Magic at Midnight

by Lyssa Chiavari

  “You will monitor this area.” He motions to his right. “This is how we handle the birds here.”

  He demonstrates the proper techniques for keeping the birds where they belong. One pecks him in anger, but he doesn't acknowledge it. This could create a problem for me, as someone who actually feels pain.

  I settle back into a standing position near a log, waiting for the birds to attack.

  ♛

  I spend the rest of the day beside the log, holding a shepherd’s hook to corral the geese. As late afternoon arrives, Gand chases the birds back inside a building, where they are fed and sheltered at night. I don’t understand the purpose of having the creatures if they’re going to shut them up every night. Why not spare the grounds entirely and set them free off of the palace property?

  A week goes by as I sit with the geese and swans, prodding them away when they get too close. The only time I’m not beside the lake is at mealtime. We take our meals inside Arta’s room—my room—to avoid prying eyes. Artificials do not need to eat, and Arta skipping meals while I indulged would raise flags.

  One afternoon, I hear a voice behind me say, “May I ask you a question?”

  I turn just as the prince takes a seat on the log next to me, fidgeting with his hands.

  “Yes, Prince Delare, of course,” I say. My hand migrates toward my long, brown hair, but I quickly force it back into my lap. I can’t risk moving my tresses and exposing my neck. If he notices I don’t have a control panel with a chip, he will figure out that Arta and I have switched places.

  I silently think of ten vicious names to call my cousin when I return home, though none of them are strong enough to convey how angry I am at him for trying to take my throne and putting my mother in danger.

  “You may call me Corinth," the prince says. “I’m sorry. What was your name again?”

  “I’m Goselyn, sir.” I keep my eyes transfixed on the ground, hoping he’ll go away.

  “Goselyn. Right,” he reminds himself. “Goselyn, I was wondering if you could give me any advice on working with Princess Arta. She and I seem to be having trouble connecting over this proposal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, every time I think we have something worked out, she seems to hesitate. I keep thinking that I’m saying the right things, but then she seems to get frustrated with me. I know we both want this to work—it has to work for either of us to complete our requirements for taking the next step toward the throne—but I’m worried we’re never going to reach an agreement on this proposal to show our parents.”

  Corinth speaks to me the way I used to speak to Arta—like a confidant. It’s a little strange to see how differently our countries converse with our Artificials.

  For a moment, I wonder if that would make a difference. I could tell him about Arta, but I still don’t know how Kenneth is tracking my moves and how much he really knows about what is going on here. More than that, revealing this deception to the prince would jeopardize the tenuous relationship between our countries. While we aren’t outright enemies, any sign of treachery on our part could trigger a fight with them, and if they see deception from within our own ranks, that could be taken as a sign that we’re weak enough to come after us, should they want more power. I can’t risk that.

  “I don’t have any advice for you, I’m afraid,” I reply sadly. “She has a specific plan in mind.”

  One designed by my cousin. I’m not sure how he overrode Arta’s original programming, but he manipulated her into turning on me—she would never do this on her own, especially since my mother programmed Arta to be loyal to me when we brought her into the palace when I was a child. My cousin is more skilled than I am, but I find it hard to believe he could manipulate my mother’s work.

  “I see.” Corinth frowns, rubbing his temples. “Perhaps you could tell me about Sylvane? Maybe that would offer me some insight.”

  “Shouldn’t you be negotiating with the princess?”

  “We’re taking a break. We don’t seem to be getting anywhere today.”

  “Surely your father could help you,” I suggest.

  “He’s not allowed to take part in the negotiations. The princess and I are the only two allowed to work on it and whatever we come up with is final… She can’t even leave until it’s done,” he mutters, frustrated. “I’m sure you’re ready to go home, Goselyn—it’s been an entire week. Can you just try to think of something that will help me?”

  I frown. How am I supposed to help him when I still have to find a way disable my Artificial without Kenneth finding out? I have enough problems of my own.

  “Sir, they’re looking for you.” An Artificial approaches us, waving toward the palace.

  “Perhaps we could speak tomorrow,” the prince says as he stands. He strides toward the palace, sending a group of geese scattering toward me.

  “What did he want?” Gand asks, wandering over to help herd the geese back.

  “Advice for working with the princess.”

  “Did you give it to him?” He pushes at a swan. It flaps its wings dangerously.

  “I have no advice to give. The princess makes up her own mind.”

  “How many years have you worked with her?”

  I gently bump the chest of a white goose with the end of my hook, trying to coax it back before Gand can reach it.

  “Many,” I reply. He pauses to evaluate what I said.

  “You’ve been studying her this long and you don’t have any insight on how to handle her?” he inquires. “Perhaps in Sylvane, the technological advances are not as great. Here in Delare, we know everything there is to know about the humans, down to how their facial expressions will change based on the food that they eat. I do not believe you have no information about your princess.”

  “I know many things about her,” I fire back. “I simply have nothing that will help the prince convince her to do something she does not wish to do.”

  “You’ve been here a week,” Gand replies, taking a step closer. “In that time, you have worked alongside me here with the birds. You don’t act like a normal Artificial, but I can’t decide if it is because Artificials are different where you are from, or if you are here for another reason.”

  “I do not know if we are different. I only know this is how I am,” I inform him, trying not to get caught up in a conversation. Artificials tend to be practical and precise, so I pray he believes me.

  “I’m watching you,” Gand says, turning his back to return to his own area.

  Arta is going to be thrilled—the local Artificials could bring her plan down before I do. I’m a little surprised Kenneth didn’t program Arta to hijack the Artificials here as well—perhaps she doesn’t have time.

  Gand studies me from afar as I pretend not to notice. The moment we are released from our duties, I walk back to the palace and head straight for my room as Gand leaves to see to his next task.

  “About time,” Arta says when I enter.

  I confront her. “The prince says you’re being difficult.”

  “Well, of course I am—this isn’t supposed to be easy. He has to be willing to give in just to get this thing finished.”

  “Oh, so that’s your plan? Wear him down until he agrees to anything?” I kick my shoes off as I walk to my sofa in the corner and drape a blanket over my feet to compensate for the short dress I’m wearing.

  “Yes, it is.” She glares as she walks across the room. “Now, eat that. I was supposed to have the tray set out twenty minutes ago.”

  She motions to the food on the small table. I race to it quickly, piling as much food as I can onto a napkin. I take several bites out of the apple before setting it back on the tray to make it look like she had eaten some and leave bits of the pastry crumbled on the plate before setting it outside the door to be picked up.

  At least Arta wasn’t depriving me of food.

  “Stay here. I have to attend a ceremony in the rose garden and I don’t need you getting in the way.�
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  She glides across the room toward the door, her blonde hair moving slightly in the breeze her movements create, lifting it away from her shoulders and upper back.

  “I don’t know why these silly ceremonies are so important to you humans. Traditions are ridiculous, especially when they have to do with flowers.”

  She marches out of the room as the door swings shut.

  I grab the sheets I smuggled into the room yesterday from under the sofa cushions. Tying them to the handle on the window probably isn’t the best idea, but I have to get out of the palace without her knowing and the other Artificials can easily see me from the hallway.

  I’m only a floor off of the ground, but it’s still enough to make my stomach drop when I look over the ledge. I slip my shoes into my dress pockets before carefully swinging myself out the window.

  After an eternity, I reach the ground. I didn’t inherit many things from my father, but my hand-eye coordination is the thing I appreciate the most. Aiming, I throw my smuggled knife high into the air, praying it’s enough to slice through the sheet I'd braided into a rope. Part of it rips before the knife falls back to the earth.

  I jump back to avoid the falling blade. Once it settles and no longer bounces against the ground, I rush to the sheet-rope. I pull on it, trying to break it free. The material rips, but not enough. Using my full weight, I jump up to grab it, using gravity to my advantage.

  It breaks.

  My feet don’t cooperate as I fall, leaving me in a pile on the ground. The braided sheet hits me in the head and I bite my tongue to keep from snarling at it.

  The bush acts as a hiding place for the evidence of my escape—I’ll need to find a new way back inside, but at least they didn’t see me leave from the hallways.

  If I can find Fal, I can send him to my mother with a message—robots’ programming can only be changed internally, so unless Arta or Kenneth get their hands on him, they can’t stop him. Arta has been keeping me from my loyal butler, refusing to let me see him. I’m sure she knows that if I reach him, there’s a very good chance I would try something to interfere with her plan.

  I creep around the side of the castle, making sure no one is there. When I’m positive it’s clear, I run toward the stables, where everything that didn’t come with us to our chambers is being stored.

  Our vehicle sits at the far end of the stable, away from the animals. I tiptoe as quietly as I can past the stalls, grateful I haven’t put my shoes back on yet. Any noise might spook the creatures.

  I quietly open the door to the vehicle, looking to see where Fal might be. I had put him into sleep mode so he shouldn’t have gone far.

  I tear the vehicle apart, but have no luck finding him. I finally extricate myself from our transport, stepping out backward onto the dirt.

  A distant beep pierces the air so softly that I’m not sure I hear it at all. I turn slowly, trying to locate the source. When I can’t find it, I close the door and begin to move around the stable, looking for where Fal might be hidden—I won’t let Delare steal my butler.

  I jump out of my skin when I hear the beep again, this time overhead. My eyes sweep over the walls until I finally spot him.

  Mounted on the wall high above me is Fal’s head. I shriek, clamping my hand over my mouth to try to stifle the noise.

  Fal’s body is nowhere to be found. A dim string of lights blinks across his eyes, the only color to Fal’s silver shape. Without the rest of him, he looks like an upside-down metal bowl that blinks.

  “Fal,” I whisper.

  He hovers somewhere between sleep mode and functioning mode, just enough to make small noises and move the tiny lights across his face. I reach up, tapping his head. I struggle on my toes to stretch high enough.

  When I tap him, his eyes light up—white with blue electronic pupils—as he connects with my biometric signature.

  “Goselyn,” he says quietly. “They took me apart.”

  “What happened to you?” I can feel myself on the verge of tears as I lower my heels to the ground.

  “Arta didn’t want me to tell the Delare royalty what had happened. She had them dismantle me—she told them I wasn’t functioning properly. They took my body and gave it to another robot and put my central system up here until they can reprogram me.”

  “We can’t let them reprogram you!” I shout.

  As a robot, Fal’s programming does not allow the Artificials to have access to him—which means they can’t control him—but it also means that if someone reprograms him, he’ll be gone for good—robots’ systems are far less complex and advanced than Artificials’ systems.

  “What is she trying to do?” His eyes light up, changing color.

  A noise on the other side of the stable stops us. Fal dims his lights, going into night mode. I press against the wall, hiding behind a barrel. After a few moments, the person leaves.

  “What does she want, Goselyn?” Fal repeats from his place on the wall.

  “She’s trying to ruin the negotiations and change the proposal. My cousin reprogrammed her because he wants me out of the picture. He thinks by destroying this proposal, I won’t be allowed to succeed my mother and the crown will pass to his family.”

  “You need to tell your mother,” Fal informs me, as if I didn’t know.

  “That’s why I was trying to find you. You’re the only one who can get back to Sylvane without Arta finding out.”

  “I can’t move without my body.” Fal’s face lights up as green, red, and yellow dots race across his interface. He beeps unintentionally as his system fails from being mounted on the wall.

  “I couldn’t even get you down if I tried.” I look around for something to climb on to reach him.

  “I’m stuck up here. Even if you could reach me, it would take an hour to get me unhooked. There’s something weird back here.” The flashing lights slow to a crawl. “You need to go back and find a way to warn the king. You know if your cousin is coming after you, he will also go after Delare—he’s always said he should take command here if you were to inherit Sylvane.”

  Another noise frightens us across the stable.

  “Just go, Goselyn. Put me in sleep mode and come back after you’ve ended this. I’ll be fine.”

  “But—” I protest.

  “No. You need to go. I can’t help you. You need to put Sylvane first.”

  Fal has always been wise beyond his programming.

  “I’ll be back for you,” I promise as I reach up to turn on his sleep mode setting.

  “I’m sure you will. Good luck, Goselyn.” He beeps when I tap him, settling into sleep mode.

  Stopping Arta before Fal is reprogrammed becomes another motivation for beating my Artificial, urging me to quickly sneak out of the stables. I slip my shoes on once I reach the grass and hurry toward the palace.

  The most dangerous part of my return journey into the palace is slipping by the kitchen without being noticed. People bustle about, preparing the evening meal. I can smell the roast chicken from down the hall.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump at the question. Spinning, I clutch my chest. Artificials shouldn’t be scared, but I can’t help my reaction.

  “Goselyn, what are you doing?” Gand demands. His jaw clenches like a real human’s would. “I knew it—you’re not an Artificial.”

  “No, I am.” My words come out panicked and high-pitched.

  “You’re not,” he says, reaching for my neck. He struggles to move my hair as I fight back.

  As we grapple, I do my best to eject the chip from the back of his neck. The Artificial throws me against the wall, slamming me between it and the back of his shoulder. I yelp in pain.

  As he steps closer, I stomp on his foot, causing him to look down long enough to punch the button on the back of his neck. It pops out just enough for his face to go slack.

  Opening the small control panel, I pull up his programming. While I only learned a few things from my father, I gained many sk
ills from my mother, including the ability to alter the programming of the Artificials and robots we work with in the kingdom. I wish I could do the same to Arta, but Kenneth would know the moment I touched her control panel.

  Before securing the chip back in place, I program Gand to not be able to come within ten feet of me. I also erase the last ten minutes of his memory. He will know I removed the time from his programming, but it will take him a few days to recover it, giving me enough time to fix the problem with Arta—I hope.

  While Gand blinks back to life, I slip down the hall and dart around the corner. I make it back to my room with just enough time to pull the remnants of the sheet off the window and close it before Arta opens the door. She eyes me but says nothing.

  ♛

  The next day, I make my way down to the lake, the geese following in my wake. Gand watches me from his place on the other side of the lawn, as if trying to figure out what had happened.

  I turn my shoulder away, keeping my back to him as I corral the birds on the lawn.

  “Gand.” The prince’s sharp voice bounces off a nearby tree. I look up in time to see Gand retreating, having been dangerously close to me. I’m sure he was checking to see if I had a control panel.

  “Should I ask what that was about?” Corinth asks as he sits next to me on the log. His blond hair tips down gently over one eye as he turns to face me.

  I pull my dark hair over my neck, ensuring he can’t see my skin.

  “I don’t know.” I try to keep my response simple.

  “Have you thought of anything that might help me?” he asks, making me sigh.

  “Perhaps…” I pause, trying to think of anything I can give him. “Let her think she’s won. Give in to as much as you can, but hold true to the most important things and make them seem unimportant to you. Fight over silly things and make her give you the bigger things as a compromise. If she thinks she’s won, perhaps you can make this work.”

  “That’s an interesting thought,” Corinth replies. “I’ll try that. You’re very wise, Goselyn. I knew I liked you.”