by Jade Kerrion
But he had a stunning impact on me.
What if it had been mutual?
No, that was absurdly egotistical to imagine that she could have had that kind of effect on the prince.
Varian waited until the applause petered out before continuing. “You’ve also heard rumors about my plans to shatter the barrier around Isa Fae.” He drew a deep breath. “They are not rumors.”
Lord Grimaldi’s heavy sigh was audible, even above the immediate buzz of conversations in the courtyard. “The fool. He will have his way, and La Condamine will pay for it.”
“He is willful and brash like his father,” one of the fae lords standing beside Grimaldi replied softly. “We can still stop him the way we stopped his father. For the sake of La Condamine, the prince cannot be allowed to proceed with this insanity.”
Grimaldi nodded. His low voice was regretful, but it was also resolute. “We must act quickly. We don’t have much time.”
Nithya frowned. What were they talking about?
The prince’s voice carried over the murmurings of the crowd. “I understand your concern. This tremendous undertaking cannot be accomplished by one person, or even a handful of people. It demands we come together, as a nation, as one people. It demands something from all of us.”
Next to Nithya, Ariel, her eyes shadowed and bleak, said quietly, “Something is a ridiculous understatement.”
“What do you—?”
“Shhh. I’ll explain later.”
The prince continued. “I realize that this crisis feels far away. The barrier has existed for hundreds of years. It will exist for hundreds more. It would not have changed in your lifetime, or even your children’s lifetime. Yet, it is crushing us, preventing the essence of the universe from recharging our world. In time, it will destroy Isa Fae and all life with it.
“In less than two weeks, on the night of the full moon, when the barrier is weakest, we will have a chance to reclaim our world and own our future. We need each other’s strength, courage, and passion. We succeed together, or not at all.”
Nithya drew a deep breath. She could almost feel the ripple in the air, the subtle attunement of power toward a single target—Varian.
The people were aligning around his vision.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. If Varian gathered enough support to cast the spell, would he succeed?
And how many would die?
How could she feel pride and grief at the same time?
A single shout shattered the harmonious outpouring of magic. “You can’t promise success at all!”
Nithya shuddered as the surge of magic splintered like a drop of water splashing on the ground.
If the sudden dissipation of his support dismayed Varian, he showed no sign of it. He looked across the courtyard to directly address his challenger. “You’re right. I can’t promise success. No one can. What I can promise is that if we do nothing, we will fail.”
“We don’t need your fear-mongering. We’ve got good lives. You’ve no right to disrupt it.”
Wow, the nerve. Nithya looked into the crowd, trying to catch a glimpse of the person who had spoken.
“We pay our taxes,” the dissenter continued. “And it’s plenty, but money’s just money. We can’t take it with us when we’re gone. But magic—it’s our life force. Without it, we’re dead. Literally.”
Another voice shouted, “It’s a hoax, a trick! They say you already possess more magic than anyone else. What’s to stop you from stealing all our magic instead of channeling it?”
Voices, scattered around the courtyard, rose in agreement. The angry muttering swelled like waves cresting toward the shore. “Enough with the lies! We’ve had enough of Delacroix deception.”
The vocal rumblings morphed into physical tussles and escalated into brawls. The palace guards exchanged uncertain glances before pushing through the crowd to quell the riot.
They wrestled runic collars onto the troublemakers—some fae, some witches—then dragged them through the crowd to stand beneath the balcony. “The rioters, your highness.”
Varian’s expression remained guarded.
Nithya held her breath as Lord Grimaldi murmured, “This cannot possibly end well.”
“What do you expect?” the other fae lord said. “None of this is surprising. The Delacroix family has had a long history of vainglory. Varian was unassuming as a child, but it does not mean he is not susceptible to pride. He’s going to make an example of them. Their heads will rest on pikes by the quay by the time the sun sets.”
Really? Nithya’s gaze flashed back to Varian. No, it couldn’t possibly be true. Not Dace. Not the fae who had demonstrated so much humanity.
Her eyes met Varian’s across the courtyard, and the tension suddenly eased out of his shoulders. A shadow of a smile touched his lips. “Release them.”
Nithya’s shoulders sagged with relief. Thank the thirteen witches.
A surprised murmur ran through the crowd. Varian’s guards stared, openmouthed, at him.
Varian arched an eyebrow to question the delay in their obedience, and the guards quickly released the runic collars on the men they had arrested.
“That’s incredibly brave,” Ariel murmured to Nithya. “And incredibly dumb.”
Nithya agreed. Runic collars backfired on spell casters; they were Varian’s only guarantee of safety in a world where his enemies could strike and kill with a single thought and a whispered word.
But he doesn’t do the safe thing, does he? Nithya frowned. His fae nobility will be the death of him.
“I understand your concerns,” Varian said. “I hope that my father’s legacy and my rule these past twelve months have earned your trust. I ask for your forbearance and your faith. I cannot save my country or my people without your help.” He looked down at the men who had shattered the early whisper of the people’s support. “You may go.”
The men stared up at the prince; the glances they exchanged, however, were dismayed, not relieved.
“Impossible!” the fae lord uttered. “A polite rebuke and not even a smack on the wrist?”
Lord Grimaldi chuckled, but for all the irony in his tone, Nithya thought he looked pleased. “Perhaps Varian is more mature than we gave him credit for. He will not be ensnared so easily.”
Nithya would have eavesdropped further, but Ariel grabbed her hand and pulled her from the dais. “Let’s go into the palace. I want to see if Varian acknowledges you in a more private setting.”
Nithya shook Ariel’s hand off. “What is up with you? Didn’t you hear your father?”
“No. What did he say?”
Nithya frowned at Ariel’s indifferent tone. The unhappy grumblings of the fae lords was often like the breath of the northern wind—always present, always blustery, but otherwise harmless.
But what if it wasn’t harmless?
Ariel led Nithya past the crowd gathering at the front of the palace to a small door, tucked like an afterthought in a far corner of the courtyard. She rapped on the door. The security panel slid back for a moment, and then the door opened fully.
“Lady Ariel.” A guard bowed his head.
“Not quite state-of-the-art security,” Nithya said critically as she followed Ariel through the palace.
“What for?” Ariel asked. “The Delacroix have no enemies.”
“Really? What just happened then in the courtyard?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Ariel said. “People disagree with him. It happens all the time; he can’t please everyone.”
Perhaps not, but where did one draw the lines between idle conversation, criticism, and treason, and where on that spectrum did Lord Grimaldi’s conversation fall?
Not my business.
The memory of Dace’s homely face superimposed with Varian’s handsome one. Those startling, astonishing eyes filled with power, pain, and loneliness. Deep, aching loneliness.
They called to her.
I suppose I could make it my business. Nithy
a drew a deep breath. “Who was that fae lord standing next to your father?”
“My father was surrounded by fae lords.”
“Tall and very thin. Almost emaciated.”
“Oh, that’s Lord Sauvageau. He’s on the council as well.” Ariel led Nithya down the palace corridors, not hesitating at any turn. “Why?”
“No particular reason.” To change the topic, Nithya asked, “How well do you know your way around here?”
“I’ve been running tame here since I could walk. I visited as often as I could, hanging out with the boys when they’d have me.”
“Boys?”
“Varian and Tristan. They were tutored together.”
“Where are we going?”
“To his office. That’s where he’ll be.”
A door opened, and Varian strode in, accompanied by an exquisitely dressed fae lord. The abundant use of gold thread and a profligate amount of glamour made the stranger gleam. In stark contrast, Varian wore black and an annoyed expression, as if he were both startled and displeased to see her.
Maybe…he’s not Dace.
The other fae lord inclined his head to Ariel. “My lady, it’s a pleasure to meet you again.”
“Lord Conrad.” Ariel’s smile was cool.
“And who is your lovely companion?”
“Lord Conrad, may I present my friend, Nithya.”
“Nithya? No titles to accompany your name? I could give you one.” Conrad reached out to stroke Nithya’s cheek.
She held her ground, but her eyes narrowed.
To her surprise and apparently to his, too, he stopped short of touching her. His hand hung in mid-air like a displaced bird before he lowered it. Conrad laughed softly, a sound that carried the edge of a threat. He threw his words at Varian. “Is she yours?”
“What?”
“The women who spurn me are the ones with their eyes set on a greater prize.”
Nithya arched a quizzical eyebrow. Or maybe they are the ones with taste.
Varian’s dark and unrevealing gaze rested on Nithya for a moment before refocusing on Ariel. “If you are looking for my mother, she’s in the western wing.”
“Actually, we were looking for you,” Ariel said with boldness that made Nithya marvel. “Good speech.”
“Right.” Varian didn’t sound like he believed her, although his sarcasm and bitterness seemed inwardly directed. “Conrad and I have to attend a meeting. Is there anything you need?”
It definitely sounded like a dismissal.
Ariel opened her mouth to speak, but Nithya dug her fingernails into her friend’s upper arm and tugged her down into a hasty curtsey.
The two men strode past, and the door of Varian’s study closed them out.
“Huh…” Ariel sounded confused.
“What?”
“He didn’t acknowledge you particularly. I thought he would.”
“He looked irritated, which I would be too if I found two girls sneaking around my palace, stalking me.”
“We’re not sneaking, and we’re definitely not stalking. We have a right to be here,” Ariel said loftily.
“Oh? Maybe you do, as Lord Grimaldi’s daughter. I don’t belong here.”
Ariel’s breath tore out of her. “He really means to go through with it.”
“The spell to shatter the barrier? I thought he already made that clear.”
Ariel turned to Nithya. “You have no idea what it means to channel magic for a spell as powerful as the Convello, do you?”
“No.”
“For the Convello to have any chance to succeed, Varian has to cast it without limits. The spell will draw on all his magic, and all the magic of those who are in physical contact with him.”
“Until it succeeds.”
Ariel shook her head. “Until the magic runs out. It’s easier for those down the line to stop. They just break the chain. Without physical contact, the spell can no longer draw on their magic, but Varian’s the anchor. There’s no stopping a channeling spell. Once it’s cast, he will die.”
“Even if the spell succeeds?” Nithya’s throat closed, making it hard to breath. Varian dies…?
And for what? To shatter an energy barrier that not even everyone agreed was a problem?
Yet she did not need to ask why. On some level, she understood him. Dace…Varian cared deeply for his people, and he acted on their concerns—not always in the way they wanted, but one could not accuse him of doing nothing.
And he’s going to die.
Ariel stared at the closed door, a ferocious scowl on her face. “I despise him.”
Not Varian, surely. “Conrad?”
“He’s heir apparent, since Varian has no children. He’s vain and capricious, and you’ve just insulted him.”
“Not wanting him to touch me is an insult?” Nithya asked.
“He wants what he wants, and he usually gets what he wants—both fae and witches.”
“Surely he must have some good points.”
“He’s brilliant, scheming, and almost as powerful as Varian. He’s wanted the throne for years, although I don’t think he knows what to do once he gets his hands on it.” Ariel squared her jaw, looking remarkably pugnacious in the process. “That’s what they’re talking about in there right now. The prince is trying to set things on the right path, so that not even his cousin can screw it up too badly when he takes the throne.”
They both turned at the quiet footsteps approaching them.
“Princess Sabine.” Ariel and Nithya dipped into low, respectful curtseys.
“Lady Ariel. Nithya.”
Surprised that the dowager princess had remembered her name, Nithya straightened and studied the older woman who looked tired and strained beneath the sheen of her glamour. “How may we serve you, your highness?”
“Have you seen my son?”
“The prince and Lord Conrad are in the study.”
Distress flickered over the princess’s features. She stared at the closed door, and her shoulders sagged subtly on a silent sigh.
Nithya stared at the princess’s unadorned neck, and in a moment of dazzling clarity, saw the jewel—her design—on Princess Sabine.
It’s for her.
Not for a mistress he was abandoning for a wife, but for his mother—to be given to her on her birthday, her first day as a childless widow. For her tears. For her love. For grace. For life.
Nithya’s eyes stung with tears she could not shed. Varian had trusted her with the creation of his final gift to his mother.
The fire in Nithya’s shop was burning low when she finally returned from the palace, emotionally wrung out by the happenings of that day. The night was still young, however, and she was certain that for Varian, it included many more hours of meetings with the council and his cousin.
Restless, Nithya walked around her store, trailing her fingers over her spotless countertops. Her thoughts lingered on Varian. The appointment of the witches to the council, his decision to let his cousin shadow him—he was setting his affairs in order. It was the responsible thing to do for anyone facing death.
Except that Varian was in the prime of his life. Perfectly healthy—
Almost.
And there was absolutely no reason to die fixing a problem so far in the future that no one else gave a damn about it.
Except him.
Because that’s what vision and passion do to you. It leads you down solitary paths.
Varian had chosen a path more solitary than most. What did one do with a hero who charged ahead in spite of friends and family holding him back, trying to keep him alive? “What do you do with these compulsive do-gooders?” she mused aloud.
You love them, even if you disagree with them.
And you care for the ones they leave behind.
“Idiot,” Nithya muttered, mostly as a balm against the painful ache in her chest. She unlocked a drawer and unfolded a swath of dark velvet. The amazonite, garnet, and sapphire glittered against the
soft, black material.
Carefully, she picked up the amazonite. It was warm and pulsed with the echo of his power. A piece of him, forever preserved in this gem.
She stared at the three precious stones, and then removed the sapphire from the mix. Nithya did not hesitate when she reached for her tanzanite. It embodies the faith and love of my family—my faith and love. She set it down between the amazonite and the garnet.
Her touch lingered on the tanzanite. She was letting go of her most precious possession.
But she did not have to let it go entirely. Her gray atern bracelet flickered as her power surged, infusing the tanzanite. For an instant, it flared into blinding brilliance. Together, the three gems captured the light of the fading fire and shattered it into a thousand pieces, the power of each magnified and amplified in their perfect setting—Varian’s final gift to his mother.
Chapter 8
Varian’s week passed in interminable meetings. He sat at the head of the council table, Conrad directly across him—unfortunately, too far away for him to kick under the table.
As the week wore on, tempers frayed.
Not enough volunteers had come forth.
Even the most generous calculations predicted that the combined magic would not be enough to crack the barrier.
Lord Grimaldi studied the report before flinging it down on the table. “It’s obvious. You must call it off. It cannot be done.”
Tristan scowled at the old fae lord. “If only people would have stepped up to do their duty—”
“It is not their duty to spend their magic and their lives shattering the barrier.” Lord Grimaldi glanced at Varian. “It may be our only duty is to live well, not spend our precious lives on a pointless cause.”
Conrad chuckled and shot Varian an amused glance. “He’s still trying to keep you on the throne. Or is he trying to keep me off the throne?” The look he shot Lord Grimaldi was cool, assessing, and threatening.
“Conrad, enough,” Varian cut in. “How much more magic do we need?”
“This isn’t about making the math add up,” Grimaldi said. “And even if it were, there are variables we know nothing about. How much magic is actually needed to punch through that barrier? All you have is the triangulated best guess—”