Under her watchful, fearful gaze, I do the only thing I can think of.
I do what comes naturally.
I run.
* * *
I run down the entire spiral staircase, my mind and heart racing. It’s all I can do not to trip over my own feet. I sense Esther’s aura as she follows me, but I quickly outpace her. I run out of the tower and down the palace corridors. I cover almost the entire north wing before I make my way to my sleeping quarters. I find Glenquartz there, waiting for me.
“What’s going on?” Glenquartz asks as he takes in my breathless, haggard appearance.
“I…understand how I became queen.” As I walk past him to pace the length of the room, I pickpocket the decorative blade that hangs at his hip.
“Oh?” Glenquartz says, trying to sound politely intrigued instead of intensely curious.
“I was given a name when I was born,” I say, throwing the heavy blade in a half rotation so it lands in the soft wood of the wardrobe. “I grew up my entire life as one of the Nameless, thinking I was Nameless, but I had a name the whole time! And now that I’m queen, in a position of power, I don’t have a name. It died with him.”
“Are you sure?” Glenquartz asks, eyeing the wardrobe with concern.
“Esther has a tattoo,” I say as I wrench the blade from the wood. “Just like mine. I’m sure.”
Glenquartz freezes, his aura coming to rest like a dying wind. “What? How?”
“Because a generation of idiots thought it was a great idea to tamper with magic,” I continue, angrily. “And—surprise—they made a mistake. Not only am I a target for basically everyone in the city because of who and what I am, but if any of the other cities found out there was a second tattoo, Seriden would be Royally screwed.”
“But why would King Fallow give you the tattoo? How would he have known your name if you don’t know it yourself?”
“Esther told me,” I say. “Showed me, using her magic. And I believe her. Them, I guess. She showed me a memory of her father. She…she’s my sister, Glen.”
“Esther’s your sister?” Glenquartz says slowly, as if saying it will make it make sense.
“Yes,” I say in disbelief. “I don’t even know what it’s supposed to mean. We didn’t grow up together. We’re basically strangers. And what? Everything that I went through was just character building to make me strong? Well, it did more than that. It made me angry. It made me selfish. My entire life is just a single sentence in someone else’s story. I’m the daughter of a king raised as an orphan for no other reason than he thought it would make me a good queen.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” Glenquartz says.
“It’s more than unfair,” I say, slapping the flat edge of the blade against my hand. “It’s unkind. For him to make a decision about my entire life like that? Like he has ownership over me! I’ve lived my whole life defying ownership from others.” I shake my head with frustration. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel about this.”
“I don’t think there’s a ‘supposed to.’ I think whatever you’re feeling…you just feel it.”
I throw the blade against the wardrobe again, and it thuds with a splintering crack.
“I’m angry,” I say as I wrest the blade from the gnarled wood and turn to Glenquartz. “Why would he do this to me? How is this better? How am I better?” The shine of steel, heat rushing through my head, and I suddenly realize I’m holding a knife on Glenquartz and he’s staring down the edge of the blade. He takes a guarded step backward.
I drop my hand, letting out a sharp exhale.
“I don’t know,” Glenquartz says, and I don’t miss the sliver of fear in his aura.
“And Esther! She’s my…” I trail off and pointedly set the blade down on the bedside table. “Do you have any siblings?”
He shakes his head. “Not by blood, but I had sisters and brothers in training to become a Royal guard. Some of them have passed, and some of them have drifted away from me over the years.”
“How do you have siblings who aren’t related to you?” I ask.
“Some friends become best friends, and some best friends become family.” He retrieves his blade and secures it in its sheath. I pick idly at the splinters of wood in the wardrobe, silently wishing I could tear the world to pieces.
“How do I know if they’re ‘like family’ if I have nothing to compare it to?” I ask. “Or if I don’t have any friends at all?”
Glenquartz doesn’t answer for a while. With each passing moment, I feel more and more like a strange rock that’s been abandoned on the side of the street.
Glenquartz speaks carefully. “I’ve heard people say that you can’t choose your family but you can choose your friends. But, really, you can choose both. You can’t change your blood. Who you’re related to by birth is something outside your control. But who your family is? You get to choose that. You get to pick the people you let into your life and who you keep in your life. Who you choose to love and care about is up to you, not anyone else. You’ve just found out that Esther is part of your blood family. What you do with that is entirely up to you. It’s up to both of you, really. What did she say about what she wanted or expected?”
I try to remember. I was so surprised, I didn’t pay much attention to her.
“She said she was sorry for me,” I say. “That when she realized we were sisters, she felt guilty about my life as a Nameless. That I had to live my life without a father. And now I’m mad. I’m angry. Not at her, but at him.” I don’t realize how strongly I feel it until the words are in my mouth and the rage is in my chest.
I continue, “I’m mad, not only because of the life he sentenced me to and the life he deprived me of. I’m mad because I hate him for it, and that’s not fair because I never got the chance to love him. He wanted me to be Nameless when I became queen, but why did that mean I had to grow up alone?”
There are tears rimming Glenquartz’s eyes, and seeing them almost makes me break down too. He shakes his head and extends his arm toward me. It takes me a second to realize he’s offering me a hug. The only person I’ve ever hugged is Hat.
Glenquartz’s arm wavers as though he’s made a mistake in offering, but I relax and let myself be held.
“Do you trust Esther?” Glenquartz asks.
“I…I’ve seen her help people,” I say, pulling out of the embrace. “I want to trust her.”
“Then do. Trust.” Glenquartz shrugs as if it’s that simple.
I groan and run a hand over my forehead. “Gaiza. I have to go tell Esther that I told you.”
Glenquartz squints, puzzled.
“What if she secretly hates you?” I ask. “And I literally told her biggest secret to the first person I saw. Regardless of whether she’s right about us being family, her tattoo is real.”
“You think she secretly hates me?” Glenquartz says skeptically. “I don’t want to brag, but not a lot of people hate me.”
I glare at him. “Lucky you.” I drag Glenquartz toward the door, but I stop short of opening it. “If Esther isn’t at the Fallow tower, where would I find her?”
Glenquartz pinches his chin. “She spends most of her time in the sparring room. I can take you there tomorrow morning, if you like. Or, judging from your angry eyebrows, I can take you now. Now is great.”
“Good choice.”
Yet as soon as we open the door, we find Esther standing there. Everything about her posture is apologetic, and I chastise myself for not sensing her aura as she approached.
“I told Glenquartz,” I say immediately. “About your…arm.”
Esther checks an imaginary watch. “That didn’t take long. Did you tell anyone else?”
I shake my head no, but I pause. “But I’ll probably tell Hat, too.”
“Would you like to tell the Royal C
ouncil as well?” she suggests impatiently.
“No. That about sums up the people who don’t want me dead.”
Esther lets out a controlled sigh and steps into the room, closing the door gently behind her. “I’ve given some thought as to where we go from here. I think we should keep our…alliance, for lack of a better term, off the Royal Council’s radar. We can still present a united front publicly, though, offering consolation to the victims of the fire.”
“If Fallow wanted the crowns reunited in our generation, then it makes my decision easy,” I say. “On the morning of the Assassins’ Festival, I’ll give the crown tattoo to you, Esther. I don’t care what the Royal Council wants. Why delay the inevitable?”
Esther shakes her head. “That wasn’t the reason I told you those things. I watched you use your abilities and charge into a burning building to rescue someone! Our father wanted you to be queen so that you could mend the divide between the classes. I think that when you gain your full abilities on the day of the festival, you might be able to do something no one else ever has—make the Nameless into citizens.”
Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “How can I defend my position here in the palace when there are citizens of Seriden who are so against my rule that they murdered at least three people?” I throw my hands into the air. “I can’t protect the Legals or the Nameless. Everything I’ve tried to do since I’ve gotten here has failed. Everything. I sent food out to the Nameless, and it got poisoned. I tried to find out what’s been happening to the disappearing Nameless, and I got nothing but rumors and dead bodies. I tried to have Hat released from prison, and the Royal Guard denied my request. Then, when I saved her life, it led to riots, fires, and deaths. Tell me, how would I make a good queen? Tell me how this city doesn’t burn itself alive the moment I try to sit on that throne.”
Esther thinks that her—our—father wanted me to be crowned queen. I think she’s wrong. I think that on the day of the Assassins’ Festival, I’m meant to give my crown to her. There’s no other way to reunite the two crowns, unless Fallow was hoping I’d die at the festival. Maybe Esther is supposed to kill me.
She studies the floorboards.
“Then I have four weeks to change your mind,” she says at length. “Eldritch’s etiquette lessons have helped you learn how to act the part, but that’s not what you need anymore. Instead, let Glenquartz train you how to fight so if you decide to duel for your crown, you’ll be ready. And let me teach you how to use your magic. There’s a reason you stayed at Med Ward with me. I can show you how to use your abilities to defend yourself at the festival. Let me help you. Give me a chance to change your mind.”
CHAPTER 16
Throughout the rest of the day, Belrosa is all too eager to flaunt her story of taking command and organizing the brigade that doused the flames. No one talks about the speech I was supposed to give. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to try again—not when smoke still hangs in the air and the scent of blood still lingers in Med Ward.
Every time I hear someone say “only three people died” in the fires, I want to rip off their necklaces and pocket watches and shout that there’s no only about it. The final numbers came in late last night from Rhana. Eight people died. Not three Legals and five Nameless. Eight people.
So when one of the Legal servants brings me an extra hot roll and a small cup of wine at dinner, I make a quiet toast to remember the five Nameless who won’t be mourned for their loss or celebrated for their heroism.
I meet Esther after breakfast at Med Ward. There are still a lot of injured people from the fires, and Rhana says they’re running low on anesthetics.
“What exactly is it that…I can do?” I ask.
“You can make people see hallucinations,” Esther explains. “That is only one aspect of your abilities. You can sense the auras and locations of your subjects from a distance, but the closer you are to someone, the more vulnerable you are. Yet it also lets you be more powerful. When you touch one of your subjects, you gain access to their mind. You can push emotional states and images on people. Hallucinations inside their heads. Or you can let them guide you, as we did when I showed you the memories of our…King Fallow.”
I cough awkwardly. Our father.
“Or,” she hurries to continue, “you can make me experience or feel something. You can observe my memories or thoughts. Or you can show me yours. It’s like…guiding an air current. You can’t necessarily tell it what direction to go, but you can control its path. I want you to try again. When you first met Belrosa, you saw flashes of memory or thoughts when you shook her hand in the meeting, right? That’s the push of the air current. You can guide that force in a different direction. Take this man’s hand. Lead him into a calming memory. He may resist. His memories and fears could overwhelm you. They may be strong, but you can be stronger.”
I steady my nerves, reach out, and place my hand on his.
In an instant, my body curls and coils, and sharp pain embeds itself in my leg. I know with absolute certainty that I’ll never walk again. I try to move forward and imagine something else, but fire springs to life all around me. Walls rise to enclose me. I pound my fists against the burning wall again and again, and splinters of wood dig into my hands. Smoke and ash fill my eyes, my throat, and my lungs. All I can hear is a high-pitched scream that trembles through my entire body, and my leg—my leg, I’ll never walk again.
I fall to my knees, and suddenly I’m once again in Med Ward, collapsed beside the bed, gasping lungfuls of fresh air. It tastes of antiseptic.
I breathe heavily. “That was horrible.” I can hear the heart-rending pain in my own voice. I can’t shake the loss that carves itself inside my chest. My body is fine. There’s no fire beneath my fists, no wounds to my legs.
Esther sits on the floor right beside me. “It’s okay to feel it.” She’s gripping the hems of her sleeves, and I can sense that she wants nothing more than to move closer to me, to put a hand on my shoulder.
“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. “I shouldn’t be feeling this.”
“I know, I know,” she says. “It’s his. You’re feeling what he felt. The loss and anger, the pain. Most importantly: the fear. That’s what we’re trying to save him from.”
I shake my head again. “But it isn’t mine.” I say it as though to comfort myself.
“You’re right,” she says, “but that doesn’t make it any less real. Whatever he’s feeling, you’re feeling. You can let yourself feel it. Then you can let it pass.”
Esther rises to a crouch and offers me her hand. A warm soothing energy fills me, along with the image of sunlit sails in the harbor, shifting slowly in the ocean wind. I let the sensation fill me up from my fingertips to my toes, and for the first time I can see how beautiful the harbor really is. When she lets go, the vision fades and I feel like myself again, with my familiar distaste for the ocean restored.
Then she takes the man’s hand, and he soothes instantly, his body relaxing.
“If it helps, approach this like…like it’s a con,” Esther says. “Like you’re tricking him into experiencing something that isn’t his. Be in control. Try again, now that he’s calmer. Focus on your own thoughts. Guide him. You’re using both aspects of your powers at once: experiencing his thoughts and memories, and then showing him an illusion and controlling what he sees, but in his mind.”
It takes a minute for me to prepare myself. Once I do, I place my hand upon his. I focus on a memory as though it’s a trinket in my hand, shaping its details with my mind.
At first, everything is black, calm and cool. Then pinpricks of stars open up overhead, and a warm summer breeze rushes over our skin. I’m sitting on top of the library in the Inner Ring. I’ve had a good week stealing from the markets, and I have enough extra food to make a special evening for myself. I’m eating a cold fruit pastry, sitting above a thousand books th
at I’ll never be able to read. The stars are as brilliant as they’ve ever been.
Then I’m remembering the first time I saw the stars at the harbor—the way the ocean crumpled the image of the sky and made it sparkle a thousand times brighter. Then an uncommonly clear sky in winter: starlight seen through the icy window of the baker’s shop, a rare flash of light right after dusk, patches of black clouds obscuring constellations—all of it beautiful and precious and everywhere at once.
When I leave the memory, it’s like letting go. In those last moments, I feel the man’s decision to stay there, staring up at the black sky, which now holds more constellations than I ever thought possible.
I release the Legal’s arm, and he’s quiet now, resting peacefully on the cot. I try not to look too astounded or confused.
“What did you show him?” Esther asks.
“I showed him the sky,” I say. “A hundred different times, but all at once.”
“Good. Very good.” She nods. “When you leave them like that, they use those images and memories as launching points for their own dreams. He probably won’t remember your original memory when he wakes.”
“How did you learn all of this?” I ask. “If you’re a secret, when did you ever get any practice?”
I check if anyone’s close enough to eavesdrop, but no one is. Rhana is having a discussion with her apprentices about how to make sure people take their medicine. And while Rhana herself is facing us, the small group of apprentices is facing away.
“My father taught me a lot, brought me here a couple times. Until he wouldn’t anymore. And when I knew enough to know I could help, I came here on my own.”
“That’s so…good and responsible of you,” I say. I half expect her to shrug or play it off as no big deal.
“Yes,” Esther agrees. “It is. It’s part of the job, part of the life. Being responsible and doing good…You’re in the enviable position of having power. There’s so much you can do with it. When most people have an idea of being sovereign or ruling the city, their idea of power is wrapped up in a single goal. A person wants to be powerful because they think it’s their right, or they want to prove they can do it, or they want to fix a specific problem. But being a sovereign is about being the type of person who deserves that power and who makes good decisions with it.”
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