by D. H. Dawson
‘What we planned last time.’ I set my left hand behind my back and raise the blade in my right. ‘We parry, practice, and I try not to hurt you.’ I think of my father’s warning. I would not like to be thrown in jail—or, more likely, killed—for this girl getting injured because she doesn’t know what she’s doing, and she’s not wearing suitable attire.
The princess’s lip puckers. ‘You men always think you’re tougher, don’t you?’
‘No, Princess.’ I pointedly look at the blade she had me forge. ‘This can hurt you,’ I remind her, as though she’s forgotten. As though, as a witch, she’s too arrogant to remember she’s not invulnerable.
The princess glares at me. ‘I can see what you’re thinking, and I don’t care for it. Just treat me like another student.’
There’s no point in telling her I’ve never had another student—I’m the same age as she is. ‘You can’t hear my thoughts, Princess. That is a power you do not have.’ For which I’m very grateful, because if she did, not only would she likely be upset at what I think of witches—especially royal ones—but she might have my head taken for it. I try to smile, to wipe away whatever thoughts she thinks she can see. ‘Come on. I’ll go easy on you.’
The princess scoffs and slashes out at me.
Chapter Twelve
Carmen
I haven’t had a moment to myself since we returned from the Mortal Realm; upon returning, I stormed off, perhaps childishly, to seek a quiet refuge to summon the dark figure who haunts me—then discovered the fallible guards, and I haven’t stopped all day.
Spellcasting with Matthew was complicated; there was something warm and familiar about working with another Spirit witch, and I was thrilled to be learning, but I was also very distracted—probably why it took me four times to do the spell right—by Matthew, the guards and who they might be working for, worrying about my family, being annoyed at Ares’s attitude, and… well, Cristian.
Cristian stands before me, injured, and tired-looking, though with a little more colour in his cheeks than earlier. When I tried the small tracking spell on Matthew’s familiar, the rabbit, and it worked, I had felt a thrill of pride and excitement rush through me. The look on Cristian’s face would’ve been more suited to a funeral; what had I done to make him so ashen, his eyes so distant?
I know he doesn’t like me for being a witch; but that’s not fair, is it? It would be the same for my not liking that he’s a human. No, Carmen. Humans weren’t the oppressors. But now the battles are won, aren’t they? Since my parents banished the Knights, and saved all the humans, why does the humans’ resentment linger? It was just before I was born. Why does Cristian look at me with such distrust? In his lifetime, he’s seen none of this, he’s lost nothing to witches. Has he simply been raised against us by his father?
‘Focus.’ Cristian slashes out, a glancing blow against my arm. Every time he grazes me, I watch him bashfully lower his gaze; I see it. I see that he doesn’t mean me harm.
He’s right, though, I’m not focused. I slash back. I’ve never held such a weapon before. I expected it to be made entirely of wood, but of course that wouldn’t be easy to wield. I’m surprised he managed to make these so readily. He’s truly his father’s son; these weapons are works of art, even if the Gaia Wood has somehow tainted that art for him. He doesn’t see them as beautiful, but I do. I jab out at him, and he looks at me as he side-steps.
‘That will not help you, Princess.’ Cristian lowers his weapon and closes the distance between us, standing behind me, facing the open air where my foe would be. ‘If I may?’
Heat rises to my cheeks, and I hope he can’t see. I nod.
Cristian takes my hand, over my sword, and guides my hand in a slow, arcing motion. ‘Slash, don’t stab. You see?’
Something strange has happened to my throat. It feels thick and uncomfortable. I’m extremely aware of where his skin touches mine. ‘I—yes, of course.’
Cristian removes his hand, as though not wanting to touch the witch any longer than he must, and returns to his position. He raises his dark brows expectantly. ‘Try again.’
‘Am I really aiming to slash you?’
Cristian sighs. ‘Pretend I’m your foe. This isn’t a game. If you don’t fight as though you’re trying to harm me, you won’t learn.’
The first thought that comes to my mind shouldn’t have surprised me, but did: But I don’t want to harm you. I push it away. Clearly he wants nothing to do with me. In a moment of panic, he’d pulled me from the field when the Knights of the Underworld attacked, a fleeting obligatory save the princess thing. Nothing more. I don’t want him to think me weak, so I slash out, but he raises his own sword lazily which grazes against mine with a metallic clang.
Cristian sighs derisively, as though annoyed by a child. ‘Don’t aim for my sword, aim for me.’
‘But your sword is in front of you,’ I say reasonably. ‘I’d have to get past it to get to you, won’t I?’
Cristian drags a hand down his face. ‘Why haven’t you had any training all your life? Because you never thought you’d need it, being a witch, or because you’re a girl and you’re a princess, and protected?’
My mouth falls open and I step back. It’s not even in me to stutter out, How dare you? I close my mouth, gaze on the ground. I wasn’t trained at a younger age because, as the heir, it’s not expected I’ll ever need to fight. You’re right, I’m protected. But it’s not because I’m a girl. Tiberius trains once a week with the guards. Hara trains in her own way. But a queen, as I’m to be, has no reason to be in battles. She rules. It was only through years of begging and being stubborn that I finally wore my father down, and he promised he would let me train. I don’t want to be useless. I want to fight. My gaze avoids Cristian’s and I find Matthew, sitting, staring at me with sympathetic eyes. He won’t come over and accost Cristian, even if he did overhear. From what I’ve seen of the other Spirit witch, he is too gentle for that. I wouldn’t want him to, anyway.
I lower my sword. Perhaps this was a bad idea. I pull the ribbon out of my hair as tears burn my eyes. I walk up to Cristian and press the sword into his grasp. ‘You’re right. I’m just a useless girl.’ Only when I pass him do the tears fall, warm against my cheeks. I was very stupid for thinking these instructors, especially the human, could stand me for so long. A few days, and already Cristian has snapped at me every time he sees me, annoyed, impatient.
Without thinking, I walk into the village, needing to clear my head. I come across a bakery, finer than any other, run by a woman who always smiles and bows politely. ‘Your Royal Highness. Is there anything I can get you?’
I blink away the tears and try to smooth my features. ‘Would you happen to have tea, Juliette?’
‘Of course, with honey?’
I smile. ‘You remember.’
The baker nods and busies herself for a moment. My mind blurs, awash in embarrassment. I wonder if the people would think less of me if I were to discontinue my training. Even if they did, would they say anything to me? I picture Juliette here glaring at me disdainfully. The Princess Who Quit.
The baker pulls me out of my reverie, and waves me back, behind the counter. She’s set up a table with a white cloth and my tea.
‘Oh, you didn’t have to do all this.’
Juliette smiles and bows. ‘It’s my honour. I—Your Highness, I hope it’s okay to ask, but are you alright? You appear upset.’
My face must be wet with tears already fallen, perhaps I’m flushed, but I take a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid my training isn’t going very well.’
‘Oh. Why’s that?’
Heat pinches my cheeks. ‘I didn’t realise I appeared so… incapable. My weapons instructor—’ My voice breaks. ‘Well, he very much does not like me.’ I shouldn’t be talking to her like this, so informally, but Juliette has always been kind to me, and Gilah has been sleeping more these days. I don’t like to bother my parents with insecurities, and besides,
as a princess, I’m not really supposed to have any. Better not to breathe life into them by voicing them to the King and Queen. This baker, she will keep my secrets.
Juliette lowers herself to a stool, not at the table—one cannot invite themselves to dine with a princess—but away from me, though her attention on me is total. ‘Your weapons instructor? The human?’ She’s human, too, I’ve always known.
‘Oh. I hope that didn’t sound like—’
Juliette shakes her head. ‘No, Princess. By many humans, you are loved. There are some who…’ She bites her lip. If this conversation went a certain way, there could be charges of treason. She flushes, worried.
‘Tell me,’ I say. ‘I don’t understand. He’s my age. Why would he harbour such resentment, and for me, personally?’
Juliette’s lips are pursed tightly shut.
‘You needn’t fear any repercussions. Please, explain this to me. I want to know.’
Juliette worries her hands in her lap, fidgeting with her nails. ‘Well, Your Highness, I’m sure you’re well aware of your—wonderful, brave—parents, and what they did to earn their thrones.’ There’s hesitancy on the word earn, but I make no comment. ‘As witches ruled over humans, long ago, and the humans, in desperation, summoned the dark Knights, who then overruled them and witches, your parents, your family, banished the dark.’ Sadness welled in her eyes. ‘For witches, for you, that may have seemed the end of witches’ tyranny, but it was not so.’
I stare, disbelieving, as Juliette hesitates. ‘Continue,’ I whisper.
‘This you likely do not know. I don’t know under whose order, but, from the Crown, there were… hunts. When you were just a baby, the Crown hunted down dissenters. Humans who were prejudiced against witches—and spoke freely of this—were executed.’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘Princess… if—if anyone finds out I’ve told you this—’
‘They won’t. Juliette, you will remain an unnamed source.’ I leave my seat and approach her, and crouch low to meet her gaze—something a good princess would never do. I reach out and clasp her hands. ‘Please. I need to know why I’ve always been met with cutting glares. I thought people resented my parents simply for taking power. If there’s more, I need to know.’
Juliette nods bravely. ‘The Crown hunted humans, but what they don’t let anyone speak about is, they also hunted witches.’
‘What?’
‘Any who showed the potential to be more powerful than they. That’s how they got their throne. By being powerful enough to banish the Knights, but if any should present themselves as a stronger force, someone who could better protect the realm, they were considered a threat and… and killed.’
If I weren’t crouched by the ground, I might’ve rocked back on my heels. ‘This can’t be true.’
‘Your Highness, I would not lie. Please, believe me. I knew one such witch. She was my best friend. Had she been my sister, as some thought, I’d have been killed, too.’
‘But this… this doesn’t explain my instructor—’
Juliette squeezes my hand. ‘I know your instructor, Princess. His name is Cristian Smith. His mother was Odette Smith, and she was killed for being a powerful witch when he was eight years old. Some ten years ago. He has his reasons not to trust you, I’m afraid.’
‘My parents killed his mother.’
I leave the bakery, tea hardly touched, with Juliette’s pleading murmurs, begging me not to say anything to anyone, even Cristian. If it were brought to attention that he was the son of a this too-strong witch, he would be treated with deep suspicion. The Crown doesn’t keep track of these things, it seems, for Father never would have plucked him from obscurity if he’d realised this.
The shock vibrates through me as though I’ve been electrocuted. This makes no sense. It cannot be true. I race up to my chambers as the sun hangs low in the sky. It’s been a long day; it would be easier to believe that my favourite baker had been spinning an old wives’ tale, and a cruel, horrifying one at that. I push my doors open and slam them closed behind me before collapsing onto the bed.
What is most horrible is that now it all makes sense. People don’t resent me or my parents for taking crowns after they defeated the evil, but for the slaughters they committed to keep them. My mind races as I hug a pillow to my chest. Perhaps someone within the household gave these orders? Perhaps my parents never knew anything of it? If the last few days have shown anything, it’s that my castle is not as impenetrable as I’d believed. What if someone gained access and somehow manipulated these things?
I cannot picture my mother or father doing this. Even without crowns, we would be well off; we’re all talented Spirit witches, and would be among the richest in the realm. Why would they need to murder people to hold their positions? How could they be so cold?
A knock sounds on my door. Before I can open my mouth to tell them to go away, a voice sounds. ‘It’s Ares, Princess. May I speak with you?’
I sigh. Will this be another episode of Ares’s harsh opinions on humans? I let my face fall into the pillow. These prejudices are maddening. I don’t want any part of them. I have nothing against humans, or witches more powerful than myself. ‘What is it?’
Ares opens the door slightly. ‘Hi. I returned to the pond to check on Matthew’s spell. He told me what happened. I came to check on you. May I come in?’
‘Oh.’ That’s surprisingly nice. Then again, this young man did present me with a rose, once. ‘You may.’
Ares enters the room and looks around uncertainly. Under no circumstances should a man, unless specifically invited, be near my bed. I stand and move over to the table and offer him a seat, and he takes it. ‘Princess, would you like me to have the human thrown in the cells for what he said to you?’
I expel a harsh breath. ‘No! Of course not.’
Ares tilts his head in confusion. ‘But Matthew said—’
‘I know, but—’ With everything I’ve just learnt, I don’t blame Cristian for the way he speaks to me. It’s not precisely me he has a problem with, but my family. Or, maybe that does include me. But it’s not his fault. It’s not some old resentment he’s holding onto, but the loss of this mother. I cannot imagine such pain. I shake my head, wondering if anyone else in the castle knows of these sinister secrets. I look at Ares. Could he? Would he be more understanding if he did?
I reach out and put a hand over his. Ares’s brows raise in surprise as he freezes. ‘That’s not the answer. Humans aren’t…’ I try to think of the right way to phrase it. ‘To rule well, we must show kindness and compassion. I don’t want to hear any more threats against Cristian, or any humans, is that understood?’ My voice is soft, but Ares knows the gravity behind my words.
‘Yes, Princess.’
I remove my hand.
Ares gazes around, taken aback, no doubt. ‘I know we’re to be compassionate, but I must admit, I’m not sure where his attitude comes from. I dislike most humans, but only because they seem to hate us so well. What did we ever do but save them? Ungrateful.’
So he doesn’t know. Interesting. I’m tempted to tell him, to watch as he, hopefully, comes to his senses. But I can’t. Juliette would be in danger. I would never let her name pass my lips, but somehow, someone would find out. ‘I think they have their reasons. What we can do is give them reason to change their minds about us.’
Ares’s mouth twitches. ‘You’re a wise girl.’
‘That’s Princess to you.’
‘Alright, wise girl-Princess.’ He smiles, amused, and I smile back. I can tell he means it as a compliment.
‘Ares? I expect you to treat Matthew a little more respectfully, too. Don’t think I didn’t notice as he led us to the Mortal Realm.’
At this, Ares shifts in his seat. ‘I just—it’s a bit of a jab that some guy who works in the library has more power than me.’
I reach out and tap his arm. ‘Some people have more power than us. I’m a princess, and he’s years m
ore skilled than I. We can learn from each other. There’s no need for petty jealousy.’
Ares scoffs. ‘Can’t you ever just be petty with me? You’re no fun.’
I chuckle. ‘I admit, I did feel a little bit jealous that he could track so well and that he has a familiar.’
‘Ha, I knew it. Just as petty as the rest of us.’
‘I resent that. I’m a princess.’ I hold my head high. ‘I am not petty. I will deny it if you dare say that to anyone.’ It’s hard to threaten someone when the smile won’t leave my face. This Ares, the not-rude one, is nice, easy to talk to.
Ares smiles, his full attention on me, and it lights his eyes. He looks like an entirely different person. In a good way.
Chapter Thirteen
Carmen
It seems like forever since I’ve had some peace and quiet and a good night’s sleep. I wake slowly, blinking my room into focus. Lately, I’ve been waking too early, sweating from nightmares. The light that shines through my windows isn’t the pink hues of dawn, but the golden colours of wheat and honey; dawn has passed, and I’ve slept in.
I stretch in bed and let my eyes flutter closed, grateful for the quality rest. Part of me wishes I could roll over and go back to sleep—to avoid what the day will bring, mostly. The horrors of yesterday come rushing back.
I sit up and rub at my eyes, the pleasant, rested feeling quickly dissipates, replaced by anxiety and stress. Guilt, shock. I have to find out if my parents really had Cristian’s mother killed, and all the others. The very idea that they could have killed witches pulls against everything inside me. It can’t be true. But who else could give such orders, and if it were not them, why did they not intervene?
Matthew. Matthew might know. He knows everything about the history of this place, and is—oh, no. Well skilled in magic. Could he be considered a threat to the throne? No, surely not. My parents are well aware of him now, and he’s teaching me. A most un-princess-like noise of frustration escapes my throat as I toss the bedcovers off and pad over to my washing bowl to splash away the last of the sleepiness.