by Kaylin Lee
The tension went out of my shoulders at her words, and I sighed.
“But,” Zel said, looking hard at me, “I don’t want you going to that market again. Don’t even walk on the street near the inspector’s office. Do you hear me, Ella? Weslan goes to the market from now on in your place. Cyrus may still see you as the vulnerable one in our family. I don’t want to scare you, but …”
Zel put some flatware on a tray and frowned. “Sometimes, I think all our lies and illusions have done you a great disservice, El. You’ve made the most of it, and I'm proud of you for that. But it's not right for you to act like a second-class citizen in this household when we both know that you're not.” Her voice was firm, even hard, and I felt like a child being chastised.
I shifted uncomfortably and looked around, trying to figure out what she wanted me to say in response. “I know you love me, but remember that I was willing to do this. I was willing from the start, and I still am. It was no great burden for me. You know I don’t care about what other people think of me.”
Much.
“I want to make sure that we think things through before you take any unnecessary risks.”
The whole family depended on me to deal with the outside world. Not even the twins could leave the bakery safely. Bri and Alba had both developed mage powers at a young age. Alba had a strong expellant ability that might one day make her a healer, and Bri had just enough absorbent capacity to become a tracker herself. But if any tracker were to cross paths with them in the city, they’d wonder why the girls weren’t at the Mage Academy or living in a Procus patron family’s compound. And if they knew there were two unregistered mage girls roaming Asylia, of course they’d want to find their mother. Then the Asylian government would turn Zel into a weapon, as she’d been forced to become one in Draicia. We could never let that happen.
Zel nodded. “Of course, Ella. You’ve always been the thoughtful one.” She smiled at me gently and patted me on the shoulder. “You think about whatever you want to think about,” she said, her mouth twisting into a grin, and I narrowed my eyes at her. “But the facts haven't changed. You need to trust me when I tell you that everything is going to be fine.”
She filled her tray with half of the breakfast we’d cooked and left the kitchen to take it upstairs.
I sat down at the table. Weslan joined me, and we ate our own breakfasts in silence. When we’d finished eating, neither of us got up. We both fiddled with our dishes, and then finally, staring down at the table, I spoke. “I can't take this,” I said. “I can’t have Zel taking risks like that for me. That's not the way this is supposed to work. She's been through so much. The twins have suffered so much.” I scowled at the table and then looked up at Weslan. “It’s not right.”
Weslan shrugged one shoulder and drummed his fingers on the table restlessly. “It’s pretty simple, Ella. You need to stay away from this Cyrus fellow, that's all. Shouldn't be too hard, right?”
Leave it to Weslan to make light of the whole mess. “I know. But where are we going to get the money to pay him? What if Prince Estevan’s ball doesn’t boost orders as much as Zel thinks it will?” I fingered the knots in the wood table and the rough splinters that were beginning to come loose. This table had anchored our family’s kitchen for generations. I needed to care for it better. I blew out a breath. “Well, I'll figure something out.”
Weslan raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“The money, I mean. I’ll find a way. So my original plan to get a government job didn’t work out. It doesn’t matter.” I jumped to my feet. “I'll do whatever it takes to get that money. I’ll pay off the taxes and whatever else Cyrus needs to get him to leave us alone. That's the only way.” I shoved my hands into the tattered pockets of my work dress. “One way or another, I will find that money, and we will get through this.”
Weslan eyed me strangely for a moment, as though he were thinking something he wasn’t saying. “I believe that's what Zel’s been trying to tell you.” A half smile ghosted across his face.
For a moment, I forgot all about the wretched feeling of Cyrus grabbing my arm. All I could see was Weslan’s smile, and the strong cut of his jaw, and the way his golden hair fell across his brow, begging to be brushed away by my fingers. He met my eyes and didn’t look away. Was it my imagination, or was he just as fascinated by me as I was by him?
He cleared his throat, and I busied myself collecting our dishes. “Well, I guess we’d better get started on chores.”
He stood and stretched, and we went about our day.
Why did I like his attention so much? And why did I want him to keep looking?
It was pointless to entertain such thoughts. Mages married other mages. They looked down on lowly commoners like me. And no doubt it was better that way. What common girl wanted to bear children who could grow up to be government slaves?
Later, in my quiet, dimly lit room before bed, I discovered the scraps of red paper resting beside my pillow.
Chapter 7
I picked the scraps of paper up and shifted them in my hand, confused. Had Alba or Bri been playing in here without my knowledge? But why? There was a snap, and the red paper scraps shimmered and turned black. They dug into my palm with cruel pinches like a swarm of hungry beetles. I screamed and scraped them off my palm, but they disappeared into thin air before they hit the floor.
My door swung open, and Weslan stared down at me, looking concerned. “Ella? Are you well?”
I searched wildly. There were no hints of red, no dark beetle-like scraps anywhere in my room. What had happened? No matter how much I gasped for air, I couldn’t get enough.
“Ella?” Weslan’s voice was soft. He approached me slowly, his hands in the air as though to prove that he meant me no harm. “Was it another nightmare?”
It took several moments for his words to sink in. “No, not another …” I shook my head and trailed off. Or was it? Had I dozed in my bed before turning off the luminous and dreamed the painful paper bites?
I held up my palm and stared at it. Perhaps I could see the faintest of red marks, but were they truly there? Or did I only see them because I was looking for them?
Weslan wore a look of pity on his face.
My heart clenched. “I’m fine.” The words came out harshly, and he took a quick step back. I cleared my throat. “I’m fine,” I said again, a bit softer. “You were right. Just a nightmare.”
He stepped out of my room, face shuttered, and closed the door without another word.
~
“Alba, what’s going on? Don’t you want breakfast?” I climbed the stairs to their living quarters, balancing a tray in one hand and lugging a pitcher of water with the other.
The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Alba smiled. She’d been quick to forgive me after my nastiness to her about the ribbon. I didn’t deserve her good humor, but I was grateful for it. “Yes! Sorry, El. Mama’s been up on the roof all morning, and Bri and I got so caught up we forgot to eat.” She giggled. “Not normal, huh? No wonder you were worried.”
I smiled as I handed her the tray. “Well, eat up now. Growing girls and all that.”
She stepped backward into the large, well-lit room they shared with Zel. The room that served as their home, schoolhouse, and prison was very tidy. I supposed it helped that they had so few possessions.
Bri waved to me from where she sat, cross-legged and serious, on her bed, the tattered curtain that hung around her space for privacy shoved to the side. She always acted far older than her almost-thirteen years. She was tall like Zel, with blonde hair and golden skin, but an air of restlessness hung about her most of the time. Confinement in the cramped living quarters above the bakery seemed to chafe on her more than on anyone else.
It took a moment to realize the voices I was hearing came from inside the room instead of the street outside. I tensed. “What’s that? Who’s in here?”
Alba looked at me from the table where she was getting into the small bowl o
f brambleberries. “Oh, that? It’s the fabulator crystal Weslan gave us! Isn’t it amazing?”
I stared at her as she popped another brambleberry in her mouth. Fabulator crystals had been the latest mania among my old Procus classmates. They weren’t expensive, but they were very rare—only a few were created in each batch, and the Procus ladies almost never sold them. What need did a Procus lady have for more money? Suspicion and worry warred within me. “Where did he get it?”
“You didn’t know? His mother is the mage who created them. The Falconus family is her patron. He got these ones for free!” She flopped into a chair at the table, and I realized there were two small crystals sitting beside the breakfast tray. “Watch this.” Alba pulled the crystals apart.
Immediately, the actors’ melodramatic voices went silent. “And then …” She pushed them back together, and the voices resumed, arguing about someone named Lucien and his undying love. “The first crystal holds the magic, and the second holds the instructions from the mage. It saves magic, so it doesn’t run out too quickly. I think.” She shrugged and then propped herself up on an elbow to listen.
I drew up a chair, and Bri joined us at the table, digging into the plate of honeybread and cream that I’d brought with the berries. We sat quietly, listening to the voices and music that filled the room from the two small crystals.
“How can you give up now?” cried a woman’s tearful voice.
“Oh, Valencia … I would stay if I could, I swear it,” came a deep male voice’s reply.
“But what about … your daughter?” The accompanying music reached a crescendo, and I held back a snort of laughter.
“My … my daughter?”
As silly as the whole thing was, I couldn’t deny that the story drew me in. Before I knew it, the brambleberries and honeybread were gone, and Alba was swiping her fingers through the last few bites of cream. Then the daughter’s childish voice rang out in a soft final song, and I leaned closer to the crystals to listen.
Asylia, the City of Hope,
You never sleep but always dream.
I know you love those who love you,
No matter how hard you may seem.
Though darkness comes, we will never fear;
You stand firm through all our tears.
The crystal’s music faded to silence, and I wiped an unexpected tear from my cheek.
Alba did the same. “Lovely, isn’t it?” said Alba. “I still cry every time we hear it.”
I nodded, feeling off-kilter and confused as I ducked out of the room and went back to work in the kitchen. If Weslan had shared something this nice with the girls, that had to mean something good, right?
But I’d always hated that nickname for Asylia. City of Hope. Ludicrous. As if this city had ever done anything for anyone but a Procus. As if there were any reason for any of us to hope.
Weslan and I fell into an uneasy rhythm over the next few days. We weren’t happy—neither of us were. How could we be?
He’d fallen from a life of luxury into a life of servitude at the bakery. But he seemed to be doing his best with the chores.
I’d been hard on him at first, and even now, I had to fight the urge to critique his attempts to learn my work or take out my bitterness on him.
He, in turn, would make the occasional nasty, sarcastic comment which would send me into a state of simmering anger that took every effort to keep from bubbling over. But I tried to be kind, and he worked hard. We operated in a shaky truce each day.
Not that it was easy, by any means. Before the attack, I had rolled out of bed eagerly in the middle of the night to start the dough rising and get to work with my studies. Now, I lay in bed until the last possible moment, not rising until I heard Weslan moving around in the kitchen. The motivation and energy I used to have in such abundance had dried up completely.
But the constant fear was worse than the constant despair. I was scared all the time—scared to go out, scared to stay in, and scared of everyone.
Zel, the twins, and Weslan pretended not to notice when I jumped at loud noises and humiliated myself. I had trouble sleeping, and when I did fall asleep, the man with the face of blood terrified me in nightmare after nightmare. I was tired all day and found it difficult to get work done, so it was a good thing Weslan was there to help. I don’t know what we would've done without him. He proved to be trustworthy, and I couldn’t deny my gratitude, although admitting the fact to him would be something else entirely.
Weslan went out at night from time to time. But he always got his work done, so I didn't say anything. I didn't want to think about what he did when he left. But late one night, I was alone in the kitchen, prepping a mixture of walnuts and dried frostberries to use in the morning’s baking when Weslan stumbled through the kitchen door.
I gave him a hesitant smile. “Hello.”
But instead of smiling back, he curled his lip. “I should've expected you’d still be up working. Do you never get tired of playing the martyr?”
I wiped my hands on my apron nervously. I was supposed to be kind, right? “I’m not sure what you want me to say,” I said after an awkward moment of silence. “I'm doing my best here. This isn’t easy for me either. But I'm trying.”
“You think I'm not trying?”
“No, of course not. You’re twisting my—”
“I guess I never do enough to merit the perfect Ella’s good opinion, do I? I wonder how many loaves of bread I need to bake before I’m finally good enough. Do tell.” He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
I put my hands on my hips. “I don't know what you're talking about, but you know what? I'm done with this. I don't like the way you’re speaking to me.” My voice rose, but I didn't care. I was sick of his bad attitude popping up when I least expected it, keeping me constantly on edge. “You have no right to talk to me this way.”
“Oh, that’s right. Because you're my employer. A little kitchen girl, bossing a mage around all day long. Bet that feels good, doesn’t it? Is it any wonder that each day here is like torture for me?”
My heart pounded in my ears. “Well, if that's how it is, why do you stay? It's not like we're forcing you to stay here.” Each word threw fuel on my hot temper. “In fact, I wish you would go back to your mage friends and leave us alone. They would probably love to have their fellow leech back where he belongs.”
His eyes flashed. “Maybe I will,” he growled.
“Then go! I certainly don’t need you!” And in a burst of anger, I picked up his jacket from where he had tossed it on the floor upon entering and threw it at him.
It hit him in the face, and he reared back and ripped it off with a roar of anger.
I took a quick step backward, bumping into the counter behind me. Weslan glared at me, his chest heaving, his face twisted in a furious scowl.
Abject fear flooded my chest until I could barely breathe. Would he attack me? Not again. Not again. Not again …
Zel’s cold voice chilled the air: “Weslan.” Just one word, but a promise of infinite danger filled it.
All the fight went out of him. He deflated like she had poked him with a pin and popped his tension with a single jab. He clutched his jacket to his chest, and his shoulders slumped.
Zel strode to place herself between us, covering me like a human shield.
I stared at her strong, unmoving back, trying desperately to slow my hysterical, too-rapid breaths.
No one spoke. No one needed to. Weslan left the bakery, shutting the door quietly on his way out.
~
For three days, we neither saw nor heard from him. I didn't realize how much I had come to rely on his steady—if bad-tempered—help. All the downstairs chores and bakery work fell to me, and I fell into bed at the end of each day.
Nightmares plagued my nights, and terrifying imaginings ruined my days. As tired as I was, sleep always escaped me. My eyes drooped during the day and burned painfully by evening. A girl could only miss so much sleep befor
e the exhaustion took its pound of flesh.
Flashes of red appeared and disappeared multiple times each day to torment me. A soft red scarf left forgotten on the bakery counter wrapped itself around my neck like a vice. Later, it was nowhere to be found. A handful of red marbles on our front stoop flew into my face like hail stones and disappeared the moment a neighbor looked over. I was losing my mind. There was no doubt.
I stood in the kitchen on the fourth night, chopping vegetables in a bleary-eyed daze. Someone coughed behind me, and I swung around. I gripped the knife tightly, dread creeping up my spine.
Weslan stood in the kitchen doorway, his face marred by smudges of dirt and heavy, dark creases under his eyes. His hands hung awkwardly at his sides, as though he didn’t know what to do with them. He almost didn’t look like himself without his signature arrogance.
“Where have you been?” My voice was scratchy, and I realized I probably didn’t look much better than he did.
He opened his mouth to speak, but words seemed to fail him. The kitchen door stayed open behind him. “I found a few places to sleep. And I … well, I didn’t think I’d be welcome here anymore.”
I fingered the small knife in my hand. It felt paltry and small, but I gripped it anyway. “Are you still a threat to us?”
His face seemed to cave in on itself. “No,” he rasped. “Never. Ella, I … never. Please, believe me. I-I’d been drinking far too much. It’s no excuse, but you must believe me—I would never have hurt you. Never. And I can never forgive myself for scaring you like that.”
“Then why are you here?”
He ran a hand over his hair which was several shades darker from the grease and dirt in the past three days. “I-I wanted to apologize. And I wanted to show you that I am truly sorry.”