by Jade Kerrion
Her smile widened. “We were so worried. You were out for so long.”
He swallowed painfully. His throat felt as dry as sandpaper. He gathered his focus and struggled for a few more words. “What happened...Nithya?”
Sabine’s smile, already delighted, warmed until it was radiant. “Nithya comes every evening. She keeps watch over you while I rest. She’ll be here in a few hours, after she closes her shop for the day. What else do you remember?”
“The Convello…then—nothing.”
“You don’t remember anything?” Sabine slid an arm around his waist, supporting him as he sat up slowly.
The blankets fell to his waist. He stared at his scar-laced chest—new skin stretched tightly over red, puckered flesh. His right knee, immobilized by heavy bandages, pulsed with vicious pain. His vision wavered in and out of focus. Only then did he notice the slight pressure over his left eye. His trembling fingers traced a scar from forehead to chin, part of it concealed beneath a heavy bandage where his eye had been.
“The physicians are certain you’ll walk again, although you may limp for the rest of your life. The other scars will fade, and your eye…” Sabine’s voice quavered. “You can conceal that injury with glamour.”
Dread clenched his heart, cold and numbing, the kind that made him want to crawl inside of himself to fill the screaming emptiness within. Varian had never considered himself vain, but in that instant, he realized he had taken his natural looks for granted. Now that it was all gone—now that he was a shattered caricature of his former self—what was left?
He was not sure.
His words crept out, slow and halting, as if speaking them aloud made them real. “Why am I so weak?”
Sabine did not answer his question. Instead, she directed his gaze to the window. “Look.”
Beyond the city walls, a wide expanse of green fields spread to the edge of the cliffs. The ocean glistened, deep blue in the sun.
Color. Magic had returned to La Condamine. His mind reeled and struggled to find the words. “It worked.”
“Yes, the Convello worked. The people joined their magic with yours. There’s a large hole in the barrier, right over La Condamine. The magic of the universe breathes down on us. The seasons have returned.” She pointed out the window. “That is what summer looks like, Varian.”
“Summer?”
“You slept through spring.”
He stared at her. “What?”
“You cast the spell four months ago.” Sabine’s voice cracked. “Your magic is gone, Varian.”
He stared down at his dull gray atern bracelet. Yes, he had known that it was gone; that power within him, he had spent it all. “How I am still alive?”
“Nithya shattered the pendant you gave me. The piece of yourself that you placed in the amazonite is now back in you.” She gave him an arch look. “And you owe me another birthday gift.”
“So, it’s really over?”
“Yes. The other factions have sent their diplomats. They want to know what you did, and how they can make it happen in their factions, too. I don’t know how many of them can stomach the price, but there is a solution to the eternal winter.”
“And Tristan?”
“Conrad had him and his mercenaries imprisoned to await your judgement. Tristan killed himself while in prison.” She slid her hand over his. “What he did to you—”
His body would always bear the scars, and in the quiet dark, the nightmares might wake him, but for a single, precious moment, Varian felt strong enough to shake away the memories. “It’s in the past.”
“When you think you’re ready, you should try to eat and drink something. The physicians have been sustaining you with magic for four months. I’m sure the council will be delighted to hear of your recovery. They’ve been running things in your absence. Conrad has returned to his holdings in the north. He said you could send for him if you needed him.”
“And Grimaldi?”
“I’ll send for him right away.”
“I…” Shame warmed his cheeks. “I’ll need help dressing.”
Sabine remained silent for a moment. She laid her hand gently over his.
Varian flinched. It demanded every shred of willpower not to pull away from kindness that scalded like salt poured into a wound.
Sabine’s voice remained measured, as if she had not sensed his emotional and physical recoil. “I’ll send your valet in to you.”
Apparently, his mother had briefed his valet on Varian’s fragile state. The valet was calmly professional and not overly solicitous. The emotional distance allowed Varian to salvage what little he could of his pride.
His valet then helped him out to the balcony, where servants bustled, laying a simple meal on the table.
Varian’s attention, however, remained fixed on the view. He had never imagined that sunlight, glistening off the ocean, could ignite that many shades of blue.
His valet cleared his throat softly. “Your highness, Lord Grimaldi has arrived.”
Varian turned slowly to face his father’s trusted friend. “My Lord.”
“Your highness.” The old fae smiled. “Are you sure you should be up and about?”
“I’ve been down and out for too long.” Varian gestured to the table and chairs on the patio. “Will you join me? I’m told that I cannot have wine until my stomach is stronger, but you should feel free—”
“Tea is perfectly wonderful,” Grimaldi said with supreme courtesy.
The servants filled the porcelain cups with tea and then stepped out of sight
Varian reached for a slice of freshly baked bread. “My mother said that the people of La Condamine joined in the casting of the spell. Why would they?”
“The Convello was the spell of the century, Varian. You cast it, but then you missed all the action,” Grimaldi said. “It was amazing—a golden pool of light rippling against the barrier—but it couldn’t break through, not until Nithya threw her magic in with yours.”
“She did?”
“She kissed you as you lost consciousness. She poured everything of herself into you. I don’t think she did it to break the barrier; she probably only wanted to keep you alive, but the barrier cracked.”
Varian frowned. “What do you mean?”
“A black, jagged crack appeared, right in the heart of that golden pool of magical energy. That’s when we all knew it could happen—that the barrier could come down, if there were more of us. They came—everyone in the courtyard came forward. Ariel was the first.” His pride in his daughter was evident in his smile. “She channeled the people’s energy into Nithya, who gave it to you. Everyone gave a little—enough to notice, but not enough to hurt. No one died, just as you promised.” Grimaldi’s throat worked visibly as he swallowed. “I should have trusted you. The council should have believed in you. Our lack of faith drove you to turn to Tristan, and he betrayed you. He betrayed La Condamine.”
“I choose my friends, Grimaldi. The fault is no one’s but mine. Tristan and I were closer than brothers.” Varian turned his face away. “We could have been brothers, if he had chosen a different path.”
“In some, hate is stronger than love.”
And in others…? Varian’s thoughts reeled from the enormity of Nithya’s actions. She had tried to save him from Tristan, stayed beside him through his darkest hours, and then she had poured her magic into him to save his life.
He had cast the spell, but she had snatched it out of certain defeat. Did the people of La Condamine know how much they owed her?
Varian was waiting for Nithya when she arrived that evening. He caught her exotic spice fragrance several moments before she knocked on his door. Had she been standing at the door, watching him silently?
What did she see?
He was not sure what he saw when he looked at himself in the mirror.
He was prince of La Condamine—a prince without magic, in a land now bursting with it. What kind of claim did he now have to the throne, other
than birthright?
Nothing.
Varian had nothing with which to fill the hollow ache in his chest. He had never thought he would survive the Convello. He had not planned for the day after.
His atern bracelet lay cool and gray against his skin. What was a fae without magic? How could he rule La Condamine?
“Lonely thoughts are darker on quiet nights,” Nithya’s voice broke through his musings.
He glanced over his shoulder and held out his hand to her. She was lovelier than his dreams of her, but she wore an uncertain smile.
Taking his hand, she sat beside him, their reunion as casual as if they had spoken to each other hours earlier. She handed him a thin muslin bag filled with dried herbs and flowers. “My mother swears by it. She says sleeping with it under your pillow helps clear the airways and makes it easier to breathe.”
“And what do you say?” he asked.
She shrugged. “It makes the pillowcase smell good.”
“Thank you. I’ll try it.”
“You should be resting. The healers aren’t happy you’re already moving around.”
He gestured to the chair. “Do I look like I’m moving around? I spoke to Grimaldi today. He said that before the beam of magic broke through, the barrier cracked—literally—a big, black, jagged crack.”
“Really? How interesting,” Nithya said in a suspiciously insipid tone.
“He said that seeing the crack spurred the people into action. They finally believed it could actually happen.”
“How wonderful.”
It should not have been possible, but her eyes became even more vacuous.
He frowned. “The barrier wouldn’t actually have cracked. It’s an energy barrier. It gives way, hollowing out like sand pouring through a funnel.”
“How was I supposed to know? You used words like cracking and shattering without actually defining them.”
“It was an illusion, wasn’t it, Nithya? You drew that crack in the sky.”
“Me?” She touched her chest and offered him her best expression of wide-eyed innocence.
Varian’s eyes narrowed.
She shrugged off his incredulous stare. “I might have embellished it a little.”
“A little?”
“They needed to believe, and in the end, their faith in you broke through the barrier.”
“No,” he murmured. “Your illusion broke through the barrier of their unbelief. You did it.” He leaned forward and found her lips as sweetly welcoming as he had remembered.
“It was your sacrifice, Varian,” she murmured into their shared breath. “You spilled out your magic and your life to save your people.”
“We did it, together.” Varian inhaled deeply, the warm night air filling his lungs, the nearness of her filling his soul. “I don’t know what the future holds for a fae prince without magic, but I know I don’t want to face it without you.”
Nithya stood abruptly, the motion drawing her hand out of his. She walked along the balcony, away from him.
He watched her, the ache deepening in his chest. “I love you, Nithya,” he spoke the words, wondering if they were too late to make a difference.
“I know,” she said quietly. “I suspected it when you gave my family to me and told me to be happy. I knew it when you let go of your dream instead of bending my will to yours. I was certain of it when you would have sacrificed all your pride and your magic so that I could keep my life.” She turned to face him, her green eyes sparkling with tears. “How do I match that?”
“You already have.” He hobbled up to her and took her cold hands in his. “What life I have in me came from you. Each day is your gift to me. Let me spend them with you.” He breathed kisses on her knuckles, one at a time. “Let me sleep beside you every night, wake beside you every morning, and shower you with gifts from the second most-expensive jeweler in town.”
Nithya’s silvery laughter rang out, and she flung her arms around his neck. “Only if I get to design them.” She ran her fingers through his dark hair. “So, no more Dace? No more glamour?”
“Can’t afford it now,” he said wryly.
“I’ve always preferred you this way, anyway.”
Varian flinched and looked away, only belatedly realizing that he had turned the scarred side of his face toward her. He drew a shaky breath, but she wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and gently turned his face to her. “I have one more gift for you.” From her pocket, she took out a black eye patch, adorned with small diamonds in the shape of a skull and crossbones.
Varian stared at it. His burst of laughter caught him by surprise and made his ribs ache. “A pirate’s eyepatch?”
Nithya smiled. “It’s what you wanted to be, right?”
“Perhaps now I’ll have a chance,” he murmured.
“To be a pirate?” Her voice was bland, as if she were discussing the weather. “What about La Condamine?”
“I was never meant to rule.” Varian turned the eyepatch over in his hand. The truth hurt. “My father wanted me to destroy the barrier for his La Condamine. And now, I have…”
Nothing.
He swallowed the painful truth. “I wasn’t even the firstborn.” He glanced down at his gray bracelet. “Without magic, what is my right to rule?”
“Do you think magic gives you that right?”
“In Isa Fae, yes, because fae can be absurdly trivial about things like that, as you’ve pointed out many times.”
“And do you think your magic broke the barrier?” Nithya asked, her voice pitched low. “It was your willingness to spend it all that broke the barrier between you and your people. They broke Isa Fae’s magical barrier for you.”
He frowned. “It’s not that simple.”
“Most things aren’t that complicated.”
“My people deserve a good prince.”
“I think we can all agree on that point. If you’re concerned about your lack of magic, I have plenty to share.”
“It’s yours, not mine.”
Her eyes widened. “You’ve already channeled magic from everyone in the city. Why would you turn down my magic now?”
Because I want your love, not your magic. He swallowed through the sharp ache in his chest. “It’s…not mine.”
“Of course.” Her eyes gentled. “You’re a prince, not a thief. You would take magic to save your realm, but not to save yourself.” Nithya sighed. “You certainly don’t make things easy for those who want to help you. Do you feel up to having some visitors?” She gently peeled off the bandage over his eye and replaced it with the eyepatch.
“How bad is it?”
“You look deliciously roguish—a true pirate prince. It’s a good thing you’ve told me you love me, or I’d be worried about the competition.”
“You know that’s not what I meant. What does it look like under the patch?”
“Not nearly as bad as you imagine. Would you like a mirror?”
He braced himself. Even so, his voice shook. “Yes.”
Nithya brought him a mirror. With unsteady hands, he traced the scar that slashed across his now-empty eye socket. His eyelids were sewn shut. At least he did not have to look into the hole in his face. “I won’t be winning any beauty competitions.”
She stroked his hair. “You were never vain. Don’t start now.”
“Wanting to look normal isn’t the same thing as being vain.”
“Good, you’re arguing. It’s the first step on the path to recovery.” At the knock on the door, she arched an eyebrow as she dangled the eyepatch from the crook of her finger.
He nodded, and she slipped the leather band over his head, securing the patch over his eye. She walked to the door and let his visitor into the room.
Varian felt a smile stretch the unused muscles in his cheeks. “Louis.”
“Your highness.” Louis wore a broad grin. “Glad to see you moving.”
“You’re the only one,” Varian said. “Everyone else thinks I need to be res
ting. Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Rescuing my palace guards and retainers.”
Louis shrugged gracefully. “It seemed the right thing to do. We thought it would matter to you.”
“It did, and I’m grateful.”
Nithya smiled. “We thought you might like to see the hole in the barrier.”
“At night?”
“The night sky, seen through the hole, is a deeper, richer black, like soft velvet. The stars are so bright; they could pierce your heart.”
Louis nodded. “Will you allow me to assist you, your highness?”
Varian’s jaw tightened. He could barely stand unassisted. His greatest achievement that day had been taking three steps without falling. As much as it galled him, he needed help—lots of it. He drew a deep breath and hoped he did not sound querulous. “Yes, and thank you.”
Louis’s support allowed Varian to cross the hallway, toward the balcony that overlooked the outer courtyard. Varian frowned at the low buzz of noise—hushed voices blending into a blur.
Nithya squeezed his hand gently. “They came when they heard the good news. Your mother didn’t think we could send them away without a glimpse of you.”
“Who came?”
“Your people.”
The people of La Condamine filled the courtyard, their numbers so great that they spilled into the wide boulevards leading to the palace. They crowded into nearby buildings and packed onto narrow balconies, each person craning for a glimpse of the palace.
An immediate silence fell over the crowd as Varian stepped onto the balcony, supported on either side by Louis and Nithya.
He stared out at the multitude, a far larger gathering than had turned up for his father’s funeral or his coronation. It seemed as if all of La Condamine gathered on the streets around the palace.
A small voice in the crowd shouted, “Hail, Varian!” Within seconds, it swelled into a thunderous chant and roaring applause. Window frames trembled. Even the ground seemed to vibrate.
He stared at them, shaken. Didn’t they know he had nothing left to give?
No magic. No power.
No right to lead and govern a faction of magic users.
Nithya murmured in his ear, “If La Condamine were a democracy, it would appear that you’ve won the people’s vote.”