by Cara Coe
Seth closed his eyes. War. The very thing Amelie had been trying to avoid.
"How can I help?" he asked sincerely.
Princess Claudia rested both of her hands on the table. He'd seen this before. She often steadied her limbs before broaching sensitive subjects. "We must hasten the marriage. I must have Draeden's full support if this is to work. If I am to salvage my kingdom."
Prince Seth chose his next words carefully. "Princess..." He paused. "Claudia," he revised, addressing her more intimately. "I will do what you ask. But only with the full extent of the truth exposed so that you may be free to make your decision." He summoned his courage with a deep breath, for he did not wish to add to her woes. "I was...and I fear I may always be, deeply in love with your sister. It is my love for Amelie which stirs my desire to aid you and Candor in any way I can. Her devotion to her kingdom and her attachment to you is what I wish to continue for her sake. I will always be honest. Respectful. And from this moment on your needs will come first. I don't know if this is enough to make a fine husband, but it is honestly what I can offer you."
Princess Claudia's expression was strained but her look remained thoughtful. She took up both his hands in hers, clasping them upon the dinner table. "It is not what one would hope for in a love match," she admitted. "But I always knew my marriage would not be so. No, perhaps it's not the best situation I could have imagined for myself in a husband, but Candor could receive no finer a king."
Her dark eyes shone. Her raven hair glinted in the candlelight. For a moment she embodied her sister's features so keenly, Seth's heart reeled. He steadied it with measured breaths. "Perhaps in time..."
Princess Claudia gave a watery smile. "Perhaps."
Chapter 4
Seth
Seth knew Talon had become close to Candor's head cook, Gem. The prince still took his breakfasts there at times as he did back when he first arrived at the palace and Talon had taken to joining them there. His charm not only worked on bedding female conquests but on the old cook as well because she was soon giving him first portions, fine cuts, and extras for later whenever he happened by the kitchens.
What Seth didn't know was why he was being pelted with tonight's dinner rolls so suddenly, interrupting a letter he was drafting in the drawing room. Talon threw another one that bounced off his forehead. That man's aim was infuriating.
"What in heaven's name-" a roll to the mouth cut off Seth's curse.
"You have been an insufferable friend, a lousy prince, and a sorry excuse for a Draeden these last several weeks. Amelie would be ashamed of your state."
Seth's look sharpened at his invocation of her memory but Talon's level glare did not relent. And Seth had no words to respond because he knew Talon was right.
"Grieve her by all means," Talon continued. "We all do. But do not do it so selfishly and do not waste her sacrifice."
"The man speaks honestly," a voice agreed, stepping into the room.
"Kernan," Seth spoke in surprise at the sight of the elder prince. "You are here?"
Talon tossed the last roll in the air in front of him before taking a large bite. "By the way, your brother's here," he said through a mouthful of wheat.
Kernan nodded his head as his tall form filled the room. "I received two letters of the most disturbing nature. One from Princess Claudia urging Draeden's assistance in stabilizing the alliance. And one from your friend here-" Kernan's eyes swung briefly to Talon. "-worried about the state of his prince. Our father can manage quite well without me for a bit. I'm needed here."
Seth stood quickly. He felt like a scolded child and his mouth twisted in annoyance. "I think needed is too strong a word. You traveled all this way for nothing, brother. I am stronger than you think. And though I may have had a difficult time here, I can overcome my grief. Your presence is not needed."
Kernan seated himself across from Seth's writing desk letting affection settle into his expression. "I know you can, Seth," he agreed. "You have a good heart and a sound mind and I've never worried about your ability. But do not minimize your grief to make a stand to me."
Seth sat back down wearily. His body felt aged fifty years in minute’s time as if his speech sucked what stronghold he'd managed to put in place to move past this. He dragged a tired hand over his face. "I shall be all right," he assured Kernan and Talon, but mostly himself.
"I will be staying for the next few months," Kernan announced. "Princess Claudia's letter did not read very well and father sent me here to see what I could manage. I know you are capable," he added quickly in response Seth's glare. "You are the tracker and the fighter and the people love you. But I am the politician. I have spent years navigating diplomacies and it isn't fair that your first test of such things be on foreign land in a pit of throne-hungry snakes."
Seth grimaced. "She did say the situation was unraveling."
Kernan nodded. "Even if...certain components of the treaty are no more..." Kernan tiptoed around the words trying to get his point across without sending another blow to Seth. "Draeden is still going try to assist Candor. We won't abandon her to let the monarchy fall."
"I promised as much to her last night," Seth agreed. "We talked of expediting the wedding."
Kernan nodded. "A solid idea. The royal cabinet will have to face two monarchies in their fight for the throne. Some may relent."
"I will speak to her about this. I'm positive she'll be more than willing to proceed. She still wants me by her side, even though I've been a lousy fiancé."
"No, you've been behaving as a broken man and justifiably so." Kernan placed a rough hand on Seth's shoulder. "Those words come from me as your brother. Now, as the first Prince of Draeden, I have to say that it is time to put the grieving aside and look to the next steps to secure this alliance. You have a fiancé to attend to."
Seth threw Kernan a puzzled look. "What of your own fiancé? She was due at the palace a month ago if I remember correctly. You left her there?"
Kernan smiled broadly. "I didn't have time to write about it with everything that happened. We are no more."
"What?" Talon surged forward quickly. Seth shared the same shock. "What happened?"
"Quite simply, I asked her if she wanted to marry me. Man to woman. Not prince to noble. And truthfully, she didn't. She loves her seaport land and had no wish to move. She was surprised I offered the choice." Kernan's smile turned sad. "Amelie didn't leave Draeden without speaking her mind on our customs. I was wise to heed some of her opinions."
Seth sat dumbfounded. "Well," he said.
Kernan nodded. "Yes. Well. There are no grievances on either side. Except perhaps from Father who would like a grandson sometime in the next decade.” He looked around the room, inspecting his surroundings. “Well, now it seems I have ample time to see where my brother will be living."
"Claudia is better at the tour than I," Seth answered.
"And I will take it. But business first. The princess is preparing for a cabinet meeting. Sir Duncan and I are to help her in her address. Tell no one I’m here yet. I was received quietly so not to cause a stir. Two princes may put the cabinet on the defensive. For now, I will observe and advise, no more."
Chapter 5
Amelie
Accompanying Henna into the villages was one of Amelie’s favorite activities. Donning a simple brown cloak, she blended in easily with the other mages, many who wore cloaks of their own. It felt good to leave the cottage realm. Though Simon had provided a thick sample of forest, complete with a small waterfall and pond, after a couple of months Amelie felt like pushing on the edges. Everything grew smaller.
He tried to vary the surroundings from time to time but even with moonstone, there was only so much he could do, not to mention keeping up with his part to maintain the White Forest which was populated by tens of thousands of mages. But Amelie was used to a wide berth of travel and the confinement of Simon’s small realm, no matter how pleasant, was felt.
Sensing her unease, Henna invit
ed her into the nearest mage village one morning.
"We need supplies," she'd said, fastening a green cloak around her neck. She handed Amelie the brown one. "Come. It'll do you some good to see more of this land."
Amelie had no argument. She rode with Henna on the main road for a while until she felt the telltale sign of leaving Simon’s realm, the brush of magic on the back of her neck. She glanced over at Henna.
"What will happen if I'm spotted?" she asked.
"You won't be. Many mages wear these cloaks in the villages. Some powers are physically displayed on the body or do better submerged by cloth. You'll see them everywhere."
"But what of the Royal Readers?"
"They attend births. There's not enough of them to continuously check every mage in all the villages. Most villages do have injury seekers, though. A very common secondary power. They can feel old pains, kind of like remnant healers. A nuisance power to have in the past but one the queen has found use for. They report any abdomen pains from women. This is how they discover secret births."
“Will they discover your secret birth?”
Henna’s smile was thin. “No, dearest. I’m an old woman with many seasons to erase what they otherwise would have detected. They wouldn’t even bother expending the energy to read an old crone like me. I did have to hide for years after having my son for his safety and my own. And I spent my time in service at the Draeden palace. But I’ve been able to come back for short periods of time, to the outer villages. No one knows this wrinkled face now.”
Amelie mulled over this bit of information as they rode. The queen has had three centuries to perfect her rule. It appeared she had every scenario accounted for. Every loose end tied up. Amelie feared the children at the cottage would never be able to live peacefully among their people. Was Henna creating more mages like Rankor? Would they fill with the same bitterness he'd harbored, being forced from their home simply because of who they were? But the alternative was unthinkable.
Amelie shuddered when she thought of the horrors Crispin had witnessed. Given the choice, she's certain she would have made the same decisions as Henna.
The village was much like the ones found in the outside realm. Cobblestoned paths, smells of sausages and spices, fountains spraying mists, and carts upon carts of wares were lining the streets in an open market rich with fabrics, metals, trinkets, and potions. Only these potions were more than the bit of novelty fluff sold at the markets she was accustomed to. These were more dully colored. No bright greens and purples to dazzle buyers where effectiveness could not. No, these were straightforward, magical vials of liquid with the promises they carried breathed into them through practiced mage spells.
When Amelie sniffed one, a strong metallic odor filled her nose and made her eyes water.
"To cure the heartsick," an old woman said, turning briefly to her while she finished a sale with another customer. The pang Amelie felt at her words was sharp and the old woman narrowed her eyes in response. "Yours runs deep. You will need double."
Henna removed the vial from Amelie's hands and firmly pulled her away. "A temporary relief, dear," she clucked. "And not appropriate for curing the kind of broken heart you have for him."
"What is appropriate?" Amelie demanded wanting to go back and empty her purse in the old woman's coffers. The pangs would not release her. His face floated in her mind.
"Time," Henna answered gently. "And even that is not a guarantee. He carries part of your heart now. You can't have it back.”
She said nothing more and Amelie was glad, preferring to soothe her ache silently. At first, she hovered near Henna, glancing frequently at the other mages as they milled through the alleys.
“Calm yourself,” Henna whispered as she moved away from a cart of fabrics. She needed spools of wool so Serena could fashion new pants for the children. “No one will detect anything out of the ordinary unless you give them something to notice.”
Amelie forced her heart to slow and took more time looking at her surroundings. As she allowed more than the furtive glance, she began to relax. No one looked her way. They behaved much like the citizens of Candor save for a few floating objects and one mage who used a bolt from his hands to roast ears of corn. This amount of power harnessed and used so casually was a wonderment. Amelie didn’t know if she’d ever get used to these sights. She tried not to gape like an outsider. Inside, she wished for such an active power that she could put on display.
She rubbed the amber chain around her neck. Henna had found the tamest variety of amber and had woven it sparingly through silver to create a pretty rope that was only a slight pain on her collarbone. She’d grown accustomed to the constant burn but sometimes when she was thinking about her powers, the heat flared and bothered her skin.
After her first outing to the village, Amelie soon began to crave market day. The only other times she ever left the cottage was to assist Henna with a birth or check on some of her deliveries to make sure mother and child were doing well. She’d only been to two births and both left her weak and shaking with fever. At the market, she simply trailed Henna around the carts and watched.
Many of the mages looked just like any human would but a few were striking. There was one with a shock of blue hair running the length of her blonde locks in a streak behind her left ear. From her fingers, crystals of ice formed. She dropped them in brown mugs. The cart sold iced cider. It was one of Amelie’s favorite stops. The liquid was sweet and the sensation of cold on her tongue was still unexpected even though she bought one each time she visited.
The commotion came one day as Henna was inspecting a selection of vegetables they didn’t grow in the garden at the cottage. Several people ran by in the direction of the main fountain, a large angel with water pouring out of her hands. Amelie craned her neck but Henna tapped her arm.
“Listen, but do not draw attention to yourself,” she instructed.
“It would draw attention if we ignored it,” Amelie countered to which Henna had no reply. The old woman stepped away from the cart and rose on her feet to get a better look. “Perhaps,” she murmured.
“He’s hurt!” a shout came. “Help me get if off!”
A need inside Amelie snapped. The pain in her chest tore through her at the same time as the villagers cries for help rang out. She stumbled, grabbing at the phantom pain near her heart. She felt it keenly, even through the amber chain. The injury was serious. He would not survive the hour. Through a blinding white haze of hurt, she stumbled through the crowd, elbowing and jostling her way to the fountain.
Sloughing off angry curses and pushes back, she finally reached the source of the pain. She reached out blindly, her fingertips finding the chest. Her eyes cleared a bit and she looked down. A gentleman looked back at her with wide, frightened eyes. He was streaked with gray in his hair and beard, but he had many years left in him. A wheel was pressed onto his upper torso. The balance of a large cart of metal was pushing its weight behind it, crushing him.
Amelie could see where the axle snapped. The four men struggling with the load had stopped in their efforts to look at her.
“Remove the cart,” she ordered impatiently, barking at the men who’d stopped. They instantly resumed and with a grunt, finally lifted it off him.
Amelie removed her necklace and tossed it aside. The intensity of the pain was an instant shock and her scream pierced the ears of everyone around her. She couldn’t breathe. She felt as if she’d die that instant. Her heart crushed in on itself, making it hard to move her limbs. The moonstone. It was magnifying everything, crippling her with pain.
She placed her hands on the man’s chest. Rankor’s warning rang through her about mortal wounds but she pressed on. Her magic would pull away if it proved futile. She prayed to the angels that the moonstone she took from the last birth still coursed in her body and would restore this man. Through clenched teeth she pushed on his chest. They cried in unison, their sounds a biting pain to anyone within earshot.
A
melie felt some resistance. Her magic began to pull away. It was too much. But her eyes found his and she could not bring herself to look away. Her palms pressed harder.
“Help me. Fight your way back,” she grunted, pushing.
His face took on renewed strength and hope. Amelie felt the turn. Her heart and lungs were barraged with cramps as she felt his breathing smooth over.
Spread it around, she told herself. Take the pain everywhere. She moved the cramps to her arms, her thighs, her back. She felt the sharp effect lessen as the aches were distributed around her body. She grew hot. Sweat pooled beneath her arms. She finally rocked back off the gentleman and he sat up slowly and unsure.
“Are you all right?” Amelie asked breathlessly.
The gentleman looked at her with surprise. “I’ve never witnessed anything like that before. I was as good as dead. I felt it.”
Amelie glanced around, just noticing the crowd surrounding them. Dozens of faces mirrored the shock of the gentleman’s face. All except one. Henna’s was the one among them, etched in quiet anger.
Amelie smiled thinly. “You will be fine now.” And then she collapsed.
Chapter 6
Amelie
The voices were the first sensations to cut through the darkness. Henna's was recognizable even though it was clipped and hushed. The other, a male's, tried to match Henna's volume but surprise and curiosity kept elevating it.
"But who is she? I've never seen a healing power as strong as hers. Surely, she's from the castle."
"She is not," Henna's hiss brought the man's voice down.
"Well, then from where? The queen does not ignore power like that."
Amelie's eyes fluttered open. She blinked against the blurriness. Her skin was on fire and sweat pooled beneath her, making the bedding damp. She rolled her head to the side to get a better look at the pair. The man was leaning one hand on a fireplace with an intent expression aimed at Henna. Henna was packing their sack on a small table in the middle of the room. From the sour taste in her mouth, Amelie guessed she'd poured some sort of healing liquid into her while she was half lucid.