. Perhaps even Tilmorn could hold only a limited number of gifts—though he possessed multiple ones after taking Glisette’s from her, so I couldn’t count on that weakness.
Perhaps Valmarys did not want to store his entire collection with one person who could betray him?
Whatever the answer, one thing was clear: Tilmorn was the fire. The Moth King was just the wind that chose its direction.
Kill Tilmorn. Without him, the impostor king will be far easier to kill.
But Valmarys must have had some kind of power before Tilmorn. How else would he have won the loyalty of Mercer’s noble older brother? And he was already killing and conquering when he summoned Tilmorn.
The Moth King waved his hand and a compulsion slid over me. My muscles relaxed. My hands dropped to my sides.
I was too late. He had been exposed for a brief, glorious moment, and now he wielded the worst power of all. Maybe the compulsion was his originally, and Tilmorn offered him the amusement of trying on different supernatural endowments.
“Just a precaution,” Valmarys said, brushing past me. My feet followed him. He led me to one of the glass chambers I hadn’t yet seen.
When we stepped in front of it, my heart leapt with joy. Grandmum leaned against the wall, her papery eyelids shut in rest, her chest rising and falling. Her faded red hair was matted with blood. Rage bloomed like a vicious thorned rose in my chest, but I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t reach. I could only watch.
“Your grandmother values her dignity more than anything else. She was given the choice to surrender her city to save you. I was only testing her. But do you know which she chose? No doubt she wanted to choose you. She cares more about you than those little specks of flesh down there. But she knew her legacy would hang on that decision. Her pride hung on that decision. Ultimately, she chose her city, and therefore herself. Is that not fascinating?”
He knocked on the glass. Grandmum’s eyes flickered open in alarm. “She’s part of the agreement, if that’s what you want,” he added, since I was unable to ask. “As for my grandmother, I would feed Malyrra to the majestic sea beast if I could find her.”
I hated him. I wanted to break every bone in his body, slowly, listening to the crack of each one like a skilled musician plucking pure notes with satisfaction.
But I couldn’t help considering the proposition. Grandmum would be safe. Mercer would be safe. My mother, Kadri, Glisette, Tiernan, Ellen would all be safe. I could rule Arna. I could rebuild the Realm Alliance, take Valmarys down with a proper army.
But would it be worth it, existing in a world otherwise ruled and tormented by the Moth King? Would he even stay true to his word?
I looked into Grandmum’s sober, pale eyes and knew the answer.
“If she’s not enough to convince you, maybe this will,” Valmarys said, beckoning me along. He had misinterpreted the hesitation he saw in my eyes, thinking Grandmum was not enough of a prize to sweeten the deal. Considering how much he seemed to understand about manipulation, he didn’t know a thing about humanity.
Valmarys led me back to the banquet table. “Tilmorn,” he said, and with a wave of his hand Tilmorn slid a section of the floor away. A glass chamber rose up, bearing Mercer, who wore glowing magical chains.
My heart constricted with such agony, such joy, such longing, a parade of emotions too strong to hold without fearing I’d rip in two. I was searingly aware of his every wound. But the bruises and cuts weren’t fresh. The injuries had occurred at Prosp
er’s hand. Yet one of his eyes gleamed milky white with just a tiny black freckle of a pupil.
The Moth King had forced him to use dark magic. The coward Valmarys could force others into the throes of dark elicromancy while he remained unscathed, gadding about and bringing ruin. He must have tried to force visions out of Mercer, perhaps regarding his encounter with me, and whether I could be defeated. There were parameters to most elicrin gifts. Going beyond them could often give you what you desired, but at a cost.
I wondered if Valmarys’s foray into prophecies had led him to believe there was no destroying me. Why else would he try to strike a deal? I could imagine a thousand scenarios in which he could kill me. Right now, as he compelled me, he could throw me off the tower and be done with it.
Mercer had maintained that his original vision was true—that I was the glorious savior who would make Valmarys face his reckoning—even in the face of torture.
Mercer’s endurance was the reason the Moth King wanted to strike a deal with me instead of trying to murder me.
I felt freedom in my facial muscles again, though my hands were still pinned at my sides, as Valmarys lifted part of the compulsion. “What do you say?” he asked.
I could no longer toy with the idea, and I could no longer stall him. I would have to decide. If I turned down Valmarys, he might enjoy morphing Mercer into a festering shell of an elicromancer. He might kill him and Grandmum immediately.
I could accept the proposition. Mercer would hate me. I would be a traitor. But he would be alive. He wouldn’t be a blight.
I looked at Mercer. One of his eyes was still the color of barley wine, rimmed with deep purple. I felt the loss of the other’s beauty more acutely. “Don’t, Valory,” he said hoarsely. “Not for me.”