by Deva Fagan
“Yes we do!” I exclaimed. “Medasia is our home!”
Mother ignored my outburst, continuing as if I hadn’t even spoken, “And with the situation this unstable, it’s best we consider an alternative.”
“You mean you’re giving up.”
“No. I’m being sensible. And I expect you to do the same.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ll leave tomorrow. I’ve already arranged for a driver to take us to the southern cove. There’s a frigate there that will take us back to the mainland. Your great-aunt Eglantine has agreed to take us in while I settle our business affairs. It will be a substantial loss, but better that than losing everything.”
“But this is our home!” I protested. “We can’t just abandon it! We need to negotiate with the Liberation, or there’s going to be a war. People will die!”
“Which is exactly why we’re leaving.” She paced over to the wall where I’d hung the Medasian mask my brother had given me just a few days before he died. It was the fox. The trickster who had saved Meda. For a long moment she stared into the brightly painted wooden eyes, then gave a small shake of her head. “This has never been our home. We’ll never be… It’s just not possible, Antonia. And it’s time we faced that.”
She straightened her shoulders, turning away from the mask. “We leave tomorrow at dawn. I expect you to be packed and ready.”
* * *
I stared out my window, watching a thick fog roll in. It was only midafternoon, but the city was dark, lifeless. I saw a few figures scurry past on the streets, along with a single heavily laden cart. According to Mother, hundreds of the city residents had already fled inland for fear of the drake. Squinting over the rooftops, I could just make out the distant gleam of the Caphos Lighthouse, struggling to pierce the gloom.
There seemed to be a fog in my head as well. It was hard to focus. Memories dragged me back into the events of the past few days. The first time Moppe and I worked together to banish unanswered questions in the dark. Our shared triumph in the Forest of Silent Fears. The dizziness of laughter as we raced back down the mountain, tossing magic between us like a toy. The triumphant spark of our joint spell as it burst forth to tame the Devastation.
The pitiful truth was that I missed her. I missed our adventures, being brave and free and daring to challenge the world together. Moppe had taken a piece of me. She had seen my deepest fears. She knew my greatest dream. We had been rivals, competitors, and maybe in some ways we always would be. But we’d forged something new and powerful out of that rivalry. A way to be stronger together than we were apart.
We’d become friends. True, honest friends.
Until this vast chasm of family and politics and duty cracked open between us. Could we cross it? Could we still find a better way?
I blinked at the distant light. She was out there, imprisoned by the Black Drake’s protectiveness and my own trickery. But for how long? What would happen if the drake attacked the Imperial Navy? We stood on the brink of a great and terrible chasm. One more step, and we might never find our way out.
And Mother was giving up.
She wanted to run away to the mainland, to leave all this behind like a torn dress, too tattered for mending. But it wasn’t! There had to be another way. Something I could do to fix this.
If Mother wasn’t willing to stay and try, fine, but I wasn’t going to give up so easily. I pushed myself away from the window, ignoring my half-packed trunk, and began pacing. I needed an ally. I needed someone with the power to stop the Black Drake, to give Moppe and me the chance to set things right. I needed someone I could trust.
I needed Master Betrys.
19
COUNCILLOR DURANT WANTS THESE right away,” I said, brandishing a bundle of papers at the two soldiers guarding the courthouse door. “They’re important tax documents. I rushed them straight from the print shop.”
The man looked to his partner. “I thought Councillor Durant had left for the day. There’s a curfew. Everyone off the streets.” He frowned at me. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You know Councillor Durant,” I said quickly. “She never stops working. And she was very eager to see these reports as soon as possible.”
The woman shrugged, then peered at the top page of my bundle. “A Statistical Analysis of Ten Ways to Improve Your Next Garden Fete? She really needs this now, when some giant sea monster’s going to destroy the island?”
I tucked the papers to my chest. The “important documents” were actually just a few loose broadsheets I’d managed to collect from the gutter along the way to the courthouse. Obviously my transfiguration spell hadn’t been entirely successful. At least my cap and trousers seemed to be working to convince the guards I was a humble print shop girl. “They’re extremely sensitive documents. She’s very eager to get them. And you know what she’s like when she’s kept waiting.”
The woman grimaced at her partner. “That’s true enough. Councillor Durant’s got a tongue sharp enough to flay steel.”
“Go on, then,” said the man. “But then you get home to your master.”
A heavy tramp clattered nearby as a troop of goldcoats marched through the street, heading toward the harbor. The guard’s worried gaze followed them before sliding back to me. “Or better yet, get out of the city.”
I nodded dutifully even as I scampered up the steps and through the great arched doorway into the courthouse.
There were more soldiers inside. Officers in tasseled tricorn hats clustered together, speaking in low voices, their expressions grim. I passed an armory where a dozen goldcoats were cleaning muskets, measuring out powder, and filling their belts of ammunition. Preparing for war. A sick, queasy feeling rippled through me.
I had to find Master Betrys. It had already taken me too long to sneak out of Mother’s town house while she and her staff were busy packing. But I was nearly there. The stairs that led down to the prison cells were through the next door. I just had to wait for the knot of soldiers down at the other end of the hall to move on. In the meantime, I pretended to fish a stone from my boot as I struggled to remember the layout of the dungeon.
I’d been to the prison only once, when my brother snuck me down a few years ago after telling me the story of how the infamous pirate Bloody Jax had died there and still haunted the dungeon. He’d rigged up an old shirt in one of the cells to scare me silly.
The memory cut into my chest. That had been only a few weeks before he died. He must already have been working with the Liberation by then. But he’d said nothing. Why hadn’t he told me? And what would he think now, of Porphyra’s plans? Was this what he had hoped for? Medasia on the brink of war?
He’d gone to the Speakthief to learn about the future. Had he known he was going to die? Did he know it would come to this?
The soldiers finally moved on, leaving the hallway clear. I darted through the doorway, then down a short flight of steps to a narrow hall flanked by storage niches holding the soldiers’ clothing and lunch baskets. Cautiously, I peered around the corner into the next passage: there was the door to the prison cells.
And a soldier guarding it.
I ducked back instantly, my heart pounding. How was I going to get past him? I doubted he would believe my printer-girl story, and besides, that would only work if I could convince him Mother was in the dungeon. I didn’t know the words for invisible or silent.
There must be some other magic I could use. I could try to enlarge his nose, but it might not be enough to render him helpless.
Or maybe I could distract him.…
If I could just draw the soldier’s attention away for a few moments, I might be able to slip through the door without him noticing. I scanned the hallway around me for anything I could throw. My gaze fell on a lunch basket in one of the niches. A heel of bread poked out from one side, while a bulbous purple-and-white root bumped up from the other.
A turnip!
Before I could doubt myself, I seized the vegetable from the basket, then whispered three
words in magespeak: Turnip. Animate. Dance.
The thing wriggled in my hands. Not powerfully, not bounding and leaping as it would have if Moppe had been here. But enough, I hoped, to give me the distraction I needed.
Creeping to the corner, I rolled the turnip down the hallway.
The root toppled end over end, rolling several feet beyond the guard. I held my breath as the turnip spun upright, roots quivering, and began to sashay along the flagstones.
I couldn’t hear the man, but I could see the sudden alarm in his abrupt, jerky movements. He ran forward, making a swipe at the turnip, only to have it pirouette out of his grip. The soldier cursed, crouching to make another attempt, his back to the door.
I dashed forward, heaved open the heavy portal, then slipped through and tugged it shut again. My breath rasped loudly, echoing from the stones. Outside, occasional thumps and curses continued. My turnip was doing well, but it wouldn’t occupy the guard forever. I had to be quick.
My golden glow created a ring of light upon the chilly stones. There were no lamps lit, only a few dark torches. My footsteps echoed as I made my way deeper, following the tunnel-like passage, peering into each barred chamber I passed.
All were empty.
“Master Betrys?” I whispered.
There was no answer.
But of course there wouldn’t be a response. She’d be gagged, of course. I quickened my steps, trying another passage. She must be here somewhere!
Something scuffed in the distance. I couldn’t tell if it was ahead of me or behind me. Was it Master Betrys? Or a soldier come to arrest me? I hurried on, rushing from cell to cell, but found nothing.
Nearly galloping, I raced around another corner, seizing the next set of chilly iron bars and peering within. A shape loomed before me, terrified eyes wide and unblinking, arms raised as if to ward off a blow.
I shrieked.
Then I realized what I was looking at. Councillor Pharon! Locked in stone forever. I stared into his eyes, horror seeping into me. Could he see me? Was he trapped there, forever imprisoned in stone but aware, awake, utterly helpless?
And the wizard who had done this was still out there somewhere. I’d been so certain they were a part of the Liberation, yet I’d seen no sign of wizardry among Captain Porphyra’s crew. And surely if there were rebel wizards, they would have detected Moppe’s power long ago and trained her themselves.
So who had attacked Betrys and Pharon?
Who had sent the statues into the old ruins, and after Moppe and me?
I took a shaky step back, unable to bear looking into the petrified man’s gaze any longer.
“If you’re looking for Master Betrys, I’m afraid I’ve arranged for her to be transferred to a more secure location,” said a man’s voice behind me.
I spun round to find Imperial Envoy Benedict standing in the passage. He tilted his head, blue eyes twinkling. “But since you’ve gone to all this effort, perhaps you’d like to stay awhile and continue our discussion of magical theory?”
My throat seized. I couldn’t have spoken a spell even if I had one. And I didn’t. My mind was too busy trying to make sense of what was happening.
Benedict. The failed wizard. The imperial envoy.
“You needn’t worry,” he said, his resonant voice almost a purr. “I’m not here to arrest you. In fact, I admire your ambition. I’d thought Myra would have you bundled off on a ship back to the mainland by now.”
I coughed, finding my voice. “She tried. But I—I couldn’t leave. I had to do something. There must be some other way to set things to rights. Something other than war.”
“You see, I knew from the moment we met you were a girl after my own heart,” he said. “I agree completely. Far better to find a peaceful solution. Would you care to discuss the matter? Perhaps over some light refreshments?”
Benedict pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the air. It looked like a plain white handkerchief and a few coins, but as the items arced downward he murmured something under his breath, and they began to change.
The two coins grew spindly, folding themselves into glittering brass chairs with graceful backs and clawed feet that clattered down onto the stones. The handkerchief rippled and fluttered between them, becoming a tea table complete with steaming pot, sugar, cream, and a platter of small cucumber sandwiches and frosted cherry cakes.
I gaped. I couldn’t help it. It was a masterful display of enchantment and transfiguration. I wasn’t even sure Master Betrys could have managed it—not that she would try. She’d call it unnecessary frippery. Magic for the sake of magic alone, meant to impress and intimidate.
And it had worked. In spite of myself, my mind was buzzing with the puzzle of it. “How did you manage to heat the tea and chill the cream in the same spell?” I burst out, in spite of myself. “Doesn’t the Rule of Opposites make that—”
“Impossible?” Benedict took a seat in one of the chairs, crossing his long legs. He began pouring the tea. “In a single spell, yes, but this is actually a series of nested incantations. I must say it’s refreshing to encounter a young person with so strong an interest in magical theory. Usually it’s all about the lightning bolts and fireballs at your age.”
I sank into the other chair as the full weight of what I’d seen fell over me. “I don’t see how you couldn’t have earned your mastery if you can cast something like this.”
“I never said I didn’t earn it,” he bit back. “I had to grind and scrape and study for every scrap of magic I learned, unlike some of my fellow students. There was one… I swear she was born with the voice of a god. It came so easily to her. It was infuriating to watch the Masters heap her with praise, when I’d practiced all night and she’d barely looked at the grimoire. To see her receive her mastery, while I”—he gave a hollow laugh—“I was sent home. Denied the one thing I loved most of all.”
His eyes seemed to spark with the flames of longing and envy as he stared into the distance of memory. An expression so familiar it made my own heart jolt. I’d probably worn that same expression when I stood in Master Betrys’s study, reading that letter. A ghost of it still haunted my heart, ready to come howling back if I wasn’t careful.
But things were different now, and not just because the future of Medasia was at stake. A week ago I’d thought that if only I had Moppe’s power, it would solve all my problems. But life was more complicated than that, just as Master Betrys had tried to teach me. If only she were here now!
“But they will see how wrong they were,” continued Benedict, sounding almost wild now. “Because I’m the only one who can restore order to Medasia.” His attention snapped back to me, so sudden it caught the breath in my chest. “And you, my dear girl, are going to help me.”
20
THE TRUTH HIT ME square in the chest, making me gasp. “It was you! You’re the wizard who sent the Furtive! The one who petrified Councillor Pharon! The one the mermaids saw poking around the sunken palace!”
Something flickered behind Benedict’s eyes, but he only smiled, nodding as if acknowledging a hit in a duel. “Yes.”
“You attacked me!”
“I was sent here to ensure the dominion of Regia Terra.” He sipped his tea, looking in no way discomfited by the charges. “I discovered that Councillor Pharon was a Liberationist sympathizer. A danger to society. I couldn’t risk him gaining the Medasian crown. A hard choice, but a necessary one.”
“Then you can order the guard to set Master Betrys free,” I said. “She can help stop this war!”
He gave a regretful shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. Julien’s allegiance remains questionable. I need to know that those I’m working with will put the needs of Regia Terra first and foremost. I need an ally who understands what is at stake. Someone like you, Antonia.”
“What do you mean?” I shook my head, disbelieving. “You don’t need me. You can do all this.” I waved at the enchanted tea table. “You could just magic the crown away from
Moppe.”
“Not easily,” he said, swirling his cup. “It’s rather more difficult when there’s an enormous sea serpent protecting her. Not to mention the fact that there’s no known magespeak for crown.”
I gave a tight huff of laughter. “How do you expect me to help with that? I’m not even powerful. I’m—I’m just a middling wizard.”
Benedict frowned. “If you can understand Therenval and the Rule of Opposites, you’re hardly middling.” His blue eyes transfixed me. “Unless you believe it. Do you?”
I should. I’d seen the words in clear black ink, in that letter of Master Betrys’s I’d read what felt like ages ago. I’d witnessed my own failures, the faltering spells, the lack of potency. Especially compared to what Moppe was capable of.
And yet… deep in my heart, a small, defiant flame burned. I might not have raw power, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t skilled. I was the one who had come up with the spell to stop the Devastation, who had realized that Moppe and I could cast it jointly. Even on my own, I’d managed to trick the Black Drake, giving us this chance to find a peaceful solution. My power would never be as bright and fierce as the sun, but even a single candle could light the dark.
“No,” I said. “I know my own strength. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to help you. Moppe is my friend.”
Benedict arched one dark brow. “Indeed? She betrayed you, cast you aside, and you still wish to help her? The girl who stole your apprenticeship?”
I swallowed. I couldn’t deny the envy that still smoldered deep inside me. But that didn’t mean it was right. That didn’t mean Moppe couldn’t also be my friend, if only we could find a way to navigate this storm to safer shores.
Benedict sighed. “If you truly do care for the girl, then all the more reason to help me. As I understand it, we have you to thank for ensuring that the Black Drake hasn’t already caused considerable devastation.”
“Er. Yes. I convinced it to take Moppe away, to keep things from getting any worse.”