by Sarah Dalton
“Yes it was. It was amazing.”
It comes flooding back to me. Everything. First, I remember that my father is dead, and the grief is a tidal wave that would have knocked me from my feet had I not already been on the floor. Then I remember the curse. The sleeping bodies. I left them in Beardsley’s office. Why are they here?
I must have gone back in time to the moment when Ellen ignited the craft within the Red Palace using my blood. No, I think. This isn’t fair. I helped them all and none of them will know. It has all been erased, all the hard work I put in. The fight with the Nix...
Nausea rises from the pit of my stomach. The teeth on my arm. No, no… no! The throbbing in my hand. I can’t bear to look at my right arm. What if I really have lost my hand? What if… no, I can’t think. I let out a pathetic whimper.
The crowd begins to shift, and a woman in a wide skirt steps on my forearm. The pain is a sharp stab of excruciating pain. I let out a strangled cry and the woman gasps. She stumbles and loses her balance, falling on top of me with a heavy thud. The pain shoots up and down my arm, worse than anything I have ever felt before. It’s too much to bear. Dots drift before my eyes and I begin to lose consciousness. There is shuffling, the weight disappears, and I see boots rushing towards me.
“Mae? What…? For the love of the Gods, your hand. Someone call a healer!”
*
When I wake, the lights are bright and my head is spinning.
“How did I get here?” I mumble.
There is the rustle of clothing and the scrape of a moving chair.
“Mae, I’m here. I’m so glad you’re awake.” It’s Cas’s voice. His silver eyes come into view, large and full of worry.
“What happened?” I ask.
“We don’t know. After the ritual we found you collapsed on the floor of the castle. It seems you cut your hand on the way down.” He pauses, and his eyes drift from mine.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I’m afraid I have some bad news. There was an infection in the cut which threatened to spread. The healer had to remove your hand. I’m sorry, Mae, I really am.”
“My hand? But…” Then it comes to me and my stomach lurches. “The Nix, it was the Nix.”
“No, Mae, you are confused. You’re not in the Waerg Woods anymore. It was just a cut. It was horrible luck, Mae, I’m so sorry. But I’ll be here for you. I’ll help you, whatever you need. Day or night. I swear… I will.” His voice is choked, full of emotion. Raw.
I understand what he is saying, but deep down I know it was the Nix. I remember it burning to death on the ground. I reached out and touched it, said the last prayer… it bit me.
“You should rest.”
I stare down at the stump of my hand and the enormity of what has happened hits me hard in the chest. My right hand. My strongest hand.
I may not be a trained swordsman or an archer, but I need my hand. Will I ever be able to climb a tree, or ride Anta, or fight those who wish me harm? I hate to rely on my craft skills. I want to be competent without them as well as with them. I want to be more than a weak girl with some magical powers. Now it is as though some of my independence has been wrenched from me, especially after everything I did to achieve it.
“I’m a cripple,” I say.
“No, you’re not. I’m going to make sure you get the best care. You can cope without one hand. You’re strong,” Cas says. His eyes are bright and glassy. Dewy.
“Strong of heart, stomach, and mind.” I laugh. “Maybe I can grow a new one.”
Cas frowns. “This has been a shock for you. A deep shock. I think you are a little delirious.”
“Maybe,” I reply.
Cas sits with me as the healer comes to see me to tell me the grave consequences of the infection in my hand: how he had been unable to save it, but had tried everything. According to him, he has never seen such an aggressive infection and would have presumed that it was a poison if he didn’t know any better. Of course, I know the truth. I knew that I could be hurt in the visions. The Nix must have rigged it that way to try and stop me from breaking the curse. Of course, I decided to try and break the curse anyway, and it took my hand as punishment.
The only comfort I take from all this is the knowledge that my injury to the Nix was real, too. It was real enough to break the curse, so surely it was real enough to kill the Nix once and for all. I just wish I had physical proof. Perhaps if its body is still in the palace somehow. No, it can’t be. Cas would have told me.
The visions seem insignificant now, yet they were all-encompassing when I fought them. Cas will never know our touching moment in the tunnels, clinging together, desperate and in love. The queen does not know that I solved her problem with Lyndon. Ellen doesn’t know how I discovered her secret and helped her face up to her father. None of them know what I did for them, and they never will.
The voice of the healer drones on. Cas’s sympathetic touches and words of encouragement are little more than background, all I can feel, all I can taste, is the bitter disappointment that I am once again the one person who loses.
That resentment bubbles up until I laugh. It’s a giggle that I can’t control, and not the kind of giggle that is infectious and makes other people feel good. The healer gives me a sympathetic smile. Cas flashes me an expression laced with sadness. I can’t stop laughing.
“I have one hand,” I say.
Chapter Twenty-One – The Destiny
In the afternoon, the queen comes to visit me. Her eyes fill with tears when she sees the extent of my injuries, but she is as beautiful as ever, her blonde hair rippling to her waist. She wears it down, even though most of the ladies in court seem to wear theirs in braids wound elaborately around their heads. It gives her an aura of simplicity.
“Casimir and Ellen’s wedding is coming up soon,” she tells me, after composing herself. “I hope you are better by then.”
I force a smile. With everything else going on, I had forgotten about the wedding. “Yes, I hope so too,” I lie.
The queen examines me closely, as though attempting to suss out my true feelings.
“You know, my son sat with you when you were unconscious. He hardly shifted from your side. He missed meals, he missed his teachings. The king was furious with him, and usually Casimir dares not defy his father.”
“He is a good friend,” I say with a gulp.
The queen takes my only hand and squeezes it. “Mae, is there anything you want to tell me? About Casimir? Or Ellen, perhaps?”
I shake my head but do not speak, worrying that my voice will betray me.
She lets out a sigh. “I cannot help you unless you confide in me.”
“There is something,” I admit.
“What is it?”
I glance in both directions, checking we are alone. “I think the king is preparing for a war with the Haedalands.”
“What makes you say that?”
“I… I can’t say. Only that I have come across information as I’ve been exploring the castle.”
“Mae, you could get yourself killed snooping around like that.”
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I never meant to—“
She flicks her wrist. “Do not apologise, only tell me everything you know.”
I tell her that I overheard the King’s plans regarding the Ember Stone and how he has a secret laboratory. I have to invent explanations for the discovery of these facts, overhearing conversations with Beardsley is one way. The truth is too bizarre, and I worry she will not believe me if I begin to talk about the Nix and the fear visions.
The queen pales as I tell her the story. She worries the sleeve of her dress and stares at a spot above me on the wall. Her brow furrows as she lets everything sink in.
“This is terrible news. You must not speak a word of this to anyone, especially not Cas. He can’t know of this. He is already vulnerable as the heir apparent.” She shakes her head. “My husband is cons
umed by power. If he does want to live forever, there is no need for an heir. Oh, this is awful. Thank you for coming to me. I must rally my supporters. I must think of getting my family out of Cyne.”
“Can you find enough support to take the throne?”
She chews on her lip thoughtfully. The queen’s beauty is only slightly marred by lines around her eyes, lines that suggest experience and troubles. She has lived within the Red Palace for years, the centre of all kinds of political games. I hope she is wise enough to play the game well. I hope for all our sakes.
“There are dukes in Cyne, as well as some rich nobility in the Haedalands.” Her focus comes back to me. “But you are just a child, Mae. You have delivered the news to me, and now you must concentrate all your efforts on healing. Fear not, I will find a solution.”
“You must stop him from finding the Ember Stone. I believe it exists, but I don’t believe it can be created from the palace. Once he realises, he will go looking for it, and you cannot let him find it, or we’re all doomed.”
She strokes my cheek. “I know.”
My shoulders feel lighter when Cas visits after his mother. He smuggles scones and a pot of cream from the kitchen. We sit dunking the scones and licking the cream from our fingers. After his assurances that Anta is safe and well in the palace stables, and that no, I don’t need to get out of bed and visit him, Cas tells me bad jokes to cheer me up.
“At least Beardsley has a spring in his step,” Cas says. “The craft magic has the palace singing and dancing again.” He bursts out laughing at my expression. “Not literally, Mae. Honestly!”
I blush. “I didn’t really think—“
“Of course not,” Cas says, laden with sarcasm.
“Are you looking forward to your wedding?” I ask. “How are the preparations going?”
His expression darkens and he stares down at his hands. “It goes well. I have a fitting for my jacket tomorrow. It’s very ornate. It belonged to my Grandfather when he was a boy.”
The word “boy” hits me hard. Sometimes I forget how young we are to be facing marriage and death. Back in Halts-Walden most people married between the ages of nineteen and twenty-five. If you hadn’t taken a spouse by the time you were twenty-five you were considered strange.
“The palace is very busy. Father has guests to entertain for a change. Even the city is bustling, or so they tell me, I have hardly set foot out of the castle recently.” His voice has changed in tone from when he told me silly jokes. It remains low, monotonous. Tired.
“You don’t sound excited any more. What has changed?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I suppose the reality is setting in.”
“And what about Ellen? Do you know her yet? I mean, are you becoming… friends?”
“Yes,” he says. “We talk.”
“And?”
“Well, it turns out that we don’t have all that much to talk about. Actually, most of the time we end up talking about you.”
“You do?”
“Yes, I suppose you’re more interesting. Well, I mean, you’re always getting yourself in trouble.”
“Yes, that is true.” I drop my scone into the cream pot while attempting to use my left hand. “Damn, I suppose it will take time to become accustomed to… this.”
“Soon your left hand will be as strong as your right was.”
“I hope so. Otherwise it’s going to take me a long time to eat, and I don’t like cold food.”
We both burst into laughter and it feels good to be with my best friend again.
“Tell me more about Ellen,” I say.
“She’s bright, and can be quite funny.”
“But?”
He avoids my eyes and dunks his scone. “Nothing. There is no but. Ellen is a great girl. She’s beautiful and a good person.” His expression clouds and I feel as though I have probed too far.
We change the subject shortly after that, but I am left with the feeling that Cas is holding something back concerning his forthcoming nuptials. It’s natural to be nervous, I would be too, even if it was someone I really loved. But there is something more. What I’m not sure is whether it is my own wishful thinking that sees this change, or whether it is truly there.
*
That night, Avery comes to me in my dreams.
She is as ethereal as before. Her body is as dark as night and fluid as milk. She wears her nakedness with such complete comfort that it puts me at ease. I’ve only ever seen myself naked, and not fully. I’ve seen glimpses in the tiny shard of glass we used in the hut at Halts-Walden. I once took it to the river with me out of curiosity. What I saw was surprising, and for some reason it made me feel shameful. Avery does not make me feel like that.
She feels maternal and beautiful, like the mother I never had. Femininity seeps from her in the same way it does from Ellen. I’m almost jealous, because part of me has always wanted to exude the kind of “girliness” that turns a boy’s head, but I could never be jealous of Avery.
“You said that I would lose things in this life. I never imagined that it would include my hand.”
Her expression is neutral and I appreciate the lack of pity.
“It isn’t over yet, Mae Waylander. This world will throw even more at you. At times I am afraid of whether you will be able to cope, but the strength is there, beneath the surface.” She places a hand on my chest.
“Is all this for a reason?” I ask.
“Oh yes,” she says. “But it is not written, and it is not definite. I see many aspects of your destiny, but it very much depends on your own choices. Whatever the outcome, I know you will be surprised.”
“I don’t like surprises.”
She smiles. “Does anyone?”
“Am I being controlled by Gods? Because if so, you can tell them to leave me alone.”
She shakes her head. “No, not Gods, Ancestors. Your Ancestors are watching and they are here for you if you need them.”
“The Aelfen?” I ask.
“Yes,” she replies.
Tears spring from my eyes. “What do they want from me? Why are they doing this to me?”
“I can’t tell you, little one. Only know that your strength will help you persevere, even when you are tested.”
“How many times am I going to be tested?”
She lets out a laugh that is both beautiful and sad at the same time. “More times than I can count. Some will affect you more than others. All those times will help you become the person you need to be, if you are willing to let it.”
I mull over her words. They don’t make sense. Perhaps because I have endured too many false images during my torture from the Nix, I now struggle to understand what is real and what is fake.
“Are you another vision?”
“No,” she replies. “I’m real. But it is easier for me to come in your dreams. I am no longer alive, craft-born. But my soul lives on, and my soul is here to help you.”
“Am I going to die?” I ask.
She sits on the bed next to me. “One day, yes. We all die.”
I can’t help feeling that she has avoided my question. “Why do I need to be someone else? What’s wrong with what I am now?”
Avery leans forward and strokes my face. “There is nothing wrong with you at all, Mae. Not at all. You’re just not ready, that’s all. And the woman you become. Oh my, she is quite amazing.”
“It’s all so confusing. I wish there was a clear path for me to walk. I wish there was a sign to follow or… or something.”
“This world is full of complexities, little craft-born. The only thing you can control is yourself. In the chaos around you, you are the constant. Believe in you.”
She pats me on the pocket of my nightgown. Her smile is warm and friendly, and edged with a little twinkle in her eye as though she knows something I do not. And after she pats me on the chest, she is gone.
I touch the pocket of my nightgown an
d feel a lump. When I reach inside, I find the king’s journal tucked away in there. It seems like a strange thing to give to me, but I replace it and decide that it must be of some great importance. But it is too dangerous to read the journal in this place. Anyone could walk in at any moment.
I lean back against my pillow and try to clear my mind. I’m not sure I will ever be the same again after what I have been through with the Nix. The beast showed me the worst horrors imaginable in those visions, from the crippling fear of death, to the gruesome child murder, to large mechanic killing creatures. Yet, I have a suspicion that I am going to learn there is even worse in the world.
Destiny. It is, by definition, inescapable. I can either embrace it, or run from it. The Mae of Halts-Walden, the one who never washed her face or wore a dress, the girl with the childish sense of humour and mischievous side, she would run away. She has already tried to run away from her craft-born powers. But this new Mae, grieving, brave, strong, and damaged, but with a new view of the world and what she can achieve. She wants to stand up and fight, even if she is physically weaker than she has ever been before.
I should be consumed with anger for what has happened to me. Yet, somehow it has faded. Mastering fire has brought me some peace, made me realise that I can control my anger, and my thirst for revenge.
I look down at the stump where my hand should be. “I am the constant,” I say. “I will survive. I will become stronger. I will reach my destiny.”
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