Chapter 10 #4
King Isidor seemed to grow before his eyes, shoulders edging back and chin lifting.
“When the first emergence of the Curse was discovered, my father had to plumb the depths of our history to determine a punishment both fitting and commensurate to the crime against the Blessing. What he found, so shall we do. Nikanor Tristansson, you are hereby sentenced to Helviti’s mouth.
May the flame be your judge and the lava your executor, if it finds you worthy of death. We wash our hands of you.”
“Our hands are clean,” the High Council said in unison.
Their voices sent a shudder through him, though it wasn’t cold, despite the snowflakes that burst into the air along with their words. If anything, he felt hot. Feverish. Sweat broke out on his forehead, the small of his back, and the stink of his dirty clothes assaulted his nose.
Maybe it was a Curse, this flame spiraling through him. What else could it be?
But why? He had been an ardent student of the Words. He had sought the Giver in everything. He had advocated for peace and justice, had shared the truth with the future queen and…
Could the king possibly be right? Could Nik’s very desire for change be the sin for which he was being condemned by the Giver himself?
Hands grabbed, jostled, shoved him into motion, but he kept staring at his palm, too dazed to pay any attention to where they led him.
The glow had faded, but it left behind a mark just like Kyrja had described.
A white circle, white flames around it, another circle hemming them in.
Flames that were feasting their way through him. Burning, burning, burning.
“Oh good. I arrived in time for the festivities.”
Whoever held him jerked him to a halt, the jolt of it jarring Nik’s gaze from his hand and upward. King Isidor must have been leading the way, because he was a step ahead of Nik. They were in a wide corridor that was clearly part of the palace, Kyrja on Nik’s one side and the guard on the other.
Before them stood a young woman so beautiful it hit like a punch to the chest. Her skin was a soft brown, darker than any Fjordic’s, that conjured images of warm beaches and abundant sunshine.
Her hair was lighter than his own though, a middling brown with streaks of gold, hanging in curls and braids to her waist and blowing in a breeze that didn’t seem to make its way to him, though it would have been welcome against his scalding skin.
Her eyes were a dark blue, a shade darker than the gauzy gown she wore, and which also fluttered gently in an imperceptible breeze.
The Vektor on his right jerked Nik down to a knee. Perhaps he would have protested, but Kyrja curtsied low as well, and even King Isidor bowed at the waist.
“Princess Perla.” The king’s voice dripped ice. “We did not expect you yourself to ever grace us with your presence.”
Nik had forgotten the emissary’s arrival that quickly. So then, not young. Old. Older than Isidor—and it explained the wind too. She had power over the air, as well as water.
Her dark brows were raised, her lips pursed.
“You left us little choice, Isidor. You have sent home every hand-selected diplomat we’ve stationed here.
When you found even my cousin lacking, the great-grandchild of my own dear Aunt Jade and Uncle Storm, whose mother came from the very courts of Queen Electra, what recourse did you leave us? ”
“Your…cousin.” Though the king’s voice hadn’t changed, Nik could imagine regret in it. Or perhaps acknowledgment, at least, of a misstep.
The Daryatlean inclined her head, her gaze wandering over the lot of them. Then settling on Nik. “This is the son of the man you say bombed your palace?”
“The terror-maker’s accomplice. Yes. He has just been sentenced and is about to be executed.”
She didn’t even look as though she’d heard him. Princess Perla floated closer—or so it appeared—without once taking her gaze from Nik. A flutter of her fingers, and the guard hauled him to his feet. “Why has his Awakening been halted halfway through?”
His what? Halfway?
The king spun to face them. “You are mistaken, Your Highness. He is not Awakened. He has been tested and found to be Cursed, but this is not something you would understand.”
“I believe I know a bit more about the working of magics beyond the waters than you, Your Majesty.” She reached out, though Nik had no idea what she intended until she took his left hand in both of hers.
Blue light danced from her fingertips, tracing his mark and sending a bolt of electricity through him. The tingle was odd, though not painful. And in its wake, the heat banked. His face cooled.
“Fire,” she said, amazement in her voice. Her gaze lifted from his palm to his eyes. “Fascinating. How old are you, my friend?”
“Twenty-eight.”
Her lips pursed. “Well, one theory dispelled then. Though no matter.” She offered him a smile that put him in mind of Raf’s closest sister’s, all mischief.
“The wells of magic in this one are deep. You surely misspoke when you said you mean to execute him, Isidor. Why would you want to destroy a new magic before you’ve even fully Awakened it?
If he is guilty of a crime, then rehabilitate him.
Or if you are unwilling, Daryatla will be glad to do it for you. ”
The king reached for Nik’s arm and pulled him away from the princess’s touch. “He is not Daryatla’s problem. He is my subject, a conspirator with the man who killed my family. You have no right to interfere with our justice.”
“Unfortunately true.” Perla moved to his side again. “But I do have the right to observe.” She held out a hand toward Kyrja and wiggled her fingers—again like Raf’s sister with her best friend.
A glance over his shoulder showed him Kyrja had risen and reached now for Perla’s hand, but with a slow deliberation that said she could make no sense of the visitor’s actions either. Though she too reacted to the touch of blue light to her palm.
Perla grinned. “Ah! I thought so.” She pulled Kyrja closer and linked their arms together. “We’re going to be the best of friends, you and I. You’ll call me Perla, or even Perl. And you’re Valkyrja? It’s a beautiful name.”
Kyrja blinked twice. Then her face relaxed. “Kyrja. You may call me Kyrja. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Perla. I’ve yet to meet any royalty beyond my own family.”
“Because your father refuses all the invitations, clearly afraid his little island will implode if any of you leave its shores.” Perla swung a reproachful gaze toward the king.
“But you will remedy that, I think, Kyrja. Now. Lead on, Your Majesty. If we’re going to have an execution, we might as well get on with it. ”
He’d been thinking he liked this new princess. But now? It seemed her oddities stopped short of mercy.
He shouldn’t have expected anything different.