9. Duck Duck Goose
DESDEMONA
Because of the grand loss of Elysia’s knowledge in the burning of the Irisan Archives, the dates were reset. 1AA refers to the first year post-Arcanian War.
— AFTER ARCANES (UNPUBLISHED)
Not like that,” Leiholan says. He tells me, again, to “Walk straighter,” as if I know what that means, then he goes back to throwing random questions at me. “What do you think of flám perfeit?”
“I have no idea.” The book falls from my head, and I’m sure this entire lesson is pointless. When I look at him, he smiles and takes a sip of his vesi. “Can you not drink for one second?”
“Would you refrain from your beverage for but a moment,” he says, his voice mockingly poised when we both know that he is far from it.
Then he takes another swig.
I want to scream at him, but I only repeat his words back to him.
“Tell me about your mom.”
With a few words, he’s torn down my defenses. But I have enough wits about me to rebuild them. I doubt his droozen Nepenthe brain even registered my moment of internal collapse.
“Strong.” I’m finding it hard to put a word to the woman. “A survivor.”
“Hm.”
“You had to be to make it in the septic.” I don’t take on the defensive tone that I’d like to.
He just takes another swig. “Trust me, sweetheart, I know all about survival.”
“Was it survival you were worried about while your kind was ambushing us by the second?” I ask defensively, which I didn’t want to do.
“You don’t think we were being killed?” he says, also defensively, angrily, looking down at me again like I’m a small child. I feel like one too, with how much I want to push back against his words. To tell him about the kind of things I saw in those two years.
I bite my tongue.
He takes the biggest gulp of vesi I’ve seen from him so far and a deep breath. “The septic, you embellish the stories. Utul-ize them.” He laughs at his spin on the word, and I frown. He’s too droozed to notice anyway.
“You mean make my childhood stories of running from death and fighting for my food sound somehow privileged?” I tilt my head to the side and make sure I’m glaring at him the way I’m thinking about him: like he’s an idiot. My tone is bitter when I say, “Yeah, sounds riveting, when should we start?”
“Look, sweetheart, I’m trying to help you. Perhaps you could take my advice instead of biting my finger every chance you get.”
You’re the one who does the biting,I want to say, thinking about all the times I’ve seen a Nepenthe kill someone with their venomous fangs. This time I don’t. This time I say, “Tell me about flám perfeit.”
He smirks. “That’s your first good question.” Then he tells me it’s the organs of a kappa—a greater corenth from Serpencia—a traditional dish served to the warriors after they killed one.
“Yum,” I say unenthusiastically.
“It’s delicious,” he says seriously, and I stare at him, thinking about what a vulture he used to be when he no doubt fought in the war and killed my neighbors. He stares back at me. “I’ve never had it. It’s a taboo,” he says like I’m an idiot. “But these kids? They know plenty about our grotesque history. You, on the other hand, do not.”
“Can we fight now?” I pick up the double-edged sword that I chose during our first training session. A spatha sword, it’s called, and it still feels heavy and unbalanced in my hands. It was probably a stupid choice, but I don’t want Leiholan to know that I think that. So I’ll stick it out.
Leiholan unsheathes his sword. Pointing the blade at me, he says, “No one will expect you to be able to fight. Utul was a smart choice for that, but not for your sore lack of knowledge. Swing when you’re ready.”
I swing the double-edged sword at him.
The next few days, he helps me with my vocabulary. He tells me to say “suppose” instead of “guess,” “fair” instead of “good,” “dish” instead of “food,” and “as goes for you” instead of “you too.” I write them in a notebook when I get a moment alone in Aralia’s room. What I don’t do is show him any gratitude. This is the least he could do for one of my kind, the smallest way to make amends.
Later, when Lucian stops me before I escape from combat class, I know that the last nine days of ignoring one another are over. And I’m not happy about it.
He knows too much.
Besides, the last thing I want is to be entangled with a prince. Another spoiled brat who gets everything he wants on any whim, at the hands—and often lives—of people like me.
Standing in front of me, eye to eye, he whispers, “I need your help with something.”
“You need my help?” I ask slowly. I didn’t think we’d gotten off on a very good foot.
“Yes,” he says with a smirk. “I could use a powerful partner.”
I step closer, whispering, “Is this about my mom?”
“Partially. I’ll meet you by the lake, same hour as the time before,” he says before pivoting on his feet and walking out.
I do the same when Leiholan says, “You’d be wise to go,” his words not nearly as slurred as I would’ve thought by the smell.
“Why is that?” I say, glaring at him over my shoulder.
“First off, drop the attitude, sweetheart. Second, if the prince thinks you’re powerful, maybe you are. From here you don’t look it.” His eyes squint as he looks at the new cut I earned on my bicep and I cover it with my hand, hoping he can’t see that it’s cauterized.
“Thank you,” I say, and he looks pleasantly surprised before I add, “for another piece of riveting advice.”
I walk out, already knowing what he’d say. Don’t talk like that. Say this instead. Be likable. I can be very likable, for his information. I stop this line of thinking when an Armanthine passes by and I’m sure they’ll think I’ve gone insane. And when the dreams cross my mind, I wipe them away immediately. But when the whispering comes back, there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
I’m learning to live with it. The way I’m learning to live with the murders I’ve committed.
Less living and more maintaining.
Aralia meets me by the purple tree in the garden, flashing a joint.
We go out into the mastick, beyond what I’ve learned is the school’s protective barrier—which means they can’t do a thing about what we do out here, so Aralia says. This has been our routine these last few days, and yesterday I almost found myself telling her about the whispering when another attack came. But I got my wits back before I could make such a mistake.
“Wanna light it, inferno?” she says jokingly, but I see the dead Folk on the ground in my burning dwelling.
I go with the same old lie of, “I’d rather not burn down the mastick,” as if I could even set off a match.
I’ve been bumming off her or Kai’s magic anytime I can in class, but that only works for non-elemental magic like opening portals or casting shields.
To distract from my casual—and seemingly obvious—lie, I say, “You smoke a lot, huh?”
She inhales before she passes me the joint. “Most of us do. Future leaders and all.” The way she waves her hand in the air and widens her eyes goes well with her sarcastic tone. “Means we have tight-ass parents.”
“What are your parents like?” I ask, not because I care, but because it could be good to know. All information has potential. Any knowledge can be wielded.
“They’re the highest regarded advisors in Lorucille.” She shrugs a little. “We moved into the castle when I was young, and I didn’t see them much after that.”
“Oh,” I say, and I wonder, not for the first time, what the war was like in the castle. In a place where you were rich enough to have armor, your own soldiers, barriers, and other means of protection. In the septic, all we had were workers. Tired men and women trained to produce goods, not fight in a war. I wonder if she moved into the castle because of the war. Royal advisors help with that sort of stuff; battles and strategies. My mom used to be one.
“Most of our parents are important or whatever… speaking of parents, are you sure your mom wasn’t taken by the Royals?” My head snaps in her direction. “You said you didn’t find her in the septic.” She shrugs again.
Could that be where she was? Some underground cellar in one of the kingdoms? I hadn’t even thought about that.
“I suppose it’s possible.”
I’ve decided I’ll finally tell my mom about the dreams and my magic when I get her back. The thought alone is the greatest relief I’ve found since I lost her.
* * *
I wonder if Lucian’s words were a threat. Same hour as the time before. The time before when I threatened him. I don’t trust him or the information he has on me. He could easily identify my mom or tell someone that I coerced him into breaking Soman law. I worry about what will happen if I show up and if I don’t.
If he turns me in, I’m likely as good as dead. If his parents don’t kill me, King Easton and Queen Melody will lock me away. But then maybe I’ll find my mom and get to tell her about the dreams. My magic.
My murder.
She’s the only person I trust not to use them against me.
I decide to go to the lake with only one plan in my pocket, channeling him and hoping that if I need to use magic, submagic will suffice.
When I arrive, Lucian is standing at the edge of the lake. He gives me one glance from head to toe before he walks away. I guess I’m supposed to follow, so I do.
“A Fire Folk,” he says as if it’s amusing, stepping across overgrown roots. He’s as sure-footed as the Folk who spent their entire lives in the septic. Just like Damien, he barely makes a noise, even when his steps are audible.
I wonder what kind of fancy training made him adept in comparison to the real threats Damien faced that granted him the skill.
“And a Lucent,” I reply and mumble under my breath, “a makeshift Amun and Eira.”
He turns to offer me his hand when we cross the river. I only accept it to play the part of the unassuming girl from Utul. I lift my chin higher and walk straighter while I try to fight off the part of me that’s screaming to let go of his hand.
Especially because my own is growing hot.
“Why would we want that?” Lucian asks.
“Eternal love maybe?” I say, despite thinking it’s bullshit.
He locks his eyes on mine, just to say, “I wouldn’t die for you.”
“Nor would I, Prince.” While he’s distracted, I reach out to his power. Nothing. I know that this kind of stuff is more powerful when it’s used against your kind, but it makes no sense that I’d feel no magic from him.
He turns away again, walking further into the mastick. “Self-preservation is important. It’s probably best that you haven’t seen how charming I can be.”
“Really? Because I found you almost choking me to death to be quite pleasing.” I shouldn’t be talking to a prince this way, but at the same time, I kind of like it. It almost feels like I could obtain the upper hand—I mean, in something as infantile as sarcasm, but it’s something.
“Well,” he says, “I have known the Fire Folk to be masochists.”
I think of the flame in my dwelling, my hair catching fire… the Folk I killed. I wouldn’t say I found any gratification in that, but it doesn’t surprise me that this is how the privileged talk about us.
That this is how he would talk about me.
I can’t even imagine the things he’d say if he knew where I’m from.
“Have you ever met a Fire Folk?” I try to keep the edge from my tone and fail.
“One or two.” He stops for a moment, looking like he’s contemplating something. Then, he says with a smile and an observing tone, “I think they’re dead.”
And I think he’s trying to provoke me. For what purpose, I don’t know.
“Right.”
We fall into silence while we make our way through the mastick and travel over jagged, slippery rocks until I find myself looking out over a body of water. It seems to go on forever, which is something I’ve never seen before. Compared to the murky waters back home, this glimmering turquoise is as clear as glass.
I envy its magnificence, the beauty in its very nature, a beauty I will never have.
Lucian turns to me and opens his arms wide, the way he did the night that I saw my mom in her cage.
“Shoot me,” he says.
“What?”
“Send your fire at me.”
I look around. Of course I’ve walked into a trap. “You said you needed my help.”
“I do. I need you to use your magic against me.” I stare at him for a moment, my eyebrows scrunching in their confusion. Confusion that I don’t bother concealing. “Come on, darling. Show me what you got.”
“And you called me a masochist,” I mutter.
He smirks. “You did say you enjoyed being almost choked to death.”
I reach out for his power again, something to channel to put on a good enough show. There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing.
“I can’t shoot fire.” And he damn well knows it.
“Alright,” he says. “Then start a fire. I’ll put it out.”
“Do you know how hard it is to put out the Flame? It’s nearly impossible, hence why so many of us die.”
“Trust me, I can put out a fire.”
“But it’s not just a fire,” I say again, unable to mask my irritation. “It’s the Flame.”
His midnight-blue eyes shift into an incandescent blue as black spirals wrap around his hands. They continue to grow until half his arm is covered entirely by the shadows. “Start a fire, or I’ll shoot.”
Suddenly, I’m sure I am going to die. And when a shadow flies in my direction, it’s all I can do to duck. Chills cover my entire body.
I forgot that the Lucent’s don’t just wield shadows—they wield the cold.
“What kind of help is this?” I shout.
He steps closer to me. “I had thought you had a power that could rival my own.” He’s in my face now, smiling, taunting, when he says, “Where’s your fire?”
Why would an Aibek, a prince, think that I’m powerful enough to rival him? I mean, I’d love to beat him. But I know I can’t, and I can’t stand to show him that. So I turn away and say, “I’m not doing this.”
The prince doesn’t protest while I walk away. He doesn’t even say goodbye. I wouldn’t have expected walking away from an Aibek to be so easy, but here I am.
Then I fall to the floor, right on my face, while my back aches from the sudden cold. A shiver racks through my spine before I lose all feeling.
I grab onto the tree that I so narrowly missed when I fell. It takes all of my strength to pull myself up and lean my back against it. The cold continues to rush through my body, and I see the shadows wrapping around my torso.
I curse under my breath before I yell, “Stop!” But it’s barely a scream.
He’s stalking closer now, and when two shadows sharp enough to impale me form in his hands, I know he’s trying to kill me.
What a stupid decision it was to come here. Of course he’d want to kill me. Maybe he’s found out that I killed that Folk or just doesn’t tolerate being threatened. He’s a prince, for gods’ sake. He can do anything he wants and get no flack.
He could kill me at any time, not even needing to know the basis that I’m from the septic. He’s untouchable.
I look him right in the eye before he throws the shadows, hoping that maybe he’ll see me as something small that needs protecting instead of someone he wants to kill.
But, no, he aims the shadows like I throw daggers, right for my chest and throat.
I put my hands in front of my frozen chest for protection and yell, “I don’t have magic!”
Suddenly, I can feel my upper body again, my back, and my torso. Before I can curse at him he says, “Of course you have magic.”
The shadows in his hands dissipate.
“Well, surprise, I don’t!” I rise to my feet and brush the dirt off my pants.
Lucian’s eyes follow my movements, and then they move up my body to meet mine. “You have plenty of magic.”
My breath catches in my throat, but I hope he doesn’t see that. I think of the dead Folk. Plenty of magic indeed.
But I don’t want it.
He smiles, and his teeth look annoyingly perfect, along with his cheekbones. His entire face, really. Because that’s what a life of being pampered gets you. Beauty.
That’s the difference between me and him—I had to fight for my food, and he got to throw the extra away.
He had the luxury of being able to think of something as pointless as beauty. Because it’s not pointless for people like him, it’s a weapon. For him, charisma can be wielded.
Lucian walks around me, holding onto both my shoulders now and grazing his fingers down my arms while he whispers in my ear, “If you don’t know how to use it, I can fix that.” I’m embarrassed by the goosebumps covering my body while his breath tickles my neck, offering relief to the warmth I didn’t know I was feeling.
Suddenly I’m hyper-aware of my hands, the burning sensation in my palms, my stomach. Like something crawled inside of me, ate me hollow, and replaced my insides with heat.
This is what power feels like. I felt it the night I killed the Folk, but I was unable to define it then. Now I have to decide if I ever want to feel it again. If I can kill a Folk as easily as I did on my last night in the septic, then once I find my mom, I could get her back. I could kill the orphia who took her from me. Took my life from me.
And that sounds pretty sweet.
“Fine,” I say and turn my head. I can see the lower half of his face from my peripheral vision, his lips an inch from me. “Fix it.”
* * *
Calista’s sitting on the couch in the suite when I make it back. Most of the time she ignores me, but today she stops to stare.
“What were you doing with him?” she asks.
“With who?”
She drops her utensil against the table loudly and stalks toward me. “Don’t be coy. Lucian. What were you doing with Lucian?”
“We were talking,” I say calmly. I can tell she’s ready to fight. I’m just not sure that I am, not after tonight.
“With your magic?” Calista speaks like she’s trying to imitate me but does a horrible job at it. Her eyes scan my body as she says, “I can see him all over you.”
“There was some magic involved, yes,” I say, but I want to scream.
Calista squints her eyes at me and they glow yellow, the signature of the Air Folk. At first, I feel nothing, but the deeper she tries to get into my memories, the more it begins to feel like claws are scratching at my brain. Tearing it apart, peeling back its layers, but I know she is only finding empty pockets because I can see what she is seeing. The pain begins to grow with every second, and when the whispering begins, I find the combination unbearable.
With the whispering always comes thoughts of the murders. How could it not? It was right after I killed those Folk that it began.
I try extra hard to not think about it, just in case Calista can see.
The pain, the tearing, the burning turn the whispers to a screech until I feel the heat behind my eyes grow hotter—a sensation I’ve familiarized myself with tonight but could do nothing about—and I say, “If you do not stop right now, you will find yourself deeply regretting this.” The pain helps give my voice a menacing tone, and I hope the glowing orange of my eyes is enough to scare her.
I’m surprised when she laughs and releases her hold on my mind. “Quite the brazen little Fire Folk. Since you don’t understand your role, let me explain it to you. Not only am I your princess, I’m also your future queen. You know what that means, don’t you?” She leans in closer and whispers, “It means when I ask, you answer.” She speaks slowly, like I’m a child, when she asks, “What were you doing with Lucian?”
I really do know that making an enemy of the future queen is a bad idea, but I don’t stop myself before I say, “None of your damn business.”
I’m sure Leiholan would tell me a better, more posh way to say it.
“You have wards placed. I want to know, are they from Lucian?”
Mental wards were never something we worried about in the septic. No one had the time—or the energy—to go rifling through someone’s memories. That must be far from the norm around here, the school for future leaders. They would get much further ahead if they could steal others’ thoughts.
The necklace feels like it burns against the skin of my chest, even though it does not. If Mom wanted to keep myself and her protected, it only makes sense that she would block my memories from others. But if she put up a mental ward, powered by a memor, that means that any mind magic would be difficult to use against me, though not impossible.
“None, none, I swear,” I quiver my voice and shake my hands, feigning the fear I know she wants to see from me.
“Wendy!” Calista screams. “Wendy, get out here!”
The door to one of the suite rooms opens and a tall girl with green eyes and dark brown skin and hair steps out. The light from the room behind her casts an aureole effect on her, and I wish we could be meeting under better circumstances. She walks closer to us, slowly and gracefully, and when she looks at Calista, she frowns. A scar from her bottom lip to her chin protrudes when she does.
“What are you doing?” Wendy asks. Her voice is strong, but her hands are shaking.
“Tell me if she’s telling the truth,” Calista says. If I do have a mental ward, the Eunoia wouldn’t be able to pull the truth from me easily, but she can still determine whether or not I’m speaking it.
Wendy looks at me, her entire body shaking like a leaf. I wonder if it is my anxiety that is making her shake as I scramble to come up with a way out of this. Eunoia can detect lies based on emotion. Maybe if I just believe that I’m telling the truth, she won’t be able to tell. I mean, I don’t know if my mom put up a ward or not. It’s a guess. The truth is, I don’t know.
I repeat this to myself again and again.
I don’t know if I have any wards up.
“If I do this, will you leave me alone?” Wendy asks.
“Yes,” Calista says.
“Go ahead,” Wendy says and levels her green eyes on mine.
“What mental wards do you have?” Calista asks in a way that tells me she is already gloating.
“I don’t know.” I really don’t know.
“She’s telling the truth.”
Calista glares at Wendy and me, but mostly at me. “If Lucian finds out anything about my kingdom that could’ve only come from this room, I’ll know who to turn in for treason.”
“What are you talking about?”
“If you let him into your subconscious?—”
I cut her off. “I know that, but he’s the future king of your kingdom.”
“We’ll see,” she says.
When she walks away, I allow myself to exhale. The only thing I can think to do is run back to the septic, but that is not an option for me anymore, not without my mom. Not before I figure out what is chasing her and who’s taken her.
Not when I’ve killed one of my own.