Brine and Bone

by Kate Stradling

  The palace, perched as it was where the sea met the land, featured a staircase that descended directly into the waters. Low tide more fully revealed its marbled length, though the very bottom always remained submerged beneath the foaming waves. It served as relic of a storied past, when Corenden held alliance with the fay of the sea and the air—or so the palace folklore said. The stairs, positioned at the edge of a sheltered pavilion, provided an unhampered panoramic view of the horizon where the sea met the sky. Each night, when twilight seeped into shadow, the stars and the glittering waters sparkled like diamonds against the inky darkness.

  “That’s a rather romantic choice,” Gil quipped from behind.

  Magdalena and Finnian both turned an arch look upon him.

  “Three’s a crowd,” Finnian said.

  “Yes, which is why I thought it odd you would take both of us there.” The captain favored him with a wry smile and earned a flat glower in return. The prince returned his attention to his requested walking companion.

  “My father dispatched a letter to yours this morning. Will your parents be very upset that you’re here as an apprentice?”

  “Hardly,” said Magdalena. Had she been apprenticed elsewhere, they would be incensed, but they would probably dance with joy to learn she had returned to the shimmering palace of Corenden. Their dismay back when her magic solidified still burned strong upon her memory.

  As an only child of the Grand Duke she had one purpose in life: to marry well and thereby secure her ancestral duchy’s continued prosperity. Her parents, affectionate though they were, sacrificed her childhood to that end. This present sojourn would likely rekindle the hopes that had died when she left court life for the sage’s seminary.

  “I would be glad if they receive the news well,” Finnian said.

  She spared him a skeptical glance and remained silent.

  They passed along an open corridor where light and laughter filtered from balconies above. Music drifted down to them. The evening parties at the palace had been mesmerizing, glittering affairs in her youth: women in beautiful gowns and men in handsome suits moving in clusters and dancing together into the night. The children had attended until supper, after which the servants herded them off to bed—not that any of them had stayed there. They had watched from higher in the palace, from the tower balconies that afforded a bird’s view of the whirling dancers below.

  “Shouldn’t you be up there with everyone?” she asked.

  “I’m still recovering.”

  Behind them, Captain Byrne failed to contain a scoff.

  “I beg your pardon, your Highness,” he said when Finnian glared.

  Magdalena redirected the conversation. “What still ails you?”

  “I can’t sleep.” He raised the vial that Master Asturias had given him, studying its liquid contents against the far-off lights as he walked. “This is a sedative, if I dare take it.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Can your magic show you a person’s nightmares?”

  She might have brushed this question off with a negligent wave, as she usually did when someone asked her about the nature of her abilities, but he peered at her with such intent eyes that a chill swept up her spine.

  “No,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m glad. I’d rather not share them.”

  They arrived at the sheltered, shadowed pavilion, where the sea air breezed through marble balustrades that overlooked the cliffs. The ocean stairs descended in a steep, straight line against the precipice, and the waves crashed into them below.

  The prince crossed the room and settled on the top step. Magdalena, after a moment’s hesitation, joined him, and Captain Byrne did the same, on her other side.

  “Nice night,” the officer said, grinning.

  It was. Stars patterned across the sky, except on the far horizon where dark clouds obscured them from sight. The breeze blew salt and something more upon it—a fresh, nighttime scent one could only find at the shore.

  Finnian broke the tranquility. “I should have died out there.”

  “Oh, don’t be morbid,” said Gil. “Fate brought you back to us.”

  “It wasn’t fate. It was something else.”

  Magdalena looked sharply to him. He briefly met her gaze but turned his own to the sedative in his hands. He twisted the vial between his fingers, its cut edges reflecting the dull light around them.

  “Something dragged me downward when I fell into the water,” said the prince. “It wrapped around me and dragged me down. And then it changed its mind, I suppose. The next thing I remember was the glare of the noonday sun and the ocean heaving around me. And that something still gripped me beneath the waves.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. “What was it? Did you see it?”

  “No. I was in and out of consciousness. It stayed beneath the waves, but I knew it held me tight. Every so often…” He hesitated. “Every so often it would surface above my head, out of sight, and chatter something in my ear.”

  Magdalena sat up straight. The instinctive reaction drew both men’s attention.

  “What is it?” Finnian asked.

  She shrank back. “No. It was…” She shook her head to clear it. Having told no one of the creature at the cove, now so many days removed from the incident, she questioned whether she had imagined it.

  He caught her hand. “Malena, what is it?”

  She spared a self-conscious glance at the captain on her other side. “There was…” She breathed deep and plunged ahead. “There was something in the water that morning when I found you. But I couldn’t see it clearly through the fog.”

  “What did you see?”

  She gathered her thoughts. The tale made her sound crazy, but if the prince had already encountered the creature, her added details might bring him peace of mind. “Eyes like marbles in a sleek, silver head. It had no nose, but its mouth was parted, with long, sharp teeth—”

  “—and webbing between its fingers, and scales instead of skin,” he interrupted. “It haunts my dreams, as though it’s still out there watching, waiting.”

  “This is the most ghastly, unromantic conversation I’ve ever heard,” Captain Byrne said. “If I have to chaperone you two, at least give me something worth my while to report.”

  Magdalena looked to him and then quizzically to the prince.

  “Gil acts as chaperone so that I’m never alone with any of the ladies of the court,” said Finnian, propping his elbow against his knee and his chin atop his palm. “It’s part of the rules.”

  Rules, plural. Meaning they had multiplied, and that she was subject to them once again.

  “I see. So you bring him along whenever you walk alone with one of us? Was it my night, or did I accidentally cut in line? Is this where you always come?”

  “Don’t be like that, Malena.”

  But she was already stiff-backed, the former intimate mood broken. “Well, I wouldn’t want to break the rules.”

  “Oh, but you’re a special case, milady,” said Captain Byrne from her other side.

  Finnian leaned forward with menace on his face. “A certain smug officer is about to get pitched down the stairs if he doesn’t keep his mouth shut.”

  “Why would I be a special case?” Magdalena asked, unwilling to let this detail slide.

  “None of the other ladies is apprenticed,” the captain said, too glib for it to be the truth. He and the prince remained locked in a battle of wills, their eyes fixed upon one another.

  She stood, disrupting the contest.

  “What—?” said Finnian.

  “As an apprentice, I should retire to my bed. I have to be up early tomorrow. Good night, your Highness. Captain.”

  The prince scrambled from the steps. “I’ll walk you back.”

  She was already halfway to the exit. “Not necessary. I know my way around.”

  He let her go, remaining behind as an inky silhouette against the night sky.

  Logic t
old her to be grateful, but disappointment and despair ate through it.

  Chapter 6

  Prince Finnian brought fresh flowers from the garden the next morning. He offered the bouquet to Magdalena in the infirmary, under the watchful eyes of Master Asturias and Captain Byrne.

  She had battled her tumultuous feelings through the night, resolving to contain them regardless of what flirtations he might attempt. Accordingly, she plastered on a fake smile as she accepted the colorful bunch. “How lovely. Are you bringing flowers to all the ladies of the court today?”

  “Actually, I am.” He leaned in close and whispered with a wink, “But yours are the prettiest.”

  She frowned to hide the blush his tease invoked. A note of sarcasm tempered her obligatory gratitude. “Thank you, your Highness. I am honored.”

  He laughed and left her to her day’s work. She stowed the small bouquet in an extra distillation flask. The flowers brightened her morning, but she would have sooner died than admit it to anyone—and to Finnian in particular.

  At lunchtime, as she headed to the servants’ hall to take her meal, he intercepted her.

  “You’re not actually a servant, you know.” He tucked her arm in his and drew her in a different direction.

  She glanced down the passageway for any sign of Captain Byrne. “Where’s your shadow?”

  “I slipped away while he wasn’t looking. We’re having lunch at the ocean stairs today.”

  “We?” Foreboding welled within her.

  He smiled. “The younger nobles. The pavilion is a perfect gathering place on a day like this.”

  Magdalena dug in her heels. “I don’t want to eat with the court nobles. I’m here as an apprentice, not as a guest.”

  He lowered his voice. “Everyone knows you’re here. It would be strange if you didn’t socialize.”

  “I’m not dressed for court.”

  The prince glanced her over. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

  Her clothing, though of fine make, better suited her position in the infirmary than a luncheon with the noble class. The somber gray material would present a striking foil to the pastel silks and satins that most of the ladies at court favored.

  “Are you joking?” she asked.

  But not a hint of guile crossed his face. “You always look nice. Come on, Malena. It’s officially my first day out of bed after my terrible ordeal, and lunch wouldn’t be complete without you there.”

  “You were out of bed yesterday.”

  “Yes, but I wasn’t supposed to be.”

  From down the hall, a shout interrupted this tête-à-tête. “Your Highness!” Captain Byrne, breathless, barreled at them. The prince stepped back a pace, though he spared Magdalena a wry sidelong glance. The captain joined them, his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. “It’s my job on the line if I lose sight of you, you know.”

  A charming smile broke across Prince Finnian’s face. “What a perfect shame it would be to lose you.”

  Captain Byrne glowered. He shifted his irritated gaze to Magdalena.

  “We met by chance on the way to the ocean stairs,” said Finnian, with a glance that encouraged her to go along with the lie. She wisely kept her mouth shut.

  “You know the rules, your Highness,” said the captain. He pushed past the pair to lead the way.

  Magdalena, tempted to protest her attendance, swallowed the words when Finnian tucked her arm in his again. Did he intend to walk with her into the pavilion like that? In front of all the court nobles?

  Her curiosity got the best of her. She remained at his side, counting steps to keep herself calm. Surely he would drop her arm when they neared the threshold. They couldn’t arrive together like… like…

  He laid his other hand over her wrist and gave it an encouraging pat. The threshold loomed before them, with the buzz of conversation and light music.

  “You’re going to start rumors,” Captain Byrne said over his shoulder.

  “You mean they haven’t started already?” Prince Finnian replied with a smile.

  “Am I to be a spectacle?” Magdalena asked him under her breath. Anxiety blossomed within her.

  The charming façade dropped as he looked to her with genuine concern. When he spoke, he did so as one who chose his words carefully. “You saved my life. You hold a place of honor here that no one can dispute.”

  They crossed the threshold. Conversations died as dozens of people shifted their attention to the pair.

  Finnian’s smile returned full force. “Hello, everyone. I’ve brought my little savior with me today.” He squeezed Magdalena’s hand and released her, crossing to greet the nearest cluster of guests. Others quickly moved to the space at her side, expressing their delight in seeing her and how grateful they were for the prince’s safety.

  “How lucky you were to find him,” said one young lady in pale pink. “Everyone burst with joy when the king brought him home.”

  “Such a good thing you happened upon him,” said her companion in spring green.

  Mentions of luck and happenstance abounded in comment after comment. “It could have been anyone,” they each seemed to say. “His favor toward you now is thanks to a fluke.”

  And they all spoke with such saccharine sincerity that Magdalena’s head throbbed before even half an hour had passed. She already knew not to take Finnian’s favor as genuine, but this receiving line of well-dressed, well-spoken peers drummed that mantra into her. She managed to swallow half a sandwich from the buffet against the wall, and with that token lunch consumed, made her exit.

  “Rough crowd.”

  She jumped and clapped a hand to her heart. Captain Byrne stood beyond the door, leaning against the wall as though he had been waiting for her.

  He pushed away and approached with a smile. “The noble class always displays such generous magnanimity, even when their fondest wish is to tear you to pieces. Is it an inborn trait, or do you learn it as children?”

  His good cheer never faltered, but a steely glint lingered in his blue eyes. Magdalena refused to let him intimidate her. “Do you address all nobles like this, or only the ones who hold an apprenticeship?” Rather than wait for a response, she swept past him.

  “You’re different than they are,” he said, falling in step beside her. “Not a single soul in that room would have accepted a role of servitude—except maybe the prince, but he would have done it for a lark.”

  She suppressed a laugh at this apt observation of Finnian’s character, focusing instead upon the remark that elicited it. “Not a single soul in that room has an ounce of magic in them. I have different expectations to meet—for my own good as well as any healer’s code of conduct.”

  “For your own good?” Cynicism crept into his expression, as though he had finally found the hidden, conniving streak within her.

  Magdalena stopped in her tracks and leveled a glare at him. “Are you familiar with empathy magic at all?” He squinted, but said nothing. “When I was eight, one of the gardeners here tripped and fell on a rake. I saw it happen. I felt it happen, like a spike shoved through my leg. And nobody could understand why I was crying, because there was nothing outwardly wrong with me.”

  He swallowed.

  She drove home her point. “Every bruise and cut and scrape and scar tells a story. People get hurt all the time. The body can subdue the pain of a physical injury, but empathy magic magnifies it. If I can’t control it, I am subject to it. So yes, my studies at the seminary, and my apprenticeship here, and any other education I receive have always been and will always be for my own good.”

  Her words hung upon an otherwise silent corridor. Captain Byrne ducked his head and said, “My apologies, milady.”

  Not a fragment of skepticism or insincerity colored his words. Magdalena squashed her instinctive regret.

  “I forgive you,” she said. “And really, I can’t blame you for assuming ulterior motives. All of the nobles have them.” On that quip, she continued up the hal
l. Captain Byrne let her go, which was only right: the prince was his true responsibility.

  That night she ate her supper in her room, the tiny chamber that she had somehow managed to keep. Master Asturias had a whole bookcase crammed with tomes upon tomes of fay and magic lore. Magdalena, with his grudging permission, took a volume about sea magic with her. The prince’s description, coupled with the creature she had witnessed at the cove, pointed toward a supernatural entity. She lay in bed reading about potion ingredients and sea-fay until her candle guttered against its base. When she blew out the light, shimmering waters danced through her mind and filled her dreams.

  A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the dawn.

  Magdalena awoke with a sharp inhale. She tore from her bedding, her legs in agony as though someone had shredded them with a dozen serrated knives. She tried to rein in her writhing magic, but to no avail. Her stomach heaved and her vision jittered with black spots and images of waves crashing against slick, dark rocks.

  The pain consumed her. She dragged herself to the hall, the infirmary her only possible hope for relief, but she collapsed in a pile before she had gone more than a few yards.

  Contain it. Contain it.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks and pattered to the stone floor. She gulped back a squeaking sob, her throat tight and her eyes shut. As the excruciating moments passed, the fiery pain ebbed. Her legs tingled with numbness in the aftermath.

  Footsteps pounded toward her. “Milady, are you all right?” Someone knelt beside her, touched her shoulder, and spoke with alarm.

  She raised her head—heavy and fogged—and peered through bleary eyes at Captain Byrne. Her voice wavered. “It’s passing. Please, I’ll be all right.”

  Gingerly he helped her sit up against the wall. “I’ll get someone. Master Asturias.”

  “No,” she said and drew a gasping breath. “It only took me by surprise. But someone else is hurt. Someone else—their legs—” She paused, the memory pulsing through her. “I don’t know what happened. Something powerful. Something destructive.”

  “Can I help you to your chamber?”

  Her senses sharpened. She sat in this quiet hall, wearing her nightgown, with her hair tumbled around her shoulders and her face streaked with tears. Self-consciousness shot through her.