by Natalie Mae
“Well, brother?” he asks, in the same quiet, calm manner. “Aren’t you going to congratulate her?”
Jet shakes his head slowly, and my throat tightens at his silence. I know he assumes I can hold my own in the desert, but that doesn’t discount his warnings. Surely he’ll say something, even if it’s to admit he’d been too harsh.
But he turns to me with an arm crossed over his chest, his smile guarded.
“Congratulations, Lia,” he says. “You are more than worthy of your new station.”
He bows and marches out without a glance back. I look at Kasta in disbelief. I know he also assumes that whatever my magic, I’m more than qualified to help him, but he’s still choosing me blindly. I doubt he even remembers what type of magic I claimed to have.
I should probably say something refined and gracious, but I’m a little more panicked about what will happen when he finds out I’m a fraud.
“With all respect,” I say. “Do you think I’m someone else? Because this is the fourth sentence I’ve ever said to you.”
“I knew from the moment I saw you,” he says. Which I might have found acceptable, even a little romantic, if he hadn’t been watching Jet when he said it. He beckons over the nearest servants, two girls dressed in white and gold. “Prepare her.”
“You should probably know I don’t know anything about surviving outside,” I say as the girls take my arms. “I didn’t even know what cheese was before tonight!”
“Tell my father to expect us,” the prince calls to the rosewood table, where a servant has appeared and is urging a distraught Gallus to his feet. If only Gallus knew how badly I want to trade places. I wanted the satisfaction of proving he was wrong about me, but this—
“This way,” whispers the girl on my right arm. She’s small and pretty, no older than twelve, and surprisingly strong. The other girl looks more my age and seems as anxious about this entire ordeal as I am. “My name is Elin,” says the younger girl. “I’ll be your primary attendant until your departure.”
My departure. As a royal escort. To go into the desert where travelers have fought unthinkable horrors with magic infinitely stronger than mine, sometimes barely surviving, sometimes not coming back at all.
“There’s been a mistake,” I say as they tow me around the couches and into a hallway painted with shimmering glass boats. “I mean, I’m honored. Truly. But I’m not who he thinks I am. I can’t help navigate the desert, I can’t even read!”
Elin grumbles something that sounds like, “Typical.”
“What did you say?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says, beaming at me. She has a beautiful smile that I have a feeling gets her out of a lot of trouble. “Prince Kasta will handle the finer aspects of the race.”
Prince Kasta. I can’t believe I was joking earlier of sharing a tent with him. I won’t be going home. I won’t be sharing any fantastical memories with Hen tonight, because I’ll be saying goodbye. And as soon as we leave, the prince will expect I can assist him with anything related to surviving, and once he learns what I am . . .
I have to stop this. I have to admit I’m not supposed to be here. Despite the punishment, eternal shame is still far preferred to dying out there. As soon as we reach someone in charge, I’ll explain myself and this will all be set right.
I practice what I’ll say in my head as the servants rush me down a set of stairs and into a large room with an open ceiling, under which a shallow square pool glitters with the reflection of stars. The night air shivers over my arms as we weave through painted columns and into a smaller room, this one with a wide doorless balcony that overlooks a moonlit garden. Sandfire gems burn in the wall above a canopied bed, and a small steaming pool waits in the tiled floor to my side.
A bedroom.
A bedroom clearly absent of anyone with the power to dismiss me.
“There are supposed to be guards here,” I say. “You were supposed to take me to someone in charge.”
“I’m supposed to prepare you,” Elin says, towing me toward the steaming bath.
“You don’t need to. I’m not staying.” I pull free of her grasp. “Look, I can’t be here. Prince Kasta doesn’t know it yet, but I’m not from the upper district. My name isn’t Lia, it’s—hey!”
Elin ducks behind me and pops the belt under my chest free. The other girl loosens my head chain and I jerk away, gripping it to my head.
“I feel like you’re not listening,” I say.
“I feel like you should have considered this before you came,” Elin says, hands on her hips.
“I did, but this wasn’t even in the realm of possibility. I’m a Whisperer! I came with my friend to see the palace . . . You have to help me fix it.”
Elin considers this a moment, then whistles between her fingers. I exhale and look expectantly toward the doorway, willing myself not to lose my nerves when the guards enter—only to see three more girl-servants bustle into the room.
So that’s how it’s going to be.
My dress falls in seconds. Hands guide me to sit in the pool, and just as I resolve to get this over with quickly, Elin works her fingers into my hair and frees my mother’s head chain.
“Wait!” I say. Four pairs of hands push me down when I reach for it. “Take whatever else you want. But not that.”
“Relax. We’re just adding amethysts to the chains,” says Elin. “You’ll get it back. In the meantime, give me your arm.”
“For what?”
Someone pours a jar of warm water over my head. I sputter and clear it from my eyes as someone else scrubs my back. Elin gets ahold of me in the chaos, her nails digging into my wrist.
“What are you doing?” I yelp.
“It’s a grooming spell,” she says, tightening her grip. “It takes about three minutes. Just focus on the bath.”
She draws the spell using a thin brush, the purple ink shining as she writes the enchantment on my wrist. It absorbs into my skin seconds after each stroke, sending pins and needles up my arm.
“You’re trielle?” I ask as the spell crawls, fever-like, up my neck. The trielle are coveted magicians—their ability to manipulate many kinds of magic, instead of a single specialty, is incredibly valuable. Their magic is also the only one that can show in any family, though it never passes down to the next generation like normal. When I was young, I used to dream I’d be that rare exception. That when I came into my specialty, it wouldn’t be one of my parents’ common talents, but the shocking ability to create magic from mere words, proof I was made for more.
Elin could be from a small town like mine, but now she’ll serve in the palace for her lifetime. Something I’d typically commend her for, except I think something is wrong with her magic. Spellwork isn’t supposed to feel like this. Mora keeps a stash of prepackaged healing spells, little rice papers she’d set on our arms and pat with water, dissolving the paper, leaving the ink behind. The spell would sink in and spread like a warm beam of sunlight. This is not a warm beam of anything. This is fangs jabbing into my legs as the magic burns off my hair, and sandpaper taking off the top layer of my face. My fingernails ache as the spell smooths and shapes them.
“I’m in training,” she says.
“Is this your first day?” I gasp.
“If you weren’t wiggling around so much, I would’ve been able to draw a clean line.”
She has a point, but it’s disheartening to know my pain threshold is not much higher than a grooming spell. I endure more scrubbing and fussing, and when the three agonizing minutes of the spell are up, two girls help me out of the bath while another wraps a towel of downy cotton around my body. The fourth works an enchanted brush through my hair and pins my mother’s head chain in place. The towel disappears. A two-piece dress, as red as mulled wine, is fitted first around my chest, then my waist, leaving my stomach bare. An elaborate golden neckla
ce follows. As do heavy earrings. Garnet lipstick. Gold eyeliner.
I feel exhausted and I’ve barely moved. Another reason I absolutely cannot let this go on any longer.
“There,” Elin says, having adjusted my mother’s chain and leaving the jewel dangling to the side. “I like this style. Where did you get the idea?”
“From a stable in Atera. Now can you please fetch someone who’s in charge?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. If I leave before I’m dismissed—”
“You’re dismissed,” says a familiar voice. Relief floods through me, my hair jangling as I turn. Prince Jet trains his eyes on Elin. “Why don’t you get her something to eat in the meantime? She has a long night ahead, and she’ll need her strength.”
“She sampled half the buffet,” Elin says. And, quieter—“And Prince Kasta would not like you to be here.”
“Are you going to tell on me?”
“Maybe I will.”
“Maybe I’ll get you that scroll you’ve been wanting from the priests’ guarded stash.”
Elin chews the end of her scribing pen, considering, then waves her hands like an exasperated mother. “Fine. But she’s expected in the throne room within the hour.” She gestures to the other servants, who keep their heads low and drift past Jet like feathers. She’s almost out the door when she adds, “The hour. Not hours, plural, and not tomorrow.”
“When am I ever late to something I want to attend?” Jet says, grinning.
“Aren’t you supposed to be at your own Choosing right now?”
“I’ll get there eventually. Do you want the scroll or not?”
Elin narrows her eyes but finally disappears. Jet waits until her footsteps fade to rub his hand over his face, smearing one side of his eyeliner.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“How about the part when you said those who got dismissed were the lucky ones,” I say, “and then stayed quiet when your brother chose me.”
That . . . definitely came out bolder than I meant it to. I should have thanked him for coming. Apologized again for mistaking him as a servant. But the more stress I’m under, the less control I have of my mouth, and this is possibly what Gallus meant when he said I’m better off not speaking to anyone.
Jet snickers. “And here I was afraid your manner might change to something respectful now that you know who I am.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I couldn’t. It would be much worse for both of us if I’d made a scene.”
“But all we did was talk. He doesn’t even know what I can do!”
Or what I claimed I can do, anyway. Jet thumbs the metal feathers on his armor. “A rational observation, if we were talking about a rational person. I used to joke that Kasta would drain the rivers if he thought I fancied them. Even so . . .” He sighs, and his eyes stray to the garden. “I never thought he’d actually go this far.”
I scoff. “Well, of course he would. You’re his biggest obstacle to the throne.”
Jet looks at me, then laughs so loud he has to cover his mouth. He swaggers to the balcony, the torchlight casting him into shadow. “If I wanted it, maybe. Honestly I’d rather be eaten alive by rattlesnakes.”
I blink, certain I didn’t hear him right. “So naturally, you’re about to take part in a death-defying race across the desert to . . . what? Cheer him on?”
Jet grunts, and it’s a moment before he turns back to me.
“The Mestrah is very sick,” he says, and the way his voice thickens makes me instantly regret the question. “It is his greatest wish I participate, even if I make no effort to win.” His eyes harden. “All of that is information that stays in this room.”
My heart tugs. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yes. Well. So are the Healers, who can reattach severed limbs but can’t get rid of a simple cough.” He shoves off the wall, scanning my outfit. “Can you run in that?”
“I guess, but . . . wait. If you aren’t competing with your brother for the throne, why do you hate each other?”
“Half brother. And I never said I hated him, though it’s true that he hates me.” Jet paces, eyes lingering on different pieces of the room. “He’s convinced himself that the Mestrah and I are plotting against him. That my reluctance to attend the war meetings is a ploy so we can speak in private later. And we do, except I’m only listening to how disappointing I am during such meetings. There was a time when my father asked me to usurp Kasta in succession. I declined.” He rubs his face again, grimacing. “Kasta was not supposed to know about that conversation, but he employs half the servants as spies. He knows far more about what happens in this palace than he should.”
“So he hates you because, if you weren’t so averse to ruling, you would be the heir.”
“If he weren’t so bull-headed and rash, he’d already be king.”
“So he takes every chance he can to outdo you.” I look down at myself, at the bracelets circling my wrists like manacles.
“Which is why you need to get out of here,” Jet says. “The drop to the garden isn’t far. I can lower you down.”
And of course a story-worthy rescue is exactly what I was hoping for, especially since this solution doesn’t require admitting I’m here with a false identity, but it occurs to me that as earnest as Jet seems, I don’t actually know him. He didn’t tell me who he was when we met, but now wants me to speak to him like a prince. He wants to see other lands, but stays here for his father. He was raised to rule, but doesn’t want to be king. So many contradictions. Hen says the nobles are always playing games, deceiving each other or pretending to like someone they hate, all for some ulterior motive.
“How do I know you’re not doing the same thing?” I ask.
Jet, who’d been leaning over the rail to judge the distance, straightens. “What same thing?”
“Using me to outdo your brother. Denying him his choice of First.”
Not that I suddenly believe I’m meant to be here, but for all I know, the princes play this game all the time. If Jet’s lying, I could end up in a worse position than I already am.
Jet inhales, watching the open doorway, and closes the distance between us in a few strides. He stops an arm’s length away, fingers folded.
“Lia,” he says, voice low. “I know we are strangers. I know I’ve given you little reason to trust me. But hear me now, and trust your gut. There is something wrong with Kasta. A blackness that has clung to him since we were very small. It’s not always there—there are days he consults with me, days he even seems to recognize I’m not a threat to him. I have no doubt that whatever your specialty, he would find value in it, at first. But then that darkness will whisper to him. It will tell him you spoke to me first at the party, that we’re plotting behind his back, that you’re holding back on your powers and you want him to fail. It won’t matter if there’s no evidence to support it. He’ll turn on you as he turned on me, and the desert won’t care to spare your life as my station here spares mine.”
He looks earnest. Anxious, even. If he’s putting on an act, it’s a very convincing one.
“But you care to spare my life?” I whisper.
“Preferably.”
“You really believe he’d turn on me?”
I watch for him to glance away, to fidget; some tell that he’s lying. His gaze never wavers.
“Yes,” he says.
I move away from him, to the balcony where the crickets sing loudest. It’s a little farther from here to the ground than I like, but I decide even if Jet is lying, this is my ticket out. No more nobles’ games. No more surprisingly painful spells. No more risk of the desert or the many ways in which it could kill me.
“How do we leave?” I ask.
Jet moves to my side and offers me his hands. “I’ll lower you as far a
s I can, and when you’re ready, I’ll let go. It’s a bit of a drop, but I’ve done this before.” He smiles. “It’s highly survivable.”
“You often sneak girls out of high bedrooms?” I ask, grabbing his wrists as I back toward the rail. The dress is long and likes to slither under my feet, and I move slowly.
“Gods no,” he says, laughing in surprise. “I mean I’m used to sneaking out of second-floor windows. What do you take me for?”
“My best friend says you royals are always canoodling where you shouldn’t be.”
“I’ll have you know I am a modest canoodler, and I take offense to that.”
“Yes, well—”
I freeze. Jet looks over his shoulder to see what’s stopped me, and if I wasn’t in trouble before, I certainly am now.
Prince Kasta stands in the doorway, a remorseful Elin by his side.
VI
IT can’t look good to anyone, Jet and I holding each other on a starlit balcony. I’m tempted to keep moving like nothing happened and risk broken ankles if Jet isn’t paying attention. Surely even a paranoid prince can’t be mad at a girl with broken ankles.
Jet pulls out of my grasp. His glare falls on Elin, who won’t look at us, but he doesn’t call her out.
“Kasta,” he says. “You know it’s gone too far this time. Choose another.”
I expect Kasta to be livid. To throw me into prison, and maybe even Elin, too, for leaving us to conspire when I’m supposed to be his.
But Kasta looks . . . delighted.
“No,” he says, walking slowly forward. “I think this is the first time I’ve gone far enough. How difficult this must be for you, to lose something to me.”
Kasta motions to Elin, who breezes around him and takes Jet’s hand without looking at him.
“Don’t you dare harm her for this,” Jet says.
“It’s within my right. You should not have come to her.”
“The Mestrah will not abide it!”
“Worry about yourself. We’ll see who the Mestrah sides with when he learns you’re sabotaging my chances already with your lies.” Kasta jerks his head at Elin. “Take him.”