Movement of the Wayward Prince

Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Alina pulled on a thick, woolen sock from one of her three remaining pairs. She scrunched up her nose as a lump dug into the side of her toe. It was a reminder of how inexpert her darning was, but it was better than letting her boots rub against her feet.

Standing, she cast a glance over herself in the cracked looking glass that hung over the basin of water by her bed.

“Another day in paradise,” she told her spotted, distorted expression, her lips pulling humorously up at one corner.

She wiggled her toe, trying to get it into a more comfortable position.

It was galling that she could successfully use her magic craft to lever a farmer’s cart out of a ditch, but she couldn’t even darn a sock.

The attempt had been a hopeless mess, and she’d been forced to resort to a needle and her less-than-adept fingers.

Her thoughts flew to the training program at the Craftsman’s Guild that she’d come so close to attending.

No doubt they taught finesse there. No doubt small, intricate, everyday tasks were the very first thing they learned.

She would have learned them, too, if things had been different.

For a moment, her imagination spun away from her, unable to resist the memories of a past so distant it felt like it belonged to someone else.

But it hadn’t been someone else, and unfortunately, she still remembered perfectly how it felt to be a girl who’d never even heard of lumpy socks.

She also remembered how it felt to glide confidently into an event full of wealthy courtiers, secure in the knowledge that her clothes were as grand as any of theirs and she, too, had the right to be there.

And more than that. Knowing that a particular pair of mischievous brown eyes—which any other girl present would kill to tempt in their direction—would be fixed on her alone, companionable invitation in their depths.

“All of that is neither here nor there,” she told her reflection, shaking off the memories and smiling at her own foolishness. “A day with warm feet is a good day.”

Bolstered, she turned away, emerging into the tiny living area attached to her bedroom.

“Good morning,” she said cheerfully, casting her eyes over the two others present.

The teenage boy sitting at the table shoved against one wall responded only with a grunt. His twin sister, busy stoking the fire beneath a cooking pot, paused and turned her sweet smile on Alina.

“Good morning, Alina.” Lilah’s voice was warm, but still held the hint of shyness she always carried. “Did we wake you?”

“Of course not,” Alina assured her. “I need to be going anyway.”

She eyed the sleeping mats rolled up and stacked neatly under the table. Definitely Lilah’s work. Something as tidy as rolling up his sleeping mat would never occur to Benji.

“You should really share my room, Lilah,” Alina said scoldingly, starting a familiar argument.

“Absolutely not.” Lilah shook her head firmly, making her golden curls bounce around her face in an appealing way that was entirely unfair for first thing in the morning. “I’m not kicking you out of your bed!”

“Half the time I work a night shift at the tavern, and you start early with the dressmaker,” Alina pointed out. “And when we do happen to be sleeping at the same time, I’m sure we could both fit. Sleeping on the floor can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s fine,” Lilah assured her. “You’re doing too much for us already, letting us share your home for nothing. Your own sleeping space is the least you deserve.”

“You’ve been living with me for two years,” Alina said, exasperated. “You’ve long ago reached the point where you’re allowed to call it your home, too.”

“And we’re very grateful to have a home here,” Lilah said, returning her attention to the fire. “The water’s almost boiled, would you like an egg?”

“Oh no, save that for dinner,” Alina said. “I’ll just make some tea.”

“You know, Alina.” Benji looked up from whatever had him so engrossed, a roguish twinkle in his eye. “I’m wounded that you never offer for me to share your room.”

The effect of his wink was dampened as Lilah whacked her twin on the side of his head with the rag she was using to shield her hand from the heat.

But Alina was already laughing. She was never offended by Benji’s sporadic attempts to be flirtatious and charming.

He was so much younger than her, it wasn’t as though she was in danger of taking him seriously.

On the contrary, it was a highly entertaining new stage in the development of the teenager.

Perhaps it was because of how desperately the twins had been struggling to make ends meet when the orphaned fifteen-year-olds had come into town two years before, but she was sure nothing as audacious as flirting had ever occurred to Benji back then.

If anything, he was a little late in discovering an interest in impressing girls at the age of seventeen.

Some boys got there much sooner.

Alina banished the thought, not eager to dwell—for the second time that morning—on the memories it evoked.

“Don’t be inappropriate, Benji,” Lilah was scolding her brother.

“I’m not,” he protested. “Alina doesn’t get flirted with nearly enough for how pretty she is, I’m just making sure she doesn’t feel overlooked.”

Lilah and Alina exchanged a glance. Lilah, shrewd beneath her sweetness, was more aware than her brother.

But there was nothing to be gained from telling the sometimes reckless teenager that Alina received plenty of male attention, just not of a type she welcomed.

It was a blessing that Benji wasn’t old enough to hang around the tavern when Alina took shifts there.

After all, the desire to preserve their innocence was a large part of what had made Alina so determined to move the twins into her simple rooms when she’d learned they were on the point of homelessness.

But they’d all come a long way since then, and Alina couldn’t imagine her little home without the company of the twins.

They looked out for each other, and they got by pretty well.

She hoped for better things for the pair in future, but for the moment, it was well enough.

“What are you up to, anyway, other than trying to boost my vanity?” she asked Benji, moving toward the table.

He lifted a fan he’d made from a lotus leaf.

“Just practicing.”

His eyes narrowed as they rested on a large pebble sitting on the table in front of him. He’d laid a series of sticks along the wooden surface in front of it, forming a miniature maze.

Alina watched with a critical eye as Benji manipulated the makeshift fan skillfully to create a steady breeze.

All movement created magic, and the fan’s steady twirling was no exception.

Alina could feel the stream of magic, or Dust as it was usually known, which was stirred up by the movement.

Her sense of magic, well developed from many years of practice, detected the magic easily.

But her awareness didn’t clamor to latch on to it, the way it would have if the Dust had been stirred by the movement of wind in tree branches, or even a bird swooping past. The fan was held in Benji’s hand, which meant the Dust was stirred up by his movement, and it was automatically in his reach if he had the inclination to take hold of it.

If she’d wanted to try to wrest it from him, she would have had to engage in the internal magical equivalent of an arm-wrestle. A struggle like that would take more out of her than she would receive from the magic she’d gain control of, even if she won.

The magic was Benji’s, uncontested. Of course, doing anything with it still required significant skill, which most people never acquired. Benji, however, had both the aptitude to learn the craft, and the determination to pursue it.

He sat rigid in the chair, his focus absolute as he shaped the magic produced by the fan’s movement.

Neatly and swiftly, the pebble rolled forward.

It wasn’t a complex enchantment. The magic was already formed by simple movement, so using it to just move something else didn’t require reworking it much.

But Alina was still impressed by the exactness of the movements as Benji guided the pebble through the maze with perfect precision, never moving from his position in the chair.

“That was excellent,” she said, giving a firm nod when the pebble rolled cleanly between the last two sticks. “It never touched the sides once! Well done, Benji. I wish I had your finesse.”

“Thanks.” He gave a boyish grin, and glancing down at him, Alina realized that he was slumped back in the chair.

“Benji,” she said, a warning note in her voice. “Did you do it properly, like I taught you? Did you take in half the magic as energy to fuel your use of the other half for the enchantment?”

“Well…” His smirk wasn’t repentant. “Maybe not as much as half.”

“Benji!” she scolded. “This is serious! It’s a standard regulation across every kingdom on the Peninsula. You have to use half the magic as energy for yourself. Manipulating magic drains energy—”

“Like no other activity under the sun,” Benji finished. “I know, I know.”

“Overextending yourself isn’t impressive,” Alina told him curtly. “It’s foolish. If you use more magic than your natural energy can sustain, without refueling it as you go, you can cause permanent damage to yourself. You could even die, Benji.”

“I’m not going to die from moving a pebble along the table,” he said impatiently.

“If you won’t follow the principle in a calm moment when there’s absolutely no pressure to take shortcuts, why in all of Ryki would you trust yourself to follow it when the stakes are high?” Alina protested.

“She’s right,” Lilah said. “Don’t be pigheaded, Benji. There’s nothing to gain from overdoing it.”

“I’m just trying to grow in my craft,” Benji said. There was a challenge in his eyes as he locked gazes with Alina. “Do you use half the Dust for your energy?”