by Naomi Cyprus
Papa. I have to do this, to get these people out, so I can get to Papa. It renewed her strength, but only just enough. By the eighth cage, there was a crowd of young people around her, catching her when she wobbled on her toes, hooking the pieces of the other cages around the bars so they could help pry them away with brute strength once she had weakened them with magic.
Finally it was done. Nalah was surrounded by a milling crowd of prisoners stretching their arms and legs. She leaned against the cool rock wall to catch her breath.
“Aren’t you coming with us?” asked a young boy with big, dark eyes.
“I have to find my father. He’s here, somewhere. Please, can you tell me where to find him?” She was so tired, so desperate to see him again, that she felt like crying. But she held it in—she couldn’t waste any energy right now.
“If he’s important to the king,” said the bald woman with a grim frown, “he’ll have been taken to the Well. It’s just beyond that door. I’ll come with you.”
“No,” said Nalah. “You all need to get out, as fast as you can, before the guards realize what’s happening. Ironside’s waiting, and I’ll be right behind you.”
She made herself stand up straight, fighting the dizziness and fatigue, and ran to find the Well.
The door swung open and the blue torchlight from the prison spilled down a short flight of steps into pitch darkness. Nalah brought out her glowing glass orb once more, holding it up as she stepped down into a smaller room, with a single cell. The glass light flickered on metal bars, and on a faint shape leaning its back on the wall.
There was a groan, and a sound like someone trying to clear his throat.
“Who’s there? Tam?”
Her father’s voice was croaky and weak, but she would have known it even if he’d been speaking through a mouthful of sand. She ran to the bars, hope rising up in her chest like a boat on the swell of the Hadar Sea.
“Papa!” Nalah whispered. “It’s me!”
“Nalah?” There was a rustle of straw and a clink of chains. Nalah peered into the darkness, and as her eyes adjusted she saw her father struggling to get to his feet. His face was covered in a ragged beard and his eyes looked bloodshot. “By the stars . . . Nalah!”
“I’m here!” She reached for him, and he caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. Nalah felt sobs welling up and set her jaw against them. There’s no time to cry now. “I’m here to get you out.”
“Do you have the key?” her father asked.
“Not quite,” she said. “Hold this.” She passed him the glowing glass orb, and Mr. Bardak stared at it in wonder.
“Nalah, what’s happening? How did you get here?”
Nalah knelt down and reached through the bars for the iron manacle around her father’s leg. “I went to Tam’s house and . . . Papa, it isn’t Zachary! We’re in the Magi Kingdom—just like the stories! It’s some kind of mirror world, and there are people here that look just like people in New Hadar. Tam is the king, and he killed Zachary, and—”
“Nalah,” her father croaked. “Slow down. What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to—” Nalah’s hand closed around the chain between the manacle and the floor.
Her father cried, “No!” But he was too late. Nalah had grabbed it and pulled.
A searing pain ran up Nalah’s hand and she recoiled, banging her elbow on the bars of the cell. Her father let out a cry of pain and crumpled to the floor. Nalah blinked and groaned, rubbing her hand.
“It’s Thauma,” Mr. Bardak sighed, when he’d caught his breath. “It burns you if you try to interfere with it.” He twisted his foot and held the glass light over it. Nalah recoiled as she saw that her father’s skin was blistered and weeping with burns.
“No . . .” Nalah shook her head, swallowing back tears. “No. I can solve this. Just give me a minute.”
“It’s all right, love,” said her father, and reached out for her hand again. She reached back through the bars and they held on to each other. “We’ll find a way out of this. Tell me what you were trying to say about Tam. I didn’t see much when they were bringing me down here, but I know he pulled me through the mirror. Did you say that this is the Magi Kingdom? How is that possible?”
“It’s just like the stories said,” Nalah whispered, doing her best to feel reassured by his words, while her mind spun wildly in the background, trying to figure out what she could do about her father’s manacles. “It’s a desert kingdom where magic is strong.” She sighed. “It’s real. Well, it’s not quite as nice as in the stories, as you can tell. Some people exist in both worlds, like twins—except they call them ‘tawams.’ I haven’t seen your twin, but I’ve met mine. There’s a mirror version of me living here. Her name is Halan, and she’s—”
She’s Tam’s daughter. A princess. But she has no powers.
Nalah looked up at her father’s face, and she couldn’t bear to ask him the question. She’d meant what she said to Halan. She didn’t care if he was her real father—but it was a conversation they would have to have.
Some other time.
She looked down at her hands. “Papa, have you ever heard of the Fifth Clan?”
“The Fifth Clan? No, it doesn’t ring a bell. It’s not in the Magi Kingdom stories, is it?”
“I hadn’t heard of it before, but it means Thaumas who can make things magical with their hands, just by touch, instead of with tools and incantations and stuff. They can control all four materials. That is”—Nalah swallowed, strangely nervous, as if he might not believe her—“I can.”
Mr. Bardak met Nalah’s eyes, his own eyes widened with wonder. “Nalah, did you make this light?” he asked, holding the orb more gingerly in his palm.
“Yes. I made it just now, with nothing but my hands,” Nalah blurted. “I’ve been melting metal, bringing tapestries to life. I realized, I’ve always had this power.” It was frightening, but also strangely powerful, to say it out loud like this. Nalah spoke a little more slowly and clearly as she went on. “In New Hadar I couldn’t control it—it came out and just broke things. But here, it’s been different. I feel different. People aren’t afraid of me, they admire me. And I’ve already done amazing things. . . . I took out the bars from the other prison cells; I melted a man’s sword in his hand. I don’t know why I have this power, but it’s been with me the whole time.”
“Oh,” breathed her father, holding tight onto her hand. “I always knew you were destined for greatness, Nalah. Many people used to say your great-grandfather Xerxes had special powers. Maybe that’s where you got it from.”
Nalah nodded. “But I thought it was just a story,” she said.
Mr. Bardak raised his hands to indicate the whole world around them. “Sometimes, stories turn out to be true.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry I tried to hide you from the world,” he said. “I was just so afraid for you.”
A flood of love rushed through Nalah’s heart, and it was almost too much for her. Her lips twisted and she bit back a sudden sob as she thought of all the times he had said that to her and she hadn’t understood. “Papa, this is all my fault. If I’d listened to you in the first place, I wouldn’t have let Tam flatter me into making that mirror, I wouldn’t have assumed I knew everything, when I didn’t know anything at all.”
But her father shushed her. “No, Nalah. Listen to me. Nothing was ever going to be able to hide the light within you. Perhaps you were meant to come here, to discover your true destiny. No matter what happens, nothing will ever stop me from being proud of you.”
She reached for him through the bars and he held both her hands against his heart.
I’ll get us out of here, she thought. I will. Just wait and see.
Chapter Sixteen
Halan
Despite what our government may want us to believe, Thauma magic is not evil or dangerous. The hand that wields the sword chooses how to use it—to kill, or to defend. The hand that crafts it chooses only to create.
Xerxes Bardak, in an opinion piece for the New Hadar Sentinel
Halan spent the whole day trailing her father around the palace, hiding in cupboards and stairwells and with groups of servants, pretending she’d been sent to help them with their chores. All the time, she was trying to get close enough without being caught and thrown out or even killed by the guards before she could convince them of who she really was.
Her mother’s words to Omar Bardak were still ringing in her ears, the sight of the two kissing seared into her mind. But she did her best to put them both out of her head for now. If they all survived, if the rebels didn’t kill the king and take the palace for themselves, then she would confront her mother.
She caught a glimpse of Nalah, walking with the royal family and their hangers-on as they went down for dinner. She didn’t try to talk to her—if Nalah knew Halan had escaped and was in the palace, she might do something unpredictable, and Halan wanted to talk to her father first. From her hiding place, Halan watched her tawam strolling along with her parents, wearing her clothes, and felt strangely like she was a ghost haunting these halls, carrying a dark omen that no one wanted to hear.
At last, as night was falling, King Tam returned to his study, and Halan scrambled to follow him. She crept up to the study door and looked in through the keyhole, just in case there were guards or nobles who’d waited inside for him. But he was alone, sitting at his desk and poring over a large book. She was terrified, but she knew it couldn’t wait a moment longer—the rebels could be at their door!
She suddenly understood how the queen felt, knowing that there was danger around every corner.
With her heart in her mouth, Halan raised a hand and knocked.
A moment later, her father opened the door. He looked down at her, a sneer of disdain and suspicion on his lips.
“What do you want? How dare you disturb me in my private study?” he snapped.
Halan swallowed hard. “Please, listen to me,” she stammered. “I—I . . .”
If I come out with it now, he’ll think I’m mad. He’ll slam the door in my face and call the guard. She had to be clever about this. That’s what her father would do.
“I’m sorry to come to you like this,” she said, “but I have some information, Your Majesty. Something you need to hear, and you alone.”
King Tam’s eyebrows arched, his interest piqued by this mysterious offer.
“Come in, child,” he said, and stepped aside. Halan hurried into his study, her heart pounding. Now all she had to do was convince him of the truth.
She turned and faced him, her hands clasped in front of her, her heart beating so hard she wondered if he could see the pulse in her neck.
“Well? Out with it, girl. Do not be afraid,” said the king, shutting the door behind her.
“Your Majesty, I’m sorry I have to tell you this,” Halan said, “but the girl you just had dinner with, the one you think is your daughter? She’s an imposter. I’m the real Halan!”
Her father’s expression turned cold, his eyes glinting with anger.
“Please,” she went on. “Listen to my voice. It’s me, Father! The other girl is my tawam, she’s from the world beyond the mirror. Her name is Nalah. She came here to free her father, who she thinks you have locked up. She promised me that no harm would come to you or Mother, but I overheard the rebels planning to attack, and I had to escape to warn you.”
“Why should I believe you?” Tam said, looking down his nose at her. “You look nothing like the princess.”
Halan stuggled to speak over the loud pounding of her heart. “The rebels forced me to wear a Veil of Strangers, so you wouldn’t recognize me. This isn’t my true face!”
King Tam’s expression suddenly turned stormy, his lips twisting in anger. He drew a bejeweled dagger from his belt and it glinted in the torchlight as he approached her. It clearly was imbued with powerful Thauma magic. “Hold still, girl.”
Halan backed up against the study desk, panic taking hold of her.
He would never hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt some poor deluded peasant girl, either. He wouldn’t!
But Halan thought of the woman defaced by the Dust; she thought, unwillingly, of Soren Ferro and the story he’d told of his father’s death. Her chest constricted and suddenly she found it hard to breathe. She didn’t recognize this man stalking toward her, raising his dagger. . . .
“Please, Father!” she begged him. “I’m not a peasant. . . . It’s me!”
King Tam’s hand gripped her shoulder, and Halan let out a terrified shriek. He brought the blade down slowly and pain gripped Halan—but then, all at once, it stopped. Her lungs filled, and her head cleared.
The Veil of Strangers dropped off her face into the king’s hands, its midnight silk slashed in two. Halan raised her hands to her face—he hadn’t so much as grazed the skin beneath.
“Father?” she said, looking up at him.
Her father stared at her, but instead of the joy she thought she’d see, a dark shadow of fury passed across his face. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and he scooped her into a fierce, tight hug. “My daughter!” he said, his voice muffled with emotion. “How dare they do this to you! I swear, every single rebel will suffer for this, a hundred times over, for the pain they’ve caused you.”
“I’m all right,” Halan told him, hugging him back, her knees buckling with relief. I knew I was right. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. “They didn’t harm me, apart from the veil.”
“They kidnapped the princess and sent an imposter in her place,” Tam snarled, pulling away, his face again dark with anger. “That is enough.”
“Father, it’s not just Nalah I needed to tell you about,” Halan interrupted. She straightened up, and suddenly it was an effort to push out the words. This is the right thing . . . “You have to listen to me. You are in danger! It’s Soren. Soren Ferro is Ironside!”
Halan saw her father’s face clear at this revelation. “That foolish boy—he is the rebel leader? He is the traitor to the crown?”
Halan nodded. “He’s not so foolish, Father—it’s an act. He’s been in the palace, spying on us, and making Wild Thauma weapons for the rebels—and they’re planning to attack us, maybe tonight! Nalah’s going to release the prisoners from the dungeon and they’re going to come here and try to take the throne.”
“Tonight,” Tam mused. He let out a bitter laugh. “Soren Ferro. Well, I never would have thought. He is a clever boy. He must know . . .” He shook his head. “Never mind that. Don’t worry, my love. I have more power than he could dream. We will crush them like the insects they are.”
But that’s not what I want. Halan’s momentary relief turned to dread. “No, you can’t,” she said, shaking her head. Tam stared at her. Halan realized she’d never talked back to her father before in her life. But then again, never before did she have something so important to say.
“Please, Father. I’ve been in the city, and I’ve seen things. The consquences of the Dust. The way the nobles and the guards abuse our people. They are starving, Father. So many of our people are living a walking death—while we feast in the palace in ignorance of their suffering!”
She paused to look at her father—who was staring impassively, his eyes betraying nothing. Does he believe me? Halan went on in a rush: “Father, the rebels are misguided, and some of them are dangerous—but locking them up is only making things worse. They blame you for all of their hardships, but they are wrong! Perhaps if we could speak to Soren, work together to make things better in the city . . .”
She trailed off. Her father’s face had settled into an expression, and it was the same look he’d given her when she’d first told him Nalah was an imposter—a cold, calculating stillness.
“Thank you, my child,” he said quietly. “You may have just saved our whole kingdom, as well as my life and your mother’s. I promise you, I will only resort to violence if I have no other choice. Do you believe me?”
Do I? Ha
lan wanted to say yes, but she felt chilled. There was something about her father’s calm voice that made her think of the way a butcher might speak to a lamb as he took it out for slaughter. A reassuring tone that would keep the creature from fighting back against its coming demise.
She banished the thought. That was ridiculous. He was her father . . . wasn’t he? She shook the image of her mother kissing the guard out of her head. “Of course I believe you.”
“Now, you must go to your rooms, clean yourself up, and try to get some sleep. Do not worry. I will deal with everything.”
Halan felt her heart sink. Am I back to being useless? “What?” She frowned. “Father, no. I can’t just go to my rooms. I’m involved now, Soren’s told me his plans—I need to help! If I come with you, Soren will be more willing to talk instead of fight.”
“No, my love. This is all for you, Halan. Do you understand that? If you were to be hurt, everything I have done would be for nothing. I want you safe, out of the way. Bar the door and don’t let anybody in but me or your mother. Promise me!”
Instinct told Halan to agree. But I can’t, she realized. I will no longer stay locked in my rooms while others decide the fate of my kingdom.
She nodded. It was only the second time she’d ever lied to her father, and it felt almost as painful as being cut out of the veil. Halan walked to the study door to leave, but her hand stilled on the ancient wood. She couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not without saying what she needed to say. She turned back to face her king.
“Father,” she said. “I will go back to my rooms, but I can’t go back to the way things were, not after everything I’ve seen. This kingdom will be mine to rule one day, and I can’t continue to sit in ignorance while my people cry out in pain. I know I am not a Thauma, but that doesn’t make me powerless. Please, don’t shut me out. Let me be a part of this. It’s my right.”
Her father raised his eyebrows, but his expression didn’t change. “Child,” he said softly. “You have seen what that traitor Ferro wanted you to see. He manipulated you because he knew it was a perfect way to get to me. I have done what is necessary to give my family everything, and to keep my kingdom safe. All your life you have reaped the rewards of my rule, so do not question my methods. I will protect you, and you will obey me. You may be the heir to this throne, but I am still the king. Now go.”