by Lindsey Duga
I stared in disbelief at Kellian’s unmoving body, barely hearing the shocked whispers behind me.
My Kiss had failed.
Chapter
Two
Ignoring the Pain
I crumpled, my back sliding down the wall of the cart and my tunic snagging on splinters. Almost as soon as my legs touched the cobbled stone road, Roland had me back up.
His hands gripped my arms tight enough to pull me from my shock. “I’m fine,” I said quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. “My legs are still a little stiff, that’s all.” I cleared my throat. “I need someone to give me a full report on the patrol and this new curse. And then—”
With callused fingers, Roland tilted my chin upward, forcing me to look into his dark eyes and equally dark face. “Go rest, Ivy. We’ll take care of him.”
Take care of him. As in, bring him to the Curse Ward to sleep away his days until his body aged and turned to dust.
Turning away from Roland, I searched Kellian’s face, neck, and arms for the slightest twitch to show my Kiss was working. Finally, my gaze landed on the back of his hand. The Mark of Myriana—my mark—an ornate crest of holly and ivy curled together in a crown, wrapped around the back of his hand and traveled up his wrist to the base of his palm. The mark appeared burned and smoky—no longer sharp, clear lines as it had once been.
Kellian’s mark resided on the back of my own hand. The crest of the Royal House of Elhein was a mountain lion’s claw with two swords crossed. It now looked faded and worn, too.
I grabbed his hand, covering the mark, and squeezed it. No response. “Please wake up, Kellian,” I murmured.
“What?” Roland asked.
I released Kellian’s hand. “Like I said, I’ll need a full report on this new dark magic.” Remembering Minnow’s memories with the mysterious green lightning, my frantic mind jumped from one thought to the next. If I had been there, would I have been able to administer a Kiss to Kellian that could’ve defeated this curse? Minnow was not his partner, she didn’t bear his mark like I did, and therefore could not give him counter-curse Kisses—only simple ones like battle magic Kisses or healing Kisses. Was that it, then? Was I just too late, or was this curse simply too powerful even for the great Myriana’s magic? The thought made my gut twist.
“And you’ll get that report,” Minnow said, reaching for my hands with her usual gentleness, “but not until after you rest.”
I almost didn’t let her touch me, didn’t want anyone to try to console me when I needed no consolation—only an explanation.
But seeing my battle-weary and exhausted comrades, I knew now was not the time. Here they were, worrying about me, when they were the ones who needed sleep.
So I let Minnow take my arm. The image of Kellian’s body shaking with green lightning played over and over in my head as we trailed behind the patrol into the Hall of Ancestors. The sound of everyone’s reverberating footsteps and muted chatter snapped me out of my trance.
“I think I’d rather stay outside. I’ve been in the infirmary too long,” I said, forcing strength into my voice. Even though my legs were still sore and stiff, I needed time alone. To stop the influx of poisonous thoughts already seeping into my subconscious—I’m a failure, I lost another partner because I’m too weak, I can’t uphold the bloodline of Myriana. These thoughts always came to me in the same voice, one that had haunted me since childhood.
I pushed them away and gave Minnow’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “I’m glad you made it back safely.”
Minnow still watched me with concern, her sky-blue eyes shiny with unshed tears.
I couldn’t let her think Kellian’s state was her fault. That was my burden to bear. “You did your best. Thank you for looking after him.”
She blinked away the tears. “Ivy…”
“It’s you who need rest.” I nodded to the other Royals heading for their rooms. “You look like you’re about to collapse. Brief me on what you were able to discover on patrol after you’ve slept.”
Minnow gave me a quick hug then shuffled away, her footsteps echoing in the massive hall.
I stared at the lofty ceiling for a moment, seeking refuge from my thoughts. The marble arches of the Hall of Ancestors expanded and met in the middle, like two sides of a rainbow joining in perfect unison. It calmed me to admire the detailed, pearly-white marble statuaries of princes and princesses battling dragons and griffins, of mages dueling witches and warlocks. It was said the stories of all the past Royals were represented here.
Would my stories end up here, too, someday?
The feeling of serenity didn’t last. Soon those faceless sculptures taunted me. “Failure. Useless. Your service in the Legion is over. The war against the Forces of Darkness will carry on without you.”
I had to get out.
I hurried through the Hall then stopped at the steps leading down to the gates. The wall towered over the Crown City of Myria, surrounding the town below with its cobbled walkways and the homes of our subjects.
Their lives were laid out before me. Lives I’d taken an oath to protect.
With that weight on my shoulders, I descended the steps as fast as my sore legs would allow. Slipped through the gaps in the blossoming apple trees, their white petals fluttering in the wind, carrying the scent that always reminded me of apple spiced-honey cakes, I headed for the training grounds. After a week of dormancy, my muscles yearned to work. And my soul ached to prove I wasn’t totally worthless.
My heart bled for Kellian. The image of him on the cart, his face left with traces of blood and grime, would follow me forever. Until my own legionnaire cloak covered my lifeless body. He’d been so strong and brave, and good. In many ways, I felt like it should’ve been me on that cart instead of him. He’d trusted me to protect him. To save him. But I failed him instead.
And now I was without a partner. Again. Without a prince, I was doomed to spend my days on the training grounds or in my quarters, studying spells for my Kisses but never getting a chance to use them. I prayed it wouldn’t happen, that the Royal Council would find me another prince, so I could continue fighting on the battlefields. Where I belong.
I paused in front of a low fence built of brucel wood and copper nails and gingerly stepped over it, using a nearby jerr tree to steady myself. Finally coming upon the fringes of the training grounds, I could just make out the young recruits of princes and princesses sparring. A second group was running laps, and a third was at the archery targets. A breeze rolled over the grounds, rustling the grass like rippling emerald waves.
My legs already ached from my short journey. I tried to hide my limp as I made my way to the sparring group. Boys fought boys, while the girls practiced defensive moves using shields. As usual. Later, princesses would be taken aside to practice a long-range weapon of their choosing, like longbows, crossbows, or throwing knives. Because only princesses had the ability to cast spells after the Kiss, we were each assigned a prince who was able to receive the spell and fight with magically enhanced strength. According to priests, a female Royal’s power for spell-casting derived from Queen Myriana, since it was her Kiss that had saved King Raed. Therefore, we had to be well protected and prepared by learning spells, defensive moves, and long-range weapons instead of close combat.
Still, there were princesses who practiced swordsmanship relentlessly, simply because they didn’t like staying within a protective Illye circle, away from the heat and thrill of battle. Princesses like me.
I wanted to fight alongside my partner, sharing the sweat and fear of a troll wielding a blood-spattered mace. Though I understood it was to keep me safe, it was frustrating staying behind an Illye circle while my partners were out there risking everything.
I headed over to the girls, taking a shield from one I’d taught healing Kisses to only last month. I couldn’t recall her name, but I remembered her thin face and black-as-night hair. I flipped the shield to be flat against my forearm, running my fingers over the sharp metal ed
ge. “Hold it like this. Remember, your shield can be a weapon, too. Use the edge to inflect any damage you can. The minute you stop fighting is the minute you admit you’re ready to die.”
The girl nodded, taking her shield back as I handed it to her. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her neck and cheeks were slick with sweat, but her scowl was most prominent. She was determined to learn more than just how to hide behind wood and metal. I saw my younger self in her. After watching my first partner fall with an ax in his neck, I’d sworn I wouldn’t simply cower behind a shield, magical or wooden, when I could’ve been there with him.
Like I could’ve been there with Kellian.
I turned away from the girls, toward the boys practicing with their wooden swords. When the nearest prince stumbled after a particularly vicious attack by his partner, I took him by the shoulder, steadying him. He glanced up, his eyes going wide with surprise.
“May I cut in?” I asked.
He blinked then dropped the sword into my outstretched hand.
His sparring partner swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing under his collar. “Princess Ivy?”
“The very same.” Slashing the weapon through the air for a practice cut, I stepped in front of the boy whose sword I’d taken. “I’m your new opponent.”
“I don’t think that’s such a—”
I bent my knees and lunged forward with a strike. The young prince just managed to parry my attack and jumped back. I advanced, swinging my sword with a ferocity that made a few observers gasp. They quit their own matches and formed a circle around ours.
My muscles hummed with satisfaction. Action at last.
With every turn and duck, the prince became more unhinged, desperate to save face.
I swung high. He dodged then aimed for my knees. A rookie move. I stepped around him, and his wooden blade missed me by inches. A simple elbow strike to the back of his head had him falling forward onto his stomach.
“Sloppy,” I said, the tip of my sword now at the middle of his back. “Focus on your defense. You can’t attack if you’re dead.”
A few of the girls dropped their shields and clapped enthusiastically, while the boys begrudgingly joined in.
As I stepped forward, legs throbbing, and helped the boy up, my feeling of victory faded quickly. This was not the way to make myself feel better about my Kiss failing. Not in winning against a thirteen-year-old boy. Even though I was only four years older than him, with all my experience in battle, it felt more like fifty. Thirteen was young, but he could be younger still. Our numbers were dwindling against the might of the Forces, and soon we’d have to bring Royals younger than thirteen into battle and on patrol. At fourteen, I saw a troll’s head lopped off its body. I had nightmares for weeks.
But the fact that these boys were going to see battle sooner rather than later would not change, regardless of whether I was using them to vent my own frustrations. They needed to be taught, and I certainly didn’t mind being the one to do it.
I turned to the audience of trainees. Swinging the wooden sword onto my shoulder, I called out, “Who’s next?”
They avoided eye contact, none of them eager to be knocked to the ground.
I pointed my sword at a tan-skinned prince with bronze hair. “How about you?” He seemed old enough.
“M-me?” The boy glanced around then looked back, face reddening. “I’m only an eighth-blood, princess. I just started training a week ago.”
My stomach twisted almost as tightly as when I’d seen Kellian’s sleeping face. Besides bringing in younger Royals, we were also recruiting Royals who barely qualified. Princes and princesses who were even less than a quarter of a Royal bloodline. An eighth-blood. Those with less Royal blood had less magic—simple as that. So what good were they? Mere fodder for the Wicked Queen’s creatures?
I could see a griffin’s talons cutting into their small bodies, and a chimera’s iron jaws ripping into their flesh and crunching the bone. It made me want to dig a hole in this perfect green grass and vomit.
“Princess Ivy! Milady!”
I dropped my sword, recognizing my page’s voice.
Bromley was a skinny fourteen-year-old boy with cropped honey-colored hair. I knew his face better than I knew my own. So when he pushed through the crowd of boys, I could read the anger in his narrowed brown eyes and clenched jaw.
As he came to a stop before me, breathing hard, he glared at the training sword in my hand.
“You’re not in bed.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Astute observation, Brom.”
Like all pure-blood Royals, I’d been assigned an attendant at an early age. Bromley had been given to me when I was eight and he was only five. I’d never really wanted a servant, but I’d wanted a friend.
The edge of Brom’s mouth twitched. “Master Gelloren has called for you.”
The anxiety I’d just worked so hard to chase away came rushing back. Of course Master Gelloren had already heard about Kellian’s fall by the new curse. Of course he’d already heard about my failed Kiss. And of course he’d already want to see me. Because when it rains, the fields flood.
What would Gelloren say? What would he do?
I shoved the sword flat against the chest of its owner, and the recruits parted as I made my way through the small crowd. I could no longer deny the pain in my legs, anyway. Probably wouldn’t have lasted a minute in another fight.
Bromley hurried to catch up. “What happened?”
I focused my gaze on the jerr trees ahead as we walked. The lines of red leaves began to blur, and I swallowed. “Kellian, he…didn’t quite make it. Comatose. Some new curse.”
“I…I’m sorry, milady.” He paused, the distant clattering of wooden swords and wind whistling through leaves filling the silence. “Who administered the revival Kiss? Maybe you could go and—”
His words hit me like a strike to the gut, and I nearly fell.
“Princess!” Brom caught me, but he wasn’t as strong as Ulfia or Roland, so we both stumbled a little, stopping underneath the pleasant shade of the jerr trees.
Brom didn’t know it was my revival Kiss that hadn’t worked, but I couldn’t explain what had happened without lashing out. The wound was still too fresh. “I’m fine. Did Master Gelloren tell you what he wants?”
Brom shook his head. “He didn’t. But maybe it can wait. You need to be resting. Ulfia told me—”
“The only thing I need right now is to get back out there. I’m going on the next patrol, Bromley, with whatever prince they’ll give me.” I straightened and started forward.
He tried to catch my arm. “But—”
I wrenched away, kicking up blades of grass as I picked up my pace. “I’ll use a half prince. A quarter prince. I don’t care! I’ll Kiss whoever can get me back out there. They need me, Brom.”
The Legion did need me—all of Myria did—especially if the young prince I’d just fought and the eighth-blood prince were any indication of how desperate we were. Regardless of whether or not my Kiss had worked against this new super-curse, it was still stronger than any Royal’s here. I wouldn’t let another prince—young, weak, or otherwise—lose his life when I could be there to stop it. I’d protect them when I couldn’t with Kellian.
The wind picked up and tore a few leaves off the jerr trees. They swirled past me as I headed toward the castle, calling me back to their peaceful shade—the only form of shadows and darkness that was good in this world.
Chapter
Three
The Awful Truth
The living and study quarters for the three Master Mages were located in the northeast tower of the castle. Brom left me at its entrance. If Master Gelloren had summoned me, it was a matter he wanted to discuss privately.
I paused in front of his door, taking only a moment to enjoy the sun coming through the stained glass of the western-facing window.
Months ago I would’ve taken pleasure in visiting Master Gelloren’s office. We’d play Basilisk and
Mongoose and he’d lead me to believe I’d won, then he’d take all my cards during the last hand. And if we didn’t play cards, we’d spend hours poring over maps and talking strategies about patrols and legion troops. He’d always been so warm to me, but lately our conversations had become short and weary. No cards. Not even a cup of shassa root tea.
He certainly wasn’t to blame. It was just this never-ending war. More and more troops lost. More and more times Gelloren left in the middle of the night to quell blazes in town with his elemental water magic. More and more Council meetings with the other Master Mages on what to do next.
No wonder he didn’t have time for tea or a simple game of cards. Especially with princesses who kept losing partners.
When I knocked, Master Gelloren’s deep voice called, “Come in, Ivy.”
I pushed open the heavy wooden door and let it close behind me.
His office was the same as always. Maps of the four kingdoms and elemental charts that only mages could understand decorated the stone walls. A tower of used teacups balanced precariously on the edge of his desk, while piles of books covered almost the entire floor, and somewhere, amid all the clutter, a bird tweeted incessantly.
Master Gelloren sat at his desk, bent over a pile of letters, wearing his usual oversized emerald robe. Judging from the stain on the collar, the wrinkles, and the crumbs of his favorite midnight snack—gingerberry tarts—sprinkled in the robe’s folds, he’d probably worked all through the night.
“Take a seat,” he instructed without looking up.
I remained standing, watching his quill glide across the parchment.
Eyes still on the letters, he said, “Well, all right then, stand.”
“Master, it’s not out of disrespect. I just want you to take me seriously.”
This time, he did look up. Even though he was one of the older Master Mages, Gelloren hadn’t gone fully gray yet. There were still tawny blond streaks in his well-groomed beard and braid. “My dear Ivy, I assure you, I always take you seriously—whether you are sitting down staring daggers at me, or standing up staring daggers at me.” He smiled, dabbed his quill, and continued his letter.