by D. H. Dawson
I sit at my dressing table and stare at my reflection, patting my face dry with a towel. My hair is out and a little frizzy from sleep, my blue nightgown a little ruffled. My conversation with Cristian—if you could call it that—from yesterday comes back to me. I’m not used to people zeroing in on me, specifically, and making me feel terrible. Not just because I’m a witch, but me, personally. I swallow thickly and glance up to see my cheeks flushed royal red.
What do I about him now? I know about his mother, why he would hate me, but do I dismiss him as an instructor? I would make sure he’s compensated, but would that affect his career? Would he be turned down for smithing, being the one who was dismissed by the princess?
Shame builds inside me. I’m torn between running away from him, and fighting harder. There’s nothing I can do about being a witch, or what happened to his mother. I did not have her killed, surely he knows that. I picture those deep blue eyes, the way he flinched from me in the hall when I tried to help his wounded shoulder. I remember all the times my people have stared at me with piercing hate and resentment. No, it wasn’t me, but my life and throne has been built on blood. I had no idea. But the pieces fit together better. It makes sense.
I hang my head, frustrated and boiling with emotions. If I’d felt calm and rested a few minutes ago, that feeling has long since passed. I’m clutching the towel, nails digging in. My shame turns to anger, and I yelp as the towel goes up in smoke. ‘Oh, no.’ I get up and hurriedly toss it in the bowl of water with a sizzle as it’s doused. I glance at my hands but there’s no smoke or ash.
I set a hand to my temple. This evil power. Where does it come from? My mind feels like it’s going to explode with everything I don’t understand. If there’s one person I can go to for answers, maybe that will help.
I don’t know if I can do this intentionally, but I move to the rug by my bed and sit on the floor, legs crossed. Any witch, when learning their craft, knows that, for optimal control, relaxation is key. I wonder if that’s the same for conjuring a vision of someone in the Underworld. I close my eyes, concentrating. ‘Come on. I need to see you. I need answers.’
As my tense body finally relaxes, the stiffness in my shoulders ebbs away. My eyes are closed, and something in the blackness moves. Curling smoke and licking tongues of fire appear.
The figure sits on his high-backed chair, one hand on the arm, chin resting on his other. He’s awash in shadows, barely visible but for the lines of his body. ‘You’re getting better at that,’ he says, sounding amused. ‘What can I do for you?’
In the vision I can move, so I stand and approach him, my own feet eaten by shadows. I’m no longer afraid I’ll step and fall away into nothingness. I walk with confidence up to his throne until he raises a hand, keeping me at bay. ‘Why can I see you? What is this strange power I have, some grand mistake by Gaia?’
I can’t see his expression, but he remains still. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘I have my suspicions.’
‘Do you know why you, a witch, would suddenly have powers of the Underworld?’ His voice should echo throughout the nothingness, but it’s still and steady, as though we are talking in a normal room. There’s nothing mocking in his tone, he sounds as if he’s leading me to answer I should already know, but how?
‘How could I know that?’
‘There are things in our minds that we know, which we press down, because it’s frightening, undesirable, or goes against our morals. Look within yourself. Search your mind for the answers. If you do not, it is only because you are not willing to know. You’re an intelligent young woman, Carmen.’
It feels odd to be chatting so casually to a figure of darkness. I would’ve expected him to be cackling, surrounded by blood and skulls. What strikes me as even more strange is that he speaks so calmly, with such reason. Perhaps that’s what evil is; it seems normal enough to lure you in? I take a step back. Whatever trick this is, perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to come here. I don’t know how to end the vision, though, I realise in panic.
‘No harm will come to you,’ he says. ‘You can leave whenever you wish. Remember this, evil is in the eye of the beholder, Carmen. You are a good princess, with a good heart. Consider what you’ve used your evil power for, and why. What makes magic evil? The flames, or the witch?’
I’m snapped back into my room and land on my back on the floor, barely cushioned by the rug. ‘Ow,’ I mutter absently. I sit up, rubbing my head, but my mind is filled with his words. It cannot be that simple. Evil isn’t evil, I scoff. What a load of rubbish. Of course evil would say it’s not evil. Head spinning, I get to my feet as a knock sounds on my door.
Irene enters with breakfast and a dress. I frown at her as she sets the gown on my bed, the food at my table. ‘Are you okay?’ She stares at me, one hand on my head, standing in the middle of my room.
‘Me?’ I go to the dress and brush my hand over it. ‘I will be. I don’t want to wear a dress today. I want fighting gear. Pants, a shirt. Something I can move in, and a weapon’s belt.’
Irene balks at me and laughs. As I turn to stare at her, the laughter dies away. ‘Princess, surely you can’t be serious?’
I told Cristian I didn’t have much choice in wearing a dress. I have more choices than I realise. ‘I am. Go and ask the seamstresses to begin immediately. I’ll want several sets. I will be training with weapons. And…’ I hold the gown out to her. ‘I’ll want to wear the new gear every day. Please make sure they know I’m grateful for the gown, and pay them whatever they need, plus generously more for the haste of their work. I’ll want an outfit by this afternoon. When you’ve instructed that, please go down to the library; I want history books. All of them. Then return and please prepare a bath for me, as I’ll be staying within my rooms until I have my new clothes.’
Irene blinks at me, then slowly, a smile graces her usually taut lips. She bows. ‘Right away, Princess.’ She leaves, the dress with her.
I exhale, a small weight lifted from my shoulders as I sit down to break my fast. Cristian’s words hurt, but maybe only so because he was right. As a young woman, I am not useless, but there are things I can, and should, do to better myself. Not just for me, but for my people, my realm. If what I’ve just learnt about my family has any truth to it, my realm will need to see that not only do I have a good heart, but that I can fight and stand up for them, too.
I spend a few hours reading after my bath. There’s nothing in these texts that indicate what Juliette said was true, but I’m not surprised. They would never let that be written down for anyone to read. My new attire is delivered to my room faster than I could have hoped for, and I refuse to let Irene help me dress. ‘No, thank you. I can do this myself.’ I frown at all the strings to be tied up on my pants. I don’t often wear pants unless I go horse-riding, and even then, they’re thinner, and worn under my dress, just to be more comfortable—and a little for modesty’s sake should the wind catch at my skirts.
The pants are black leather and do up at the sides, by my calves, under my boots, and by the waist. After a few, tedious minutes, I do them up, Irene tapping, impatient to help me. I pull on the matching black, leather shirt. It doesn’t have sleeves, and clings to my chest. I take up a candlestick, removing the candle, and pretend it’s a sword, slashing out at Irene. ‘Good. Easy to move in.’
Her eyes widen at me. ‘You’re changing, Princess. What’s brought this on?’
I lower the candlestick and turn to my full-length mirror. I look so very different. I’ve never worn all black before, and with my inky hair, I look like… well, almost like a warrior. ‘Will you braid my hair back, please?’ I sit and let her work. ‘It’s a combination of things, really.’ I can’t tell her what Juliette told me, but I now wonder how much the maidservant whose been in this castle almost as long as I have knows. ‘It was very difficult to be fighting in my dress yesterday, and, um, my instructor suggested I wear something else.’
‘Well,
perhaps we ought to fit you for armour, too.’
‘I don’t think I need armour. I’m practicing with Gaia weapons, though,’ I add excitedly.
Irene pauses. ‘You what?’
‘It’s no use if it’s only steel. I can’t pretend to fight.’
Irene tuts and shakes her head. ‘If that boy hurts you—’
‘He won’t.’ I sound more confident than I feel. Cristian hates me, I know he does, and now, I don’t blame him. But maybe he’ll still agree to train me if I show I’m serious and willing to learn. Hair back, fighting gear on. Now I just need to not be a witch. I roll my eyes. There’s no shame in being a witch. A thought occurs to me that didn’t even enter my mind until now. Did Cristian know his mother was a witch? If he did, would he hate witches so? Was he too young to realise this? Did he think she was human?
‘There you go.’ Irene stands back to admire her work, and I flick my braid around and smile.
She’s made it neater and tighter than ever before, knowing that I’ll want it to stay out of the way for the rest of the day. ‘That’s perfect, thank you.’ I try to keep my excitement and nervousness in check as it bubbles in my chest. I pull on my boots. I really do look so different.
‘One last thing.’ Irene produces a silver necklet, forged in waves and curling vines. ‘You are still a princess.’ She puts it around my neck, and it doesn’t dangle or jingle. It’s the one adornment I’ll allow. It reminds me of rose vines. No other jewellery or headbands.
‘Thank you, Irene.’ I dismiss her and stare a moment longer at my reflection. I leave my rooms and think of showing Mother my new clothes, wondering if she would approve. I get as far as her door, left ajar, and see that she’s talking quietly to Tiberius and Hara. I catch her lowered voice, warning them not to trust the guards, and to say nothing to them.
Fear and anger thrum through me at the guards’ betrayal. My hand rests on Mother’s wooden door, but I decide not to enter. They don’t need another surprise right now. As I turn to leave, I gasp. I’ve left a handprint burn-mark in the wood. My eyes widen. I can’t erase that or wipe it away. I turn and run—which is noticeably easier in this outfit—and don’t stop until I’m out of the castle. As my boots crunch the gravel under me I slow, and the pathway turns to cobblestone as I reach the village. I decide to check up on Matthew and the tracking spells. I need to know what has happened to my guards. Why, seemingly loyal all my life, they are now working for an enemy.
Chapter Fourteen
Matthew
It’s exhausting maintaining all these tracking spells, but as I peer into the pond, watching the guards and their movements, I know it’s for a good cause. My stomach roils and I clamp my mouth shut. I’ve not been able to keep any food down since I started these spells, but I don’t want the princess to know that.
I don’t want her to feel bad for coming to me, or to think I’m weak. I’m a skilled witch, but anyone would get sick at the strength of maintaining so many spells at once, constantly. I press a hand over my mouth and wait for the wave of nausea to pass. I take a sip of my water from the cup beside me and try to shake the nerves away. At some point, I expect, the princess will come to check on me, and the last thing I want is to look a frail mess when she does.
I duck into my house to clean up and get changed. I sent word that I would be absent for work today, though no one will mind. My tutor totters around the library and may not even notice I’m gone. I have to admit, being out here in the fresh air, sitting in the grass by my pond, is preferable to being inside all day.
I go back to the pond, feeling a bit better for cleaning up. I should eat, but that won’t sit well. Hopefully this spellcasting won’t take much longer. We’ve already gone through most of the guards, though sadly haven’t found anything, other than a few of them might have a problem with their drink; they seem to spend a lot of time at the pub in the village. There is only one guard so far who stood out to me, but not because of anything suspicious he did. It was something even stranger; he was kind. To Cristian, actually. That human the princess has tagging around her, though that might not be the case after how he treated her yesterday. I should have said something, but, well, I know the humans have their reasons not to like our kind. Though that’s not an excuse to treat Carmen that way.
I stare into the pond, watching the guards—some are at training, others in a meeting, some at their posts for the day, staring out, watching for trouble. And some, of course, off their shift, I hope, are at the pub. None appear to be doing anything suspicious, though, or even talking to anyone resembling the thief or the woman we assume is a Summoner. I sigh. Perhaps this was a bad idea on my part.
I hope the princess won’t think less of me for not finding out what she needs to know. Emmett hops over to my lap and I rub under his chin. His presence always calms me and any ill-effects of over-using magic. A familiar connection, though often misunderstood, isn’t a spell I’ve cast. It’s a bond forged through a natural inclination to animals. He requires no magic from me.
‘What do you think, Emmett?’ I glance at the pond. ‘Do you think the princess will be disappointed I haven’t found anything?’
‘I think she will be very grateful you tried.’ Of course, it wasn’t Emmett that speaks.
Carmen is framed by my back door in what I can only describe as an outfit. She’s wearing all black leather, boots, a silver necklace, and her hair is tightly tied back. Holy Gaia. I scramble to my feet, dislodging an annoyed Emmett and—stupidly—bow. Why the heck did I bow?
‘Princess, you look—’ I clear my throat. ‘Different.’ Well, that wasn’t good enough, Matt, come on.
Carmen tilts her head, the afternoon light catching her necklace. She has no other jewels on for the first time. She looks more like herself, more plain, and it’s nice to see. ‘Is that a good thing? I hope you don’t mind, my letting myself through here.’ She closes the distance between us.
It is good, I want to say, but I fear it would drawl out of my mouth. ‘Of course I don’t mind, Princess.’
‘I asked for new clothes so that I can fight better. I don’t want to just be a girl in a dress, of no use to anyone.’
This time I meet her gaze. I want to reach out and take her hand, but obviously, I can’t. ‘Your Highness, you are so much more than that. You have always been of use.’ I smile, hoping she knows how much I mean that.
Her lips curl into a smile. ‘Thank you. I hope Cristian feels the same. Perhaps he will agree to continue training me. Do you know where his smithy is? I’d like to talk with him. I just don’t want to use a guard to summon him.’
‘It’s down the street. Find the baker, Juliette, and down that road, on the left, you’ll see the smoke coming from the smithy.’
‘Thank you.’ The princess narrows her gaze at me. ‘Are you okay? You look a little pale.’
The last thing I want to do is lie to her, Gaia forgive me, but what I can say? ‘Thanks, Princess, I’m fine. Ares should be back soon with the rest of the guards’ tokens, but if I don’t find anything, what shall we do?’
Worry creases her brow. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe ask Ares? He is the strategist. I’ll check in with you later.’
I smile and watch her leave as she walks back through my house. She doesn’t need that outfit to captivate my gaze, and it’s not the leather that makes it, it’s her. Carmen looked more comfortable, happier, determined just now than I’ve ever seen her. I remember catching her gaze at her Crowning just a handful of days ago; I could see the nervous sweat on her brow, the fear in her eyes, but that was gone today. Part of me hopes she’s not just doing this to impress Cristian, but I don’t think she is. I can see she’s trying to be a better princess for her people, by learning how to fight, how to spell, working with Ares. From what I know, the King and Queen themselves aren’t doing anything about their guards, or this Summoner; I admit, they could be, I just don’t know what. It’s Carmen who fought for the right to follow up on th
is, to leave her realm for the first time and wander into another in search of answers. I know I don’t matter to her, but I’m proud of her. I hope she knows how special she is, and I hope I can be of more use to her than this failing spell. I glare at the pond, and Emmett glares at me.
‘We’d better come up with a plan B, Emmett, because I don’t want all this to have been for nothing.’ I splash the water in anger, then throw up the little water I’ve drunk today. Ew. I go and wash my mouth out. There must be something else we can do to figure out what’s going on with the guards. In my house, I stare at my cloak. Perhaps there is something. It’s stupid, and I know it’s dangerous, and if I’m caught by the wrong person, I may well be killed. I pick up a few vials of herbs, some of my crystals, and a book on magic, and sheath a small dagger at my side.
‘Watch the pond,’ I tell Emmett. ‘I’ll be back later.’
I bite my lip as I wrap the cloak around me and pull the hood up to cover my face. I really hope this works. Stuffing my items into the deep pockets, I pad outside quietly and search for the corrupt guards. When not revealing anything, it’s safest to assume that they all are corrupt, but the opposite is true now.
The sun sets on the other side of the village, painting the marketplace in hues of bread brown and wheat gold. If I approach a loyal-to-the-Crown guard, I’m dead. If I approach a paid-off-guard, I might make up for my failing with the tracking spell. I blend into the evening crowd, people emerging from their small houses to buy their dinner, sell their wares, and even beggars line the street, praying to Gaia that kind souls will help them.
I lean against the wall of the pub, gaze searching. For what, I can’t say, only that I will know the man to approach when I see him. I’m good at reading people, for all that’s usually worth, but when I catch one man in particular, I step forward. I could clap myself in the head for not seeing it earlier. I walk briskly up to the guard—the kind one who’d hired Cristian—and clear my throat loud enough to get his attention.