Rival Magic

by Deva Fagan

  Wait.

  I wasn’t the only one who had asked a question in the Cave of Echoes. What had Master Betrys said? That she feared the return of someone dangerous from her past and needed a way to stop them. Benedict clearly despised her, and they’d been students together at the Schola. And he had sent the Furtive.

  My heart began to thrum. In the fight after the gala, when I tried to interfere, Master Betrys had cast a counterspell on me that I didn’t recognize. And when the statue had grabbed for me, there had been that moment when I was certain I was going to be petrified. When I survived, I assumed it must have been a different spell.

  But what if it wasn’t? What if the long-lost word Betrys gained from the Cave of Echoes was the magespeak to un-petrify someone, because she suspected her old rival had returned and knew what he was capable of? What if she’d used it on me, and that was why I’d survived the statue’s attack?

  I dug back into my memory, struggling to remember the incantation. I spoke it silently, twice, to practice. Then once, aloud.

  Magic rippled through me, sharp and clear and powerful.

  I held my breath, staring at Moppe, eyes stinging, unable to blink or look away. A faint tinge warmed the gray stone of her cheeks, so slowly I feared it was only the reflection of my own glow. Then darkness shot through her stone curls. They began to ripple, blowing in the breeze. Her throat shivered. Her lips quivered. Her eyes darkened. Blinked.

  She gasped, and my entire world suddenly spun back into motion, like a freshly wound clock. “Moppe!” I cried, flinging my arms around her.

  Cloth and hair and flesh and bone. “I’m sorry!” I chanted it over and over again.

  Her arms squeezed back. “I know. I’m sorry too.”

  I don’t know how long we stood there. But finally Moppe asked, “Am I really?”

  “Are you really what?”

  She pulled back, looking at me with an odd expression. “You told that pustule Benedict I was your best friend.”

  “You heard that? But you were stone!”

  “I could hear everything. See everything.” She shuddered. “Imagine being trapped that way, forever. But yes, I saw you standing up to that imperial pimple.”

  “Oh.” I looked down to hide the flush on my face. I hadn’t really thought about it. The words had just… tumbled out. But they felt true. In spite of everything, in spite of the jealousy and the betrayal, Moppe was my best friend.

  “It’s funny,” she said. “I despised you when I first came to Master Betrys’s. Every time I saw you I wanted to tear those ruffles off your gown and stuff them in your face. Arrogant know-it-all.”

  Strangely, her words didn’t hurt. Instead they loosened something in my chest. I huffed, almost a laugh.

  “I hated you, too,” I admitted. “Do you know how hard it was for me to get a single turnip to even wobble? And then you came in and had them all dancing minuets with no training at all. You’re so powerful, Moppe. It’s—it’s hard not to be jealous.”

  “I am pretty wonderful,” she said, smirking.

  “And you call me arrogant?” I snorted. “You declared yourself queen.”

  Moppe tucked her arms around her midsection at that, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t really want to be queen. But Mama says it’s the only way for Medasia to be free. If we can prove that Meda’s bloodline is still here, the emperor will have to honor that. I don’t want a war, but I do want all Medasians to have a fair life. Not just the ones who toady up to the Regians, who already have fancy houses and fancy manners.”

  “I guess my brother thought that too,” I said. “And… and so do I.”

  Moppe bit her lip. “I’m sorry about Florian. I know that doesn’t make it better, but I’m sorry.”

  I nodded, gulping down a tight knot in my throat. “Do you know what he asked the Speakthief?”

  She shook her head. “I never met him. I asked my mother, but she said he never mentioned it. I guess he didn’t tell anyone.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut. “It doesn’t matter. My brother died fighting for a free Medasia, and I ruined it. If I hadn’t tricked the Black Drake into kidnapping you, none of this would have happened. But I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to stand up to your mother. I should have trusted you.”

  “She is a hard woman to say no to,” said Moppe, giving me a wry grin. “I guess we both know something about that. I should have trusted you after we got the crown in the first place. I thought you only wanted the crown so you could turn it over to your mother and the council.”

  I snorted. “I guess we’re even, then.”

  “Now we just need to stop Benedict before he turns this into an outright war,” said Moppe, looking out ferociously across the harbor.

  War. War. War.

  I stared up at the craggy, echoing stones. Echoes again. Was it simply chance? Or was someone—something—trying to send us a message? Now I knew what Master Betrys’s answer had been. My own answer was likely as useless as my question. But someone else had asked Rhema a question that day.

  “Moppe, what did you say you asked in the Cave of Echoes?”

  “I asked for a way to free Medasia without a war. But I told you, it didn’t work. I said it about a thousand times: Medasia, and then the word. I must have not heard it right.”

  “Maybe it’s more complicated than that,” I said. “What if there’s some other way we can fix this and free Medasia without a war, using your word?”

  “Could we use it to get the crown back from Benedict?”

  I drummed my fingers against my chin, thinking hard. “If it was the word for crown, I could try a recovery spell and—”

  “Except that won’t really solve the problem.” Moppe grimaced. “Someone will always be trying to steal the crown, so long as it controls the Black Drake.”

  A bolt of understanding shivered through me. “What if it didn’t? What if your word can set him free?”

  Moppe’s brows arched. “But—”

  “What would you rather have?” I asked. “The Black Drake compelled to do Benedict’s bidding? Or the Black Drake deciding for himself what to do?”

  “But what if he goes on a rampage? Or just abandons us?”

  “It’s the risk we have to take. But he seemed rather nice. I mean, for a sea monster.”

  Moppe nodded. “Let’s do it. It’s worth trying, at least. How do I target it, though? Do I just say ‘Black Drake’? Is that his name?”

  “It’s the only name I’ve ever heard him called. Even if it’s not a proper name, if you say it in magespeak, it should work. He’s the only black-colored drake around, so as a target identifier it should be enough. You already know the word for black, and drake is drake.”

  She groaned. “Another hundred-syllable word.”

  “It’s not that bad. Only twelve. Can you remember it?”

  I had her repeat the magespeak for Black Drake until she could say it without stumbling. When she finally got it, she did a small jig of triumph, punching the air. “Finally! Now we need to get close enough to use it, without that stinkfin petrifying us.”

  I grinned. “Let him try. Petrify isn’t a solitaire. Not anymore! I’ll counterspell us both before we get there.”

  “He’s still out in the middle of the ocean, though,” said Moppe. “Should I turn you into a dolphin again?”

  “No!” I held up my hands hastily, warding off the suggestion. “I’ve got a better idea.”

  22

  SALT SPRAY SPATTERED MY HAIR and dress, dashing up in my face with every cresting wave. I crouched in the shell-coracle beside Moppe as Nerine and the Ravager tugged us through the bounding waves in pursuit of the Black Drake.

  “There,” the mermaid queen called out, pointing. “I see the drake. He’s attacking those drylanders.”

  Moppe craned her neck to see. “That’s the Victory!”

  The frigate was clearly in peril, listing to one side, masts snapped, sailcloth floating in the water. And yet they fought on. As
I watched, smoke puffed along one side, followed by the boom of a cannon. Around it, the water frothed and spun as the Black Drake circled the ship.

  He reared up, jaws snapping, to catch one of the cannons from the deck, shaking it like a cat with a mouse, before spitting it into the water. Gods, I hoped this worked!

  “We need to hurry!” Moppe urged.

  Nerine sang a wordless song. The Ravager beat her tail more strongly, whipping us through the waves.

  “How close do we need to get?” Moppe asked, kneeling now, braced against the smoothly luminous shell.

  “The closer, the better,” I said. “Generally, just being able to see or hear or feel the target is enough.”

  “I guess it’s good he’s so enormous. Black Drake—oh blast it, he’s gone under.”

  “Ware the drylander,” called Nerine.

  “It’s Benedict!” I called out as I caught the glitter of ice on the horizon. “He’s spotted us!”

  The wizard’s enchanted ship wove through the waves like a crackle of lightning. Benedict stood at the prow wearing an expression of disbelief as he stared at Moppe. “Impossible! The girl lives!”

  A great surge of water rose up as the enormous dark serpent loomed over us. “Glorious queen, you have returned!”

  “She’s not your queen, you foolish creature!” spat Benedict. “I have the crown. I am your liege now, and you will do my bidding. Destroy that ship!”

  The Black Drake gave an agonized whimper. With a great heave, he twisted and hefted his bulk back toward the rebel ship. Around and around he spun, coiling up and over the Victory, a terror of dark scales lashing round the vessel.

  “This rebellion ends today,” snarled Benedict. “I will bring order to this chaos. I, and I alone. Those fools thought I was too weak to be named Master. Now they will learn the truth! Now they will honor me as I deserve!”

  “Black Drake!” shouted Moppe. And then, finally, she spoke the word.

  But nothing happened. The Black Drake still coiled around the ship, snarling and snapping. In moments, the ship would be crushed. Screams echoed across the water. Sailors scrambled across the heaving deck, trying to arm the cannons. Captain Porphyra’s purple scarf flashed among them as she fought to save the ship.

  Moppe spun to face me. “Did I say it wrong?”

  I shook my head. “No, you said it perfectly. Every syllable.” Heavy dread dragged me down. I was missing something. Blast it! And if I didn’t figure it out soon, we were all doomed.

  Benedict threw his head back, laughing long and loud. “I’m sorry,” he drawled, “was that supposed to be a spell? Foolish girls. If it were that easy, I’d have gained control of the creature long ago. Whatever it is you think you’re doing, it will never work. The Black Drake has no name. The only power that binds him is this crown.” He tapped the circlet. “But since you insist on interfering, we may as well end this now. Black Drake, I command you to kill the false queen.”

  The Black Drake made a horrible noise, somewhere between a groan and a bellow. “As you command, my king.”

  He was upon us in heartbeats. Nerine barely had time for a warning trill before a great scaly bulk crashed into the coracle-boat, spilling us into the water.

  I sputtered, slapping at the sea and kicking. But with every movement I only sank deeper. Icy water swirled around my hands and legs, tugging me down. I reached out, grasping desperately for anything that could save me.

  Something slid under my hands: smooth but grooved just enough that I could catch hold with the tips of my fingers. It heaved, flexing. With a thrill of horror, I realized what it was, but I didn’t let go. It was still better than drowning.

  I clung to the Black Drake’s neck, tight as a barnacle, as the water suddenly fell away in heavy sheets. The creature had surfaced! I gasped, filling my lungs, then coughed to clear the salt from my throat.

  I had never been this close to the Black Drake before. I could almost see my own reflection in the glossy dark scales. Dark as wine. Dark as the evening sky.

  Dark. But not truly black. The color was richer and deeper. Like the heart of a velvety iris, or the dusky bloom of a ripe grape. It was only now that I was so close that I could see the truth.

  A shriek above me shattered the fragile thought. I peered up to see Moppe dangling only a few feet above me. Gods save us, the Black Drake had her in his jaws! An answering scream came from the Victory, where Captain Porphyra clung to the railing along the stern, watching the horrible scene unfold.

  Moppe struggled, beat against his muzzle, writhed and twisted. It was no use. Those terrible fangs imprisoned her tight.

  I felt as if someone had petrified my heart. His great gold eyes were blank as a statue’s. He was nothing but raw power now, his will utterly lost to the crown. To Benedict, and his schemes and hatreds.

  Moppe was suspended above me, black curls spilling in a cloud around her terrified face. She reached out, hands flailing in the empty air. “Antonia!”

  And finally, I knew what to do.

  “Moppe!” I cried. “Remember how we stopped the Devastation?”

  Understanding flared in her eyes, driving back some of the terror. “Yes!” She struggled against the clench of the monster’s mouth, fingers straining to close the gap between us.

  “Kill her!” thundered Benedict. “Now!”

  The Black Drake tossed his head, clearly fighting the command. But with the crown’s hold on him, he couldn’t resist forever. Already his jaws were tightening.

  Moppe screamed, but the drake’s flailing had dipped her closer to me. Finally my fingers caught hers, tangling tight. She squeezed back. Our eyes met, holding steady even as the world fell to chaos all around. Then I spoke the word Rhema had given me, praying I had guessed its meaning, finally.

  A tingle of magic coursed through me.

  I spoke the second word. “Drake.”

  The tingle became a torrent, a tide of raw potential that was like wading in starlight. Moppe’s hand jerked, yanking me half out of the coracle.

  I clung tight. I couldn’t let go. Not until she finished this. Just a little longer!

  Moppe shouted the final word of the spell.

  A flood of magic broke loose, cascading over me. Everything seemed to stop. The screams, the sun, the heaving of the sea itself. The drake.

  For a dreadful moment I was afraid Benedict had petrified the monster, but his scales were as sleek and black—or rather, dark purple—as ever. Then time spun back.

  The Black Drake lowered his great maw, dropping Moppe gently onto the overturned coracle. I slid down beside her, collapsing in a boneless heap. We clung to each other, all rattled breath and triumph.

  I looked up to find great golden eyes blinking down at us, no longer empty and enslaved.

  “I… I am free.”

  He rose up, long neck unfurling, turning to face Benedict.

  “I do not wish to kill. And I am not a foolish creature,” he hissed with a trace of petulance.

  Benedict’s expression melted into wrath. He seized the pearly crown from his own head and shook it at the drake. “I have the crown! You have to do what I command!”

  “No.” The drake bared his terrible teeth, thrumming a low rumble. “I do not think so. You are not my glorious king.”

  Benedict’s fierce gaze found me. “You. You did this.” He gave a huff—half annoyance, half admiration. “You’re more clever than I thought. Making me think the girl was petrified. What was it? An illusion? Some sort of transfiguration? Not that it matters. You’ll soon understand that you made the wrong choice. Antonia. Petrify.”

  The magic buzzed over me, a cold lick of power.

  Then my counterspell pinged, bouncing the magic back and making Benedict wince. Now he looked more than simply annoyed. He looked… scared.

  I crossed my arms, tilting my chin, enjoying his discomfort. “Here’s a clue,” I said. “It wasn’t an illusion. And it wasn’t transfiguration. Actually, I used your variation of T
herenval’s Technique to layer on the anti-petrify counterspells, so I’ve still got about ten of them active. In case you want to try again,” I added, giving him my sweetest and most poisonous smile.

  Benedict snarled, but I was faster. “Benedict. Petrify.”

  He had only enough time to look startled before his skin dulled to gray and his lips froze. The enchanted boat splintered to shards of ice beneath his weight. I had one glimpse of his blank stone gaze before he was lost beneath the waves.

  The Black Drake gave a fluting cry and dived after him.

  “Hey!” Moppe exclaimed. “I thought we set him free.”

  But the serpent rose up barely a heartbeat later, carefully clasping something small and luminous in his mouth. He swam slowly over to our upturned shell boat, dipping his great head down so we could see what he held so gently between those ravenous teeth.

  It was the crown.

  I nudged Moppe. “I think he wants you to take it.”

  She did, though her hands were trembling. The Black Drake gave a satisfied nod.

  “Glorious queen, how may I serve you?”

  “But you don’t have to serve me,” she said. “I set you free.”

  “Yes. And now I am free to serve you. Not by the words of the gods, but by my own choosing. What is your command?”

  Moppe’s anxious expression broke into a grin of pure relief. She smiled at me, reaching out to squeeze my hand as she said, loud enough so even the battered rebels aboard the Victory could hear, “Let’s go negotiate a peace treaty.”

  * * *

  It turns out that peace treaties take a lot less time to negotiate when one party has a giant, terrifying sea monster on their side. It took only three days for my mother, the rest of the council, Captain Porphyra, and Queen Agamopa to come to an agreement. Unfortunately, I was there for most of it, even the deadly boring bits about the spiny-snail territories and restrictions on harvest. I knew they were important, but honestly, the details had begun to blur together by the fifth hour of debate.

  By the third day they had winnowed down the long list of grievances to a mere handful of issues. I was only half listening, more interested in searching my grimoire for the elusive counterspell that would free me of my glow. It had been quite useful in the past days, but I was more than ready to turn it off.