Chapter 62
Chapter
Sixty-Two
EVIE
T he colors changed again, trapping me in a whirlwind I was powerless to stop.
When they finally settled, I stood in a lavish courtyard at dusk.
This Zandyr was twelve or so, already too tall for his age and self-conscious about it. He’d unraveled over the summer and his muscles hadn’t yet caught up with his height, too awkward in this new body of his.
Young Zandyr ran a hand over his top lip and tried to brush it off as natural, even as his cheeks heated up. He was checking to see if he’d shaved right; those new tufts of hair on his lip were concerning. His father had told him in no uncertain terms that he was a man now and a prince needed to have a perfectly shaved face at all times. But Eldryan had only shown him how to shave once, early in the morning after waking him up at the crack of dawn, and what if he hadn’t done it right?
My heart swelled. He was so adorable, in all his lanky glory. Twelve year-old Evie would have found him cute enough to stammer and blush whenever he was around–what would have happened if my parents hadn’t squireled me away in the mountains.
Convinced his face was smooth, he stepped forward, keeping his back so straight it hurt. He was in some kind of alcove, the sunset light barely shimmering through the small opening.
He wasn’t alone.
A cute girl around his age was waiting, an innocent little smile pulling at the dimples in her cheeks. I felt an insane jolt of jealousy for this girl in Zandyr’s memory. That should have been me . Young Evie, looking shyly up at him, waiting for…something.
Their first kiss, I realized with a start, as the influx of his memories rushed toward me.
His first kiss, at least.
This girl–Hyra–was one of the Sages’ daughters. She always seemed to be around when he trained in the palace’s courtyard, clapping when he won and stomping her feet loudly when he lost. She laughed at his jokes, even the ones he could tell she didn’t understand.
Hyra laughed at almost anything he said. But her dark eyes lingered on him and it felt good to finally have a girl be brave enough to give the prince attention.
Young Zandyr liked her. He’d been dreaming of touching her dark curls and caressing her cheek. They’d taken a walk together through the gardens, just the two of them, which was odd. Hyra had a chaperone, but the old crone had thumped her cane away about an hour ago. Then Hyra had batted her long eyelashes at him and suggested they come into this alcove–which was even stranger, because she’d said she’d never seen this part of the garden.
Young Zandyr stopped in front of her all the same, wondering if he should wrap his arms around her waist, like he’d seen his father do with his mother. Zavoya always smiled and giggled, but they were married.
Did unmarried people do that? His parents had never bothered to say.
He’d spent enough time in the Arena–having earned the honor since he’d ended his tutor’s life–to hear the warriors talk about something called se-du-cing. And kissing, they sure loved to talk about kissing–and kissing well. But they never bothered to mention what that meant.
As the prince, Zandyr had to be a good kisser.
He didn’t want to disappoint Hyra, for one; what if she didn’t look at him and laugh at his jokes anymore? He also didn’t want to be the Blood Brotherhood heir who couldn’t kiss. He didn’t understand exactly why, since boys his age didn’t talk about that with him and the warriors didn’t bother explaining, but he just knew that wasn’t a thing to aspire to.
Before he could decide whether to touch Hyra’s shoulder or not, she licked her lips. A weird, strange warmth spread through him at that.
“Before we do this, I need to ask you something,” she said.
“Okay.” Zandyr already sensed something was wrong, but didn’t know what. “What is it?”
“My ma-ka said I need to tell you to tell the king my pa-pa wants to raise the taxes on his wheat this spring. And that it would help the Capital greatly,” she said, obviously reciting what her parents had instructed her. “If you promise to tell him that, we can kiss.”
Young Zandyr froze. I felt his shame, at thinking this Hyra girl had been interested in him and the annoyance of being used and played to get to his father. That’s why that old crone had left the two of them alone.
Cheeks red with embarrassment, Zandyr stepped back. “My father and I don’t talk about taxes. I’ll escort you back to your chaperone.”
He turned from Hyra, fresh face scrunched up as if he was struggling not to cry. Just as my hands reached out to him, the dream transformed again, the colors blending like oil in water.
No shadows this time, only the scorching sun. Zandyr had felt this, so now my skin reddened with the intense heat.
This version of him was maybe a year or two older. He’s grown a few good inches more and seemed more comfortable in his movements.
He was the youngest warrior training in the Arena.
His opponent was the younger version of that same ruddy-haired traitor. He’d fallen down on his back, though Zandyr hadn’t shoved his sword against his hard enough to cause that.
“Get up.” Zandyr gulped breath after breath.
“As you command, Your Highness.”
“None of that,” Zandyr said, hoping he sounded imposing. His father kept saying he needed to sound more commanding, but sometimes his voice broke when he tried, and everyone pretended it hadn’t.
“Fight me like I’m a warrior, not a prince,” he said. How else was he going to learn?
“I can’t,” the future coward said, jumping up and dusting off his pants. “I won’t be the one to maim the future king.”
“First get close enough to maim me, then we’ll talk.”
But the coward didn’t. Zandyr growled in exasperation.
“Try it with me,” a familiar voice called before Adara stepped in front of the prince. “But be warned, I won’t go easy on you.”
“Great,” Zandyr said, feeling excited–then regretted it as soon as Adara kicked him to the ground in one move.
But this was good. He was learning, even if it hurt. His parents insisted he needed to be strong and brave and protect everyone. Adara had promised to train him to do just that.
She kept to her word and pummeled him all day, until he was all bruises and scratches–and he was happy for each of them.
Because the general didn’t care he was a prince.
People always acted strangely and pretended around him. Even his parents pretended they cared about him–for only a few minutes in the day if he was lucky. People played at being his friend only to gloat they spent time with the heir. Girls looked at him like Hyra had, only to ask for ridiculous favors and jewels.
Kaya didn’t pretend, either, though Zandyr knew her parents were pestering her to spend as much time with him as possible.
The memory and colors shifted again.
This time, the blur settled on the two of them sitting on a rooftop in the dead of night. He was fifteen or sixteen, but he was starting to resemble The Dragon, his face losing some of that plumpness in favor of the sharp lines he had today. There was still a vulnerable glimmer in his eyes, even as he took a swig of a pungent, amber liquid from a bottle he shouldn’t have been touching in the first place.
He grimaced at the taste, bitter and much too strong, before passing the bottle to Kaya. I did a double take when I looked at her. This Kaya had all the beauty yet none of the grace of the present version.
She sat hunched, legs spread at a weird angle, hair a mess, and yanked the bottle from his hand like a sea-worn sailor would have. Like she was doing everything in her power to seem as unappealing to Zandyr as humanly possible–he’d noticed and it was working.
Kaya was the sister he’d never get. He wished they had been related.
His mother and father were too caught up in their own love to be great parents, but they’d never hissed his name like Banu and Valuta did to Kaya.
As revenge, he’d smuggled the good liquor from Banu’s stash.
The back window to their manor had a loose latch; one jiggle was all Zandyr needed to creep inside without anyone noticing.
“Face it, your jokes are weird.” Kaya grimaced after her own large gulp of alcohol. “If my parents ask, you never saw me do that.”
“Yes, because I spend all my days chatting with Banu and Valuta,” he drawled. So this was the age he’d turned into a sarcastic bastard. “And my jokes aren’t weird.”
Kaya tilted her head to the side, gazing up at the stars. “You’re right. They’re just too…I don’t know, grand.”
He huffed a laugh. “How can a joke be grand?”
“People just don’t get all of them. I don’t and I spend way too much time with you.” The laughter vanished from her voice as she looked down at her twirling fingers. “Something weird happened today.”
“Valuta finally decided to stop wearing all her necklaces at every ball? I’m concerned for that thin neck of hers.”
“Don’t be an ass.” Kaya’s lips tugged into a grin which quickly fell as she sighed. “Remember that guy who came to court me?”
“Which one?” Zandyr had lost count of the boys–and men–who came from faraway lands and Clans to ask for Kaya’s hand in marriage. She was already being named the beauty of the Clan, though Zandyr couldn’t see it.
Yes, she was objectively pleasing to the eye, but she was just…Kaya. The one friend he felt he could be himself around.
His only real friend.
She scowled. “The old one with the strange beard.”
“Again, which one?” he asked.
I placed a hand on my stomach. Dream or not, it was threatening to spill again. Kaya was young , barely stepping into adolescence. She had no business being courted for marriage, not by boys, and especially not by men.
“The one who brought those big gold coffers with the little emerald fish on the sides,” she said.
“Ah, the one with the droopy eye.” Zandyr took another swig of alcohol. “Banu and Valuta scared him away.”
Far be it from me to congratulate those two wastes of good air for anything, but at least they’d protected their young daughter from that old guy.
“Yeah.” Kaya twisted her fingers faster. “I heard an emissary from the Fair Isles came today. That old guy was missing for like two weeks after he left the Capital. They found him wandering at the outskirts of his city, with no memory and no gold.”
Zandyr turned his head slowly toward her. “That’s strange.”
“What’s strange is he’s not the first one.” Kaya gulped. “I think…I think my parents are doing something they shouldn’t be.”