Royal Games #2
The Queen’s laugh is genuine, and I’m glad that she seems to enjoy it when I surprise her. “I’m afraid I’ve already placed for a solo game,” she says before she raises a curious eyebrow at me. “Maybe next time.”
I take that as a dismissal and rise to my feet to bow. “Until then, Your Majesty.”
She waves over one of her guards, who lingers near the hedge. “Escort Grandmaster Galiva down to the traitor’s cell.”
The guard salutes with a murmured affirmation before he looks to me. “If you would come with me, Grandmaster?”
I follow the guard, but before we leave the courtyard, the Queen’s voice stops me. “I look forward to seeing what you turn up about the missing Tower wizards, Galiva. Soon, if you could.”
I turn and meet her gaze levelly as I give another bow. “We will do our best, Your Majesty.”
The trip down to the dungeons passes in a blur. I’m so preoccupied playing every piece of our conversation over in my head that I blink in surprise as my sister says, “I wondered when I would see you again.”
The last time we spoke was mere weeks after we arrived back from the Eastern Tower, when the heated negotiations between Straetham and Kenitka got underway.
Only by virtue of being Arlon’s apprentice was I able to attend, and for three days, I watched my sister be interrogated by leaders from both kingdoms.
Witnessing it had been painful and humiliating, not to mention harrowing.
At the lowest point of the negotiations between Queen Kaya and King Thermilious, I wondered if maybe my tenure at the Crux would end.
Iona, Zoran, and I are the only Kenitkan subjects currently in residence at the Crux.
But for a few days, there was a very real possibility that the alliance between Straetham and Kenitka would shatter, and we would all be ordered home.
All because of Demica.
Anger I don’t have a good place for swells as I look at her.
Her cell is small and dim, but it’s clean and there are some books stacked by the bed, which is appointed with comfortable blankets.
Those small kindnesses had only been given due to a plea from our mother, and witnessing the proud, stubborn woman who raised me fall to her knees in front of King Thermilious over such small comforts had shaken something in me.
“Frankly, I’d rather not be.”
“But you are, which means you need something from me,” Demica says, examining the frayed, unraveling end of one of her braids rather than looking at me.
The nonchalance only makes my anger boil hotter.
Even locked in a dungeon, she still clings to that smugness, that superiority she once used to reign over me.
“Twenty-three Tower wizards were attacked on their journey to the Crux,” I say. “Reneta was among them.”
Demica’s head shoots up. “And?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “If you’re asking if they’re alright, we don’t know.
They were accosted north of Belingrad by unknown assailants.
Luther Barclay is denying any involvement.
” Demica gets to her feet, pacing the short length of her cell, but when she doesn’t say anything, I ask, “Do you have any idea where they might have been taken?”
“I have ideas.” She turns to me, her lips pulled into a stern line. “But I want something from you in return.”
I’d been feeling so confident after my talk with the Queen, but stepping back in my sister’s shadow seems to erase it all.
“You know what? Shame on me, honestly,” I snap. “You already fucked the Tower wizards over once, so why should I be surprised you’d rather use them as leverage than help them?”
I turn to leave, but I make it all of two steps before Demica calls out, “Gal, wait.”
I don’t want to turn around. Whatever information she can give isn’t worth making more deals with her. But out of the corner of my eye, I see her hand thrust through the bars of her cell, a small pendant dangling from her grip.
No, not a pendant. A woven loop of brown hair. A divining trinket.
Cautiously, I walk back towards her cell. “This is Reneta’s?”
Demica nods, and I take the trinket as she says, “My bet is they’re in Belingrad. If they’re not, Roger Barclay will know where they’ve been taken. He’s Diran’s father. He was closely involved in... in everything.”
She avoids my eyes, hiding from my gaze. But she can’t hide from her own shame, and I see it plainly now. She crosses her arms over her chest, shrinking into herself as she goes back to sit on her bed.
I drape the trinket around my neck with a sigh, my anger deflating as I say, “Thanks, Dem.”
She nods, still avoiding my eyes. “Just... whatever happens, promise me that you’ll get Marica somewhere safe. Promise me you’ll get my daughter out of Belingrad.”
I rub my forehead, a headache already forming. The thought of Marica complicates this situation in ways I still need to pick apart, but at least in this, Demica and I want the same thing. Demica’s daughter doesn’t deserve to suffer for her mother’s actions any more than I do.
“I can’t promise that,” I say at last. I don’t take promises lightly, and there are so many unknowns that I can’t guarantee anything. “But I’ll do everything I can.”
Before Demica can respond, the dim dungeon is suddenly illuminated. It takes me a moment to realize the glow is coming from me.
Arlon’s spell is bright around my neck, yet even through the fabric of my shirt, I can feel the heat emanating from it.
“Shit,” I hiss. “I have to go.”
“Don’t forget about her, Galiva,” Demica calls after me, but I’m already halfway up the stairs, my escort right behind me.
I ignore the guard as I hurry for the courtyard.
The palace rests at the top of the hill, the city spread out below it, and from my vantage point, I can see the Crux in the distance.
The sun is low in the sky, but in the gloaming, the main tower stands out like a beacon.
The magiline shines, and I realize that it’s not the same glow that I remember from when Arlon raised the shields.
No, the tower shines like the silver does when a divining is within reach.
It’s beautiful, but the sight of it makes dread drop like a stone into my stomach.
Yet even as I watch, the colors start to fade, slower this time than that first flash a few days ago. My dread does not.
Symon has me back to the Crux in record time, and when I reach the atrium, Garrett, Bridgette, and half of the wizards in residence appear to be waiting for me. I hold up a hand to forestall questions that I don’t have answers to as Bridgette says, “You need to see this.”
I follow her and Garrett into Arlon’s office, yet to my surprise, she doesn’t stop at his desk. Instead, she leads me to the false wall, opening it with a wave of her hand. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me that she has access to the spell stores and the heart of the Crux below.
Garrett stays at my back as Bridgette leads the way down the winding stairs. I’ve only been down here once, when Arlon collared me for my abjuration mastery, but the memory of the magiline crystals isn’t something I’ll ever forget.
“I was filing some spells away when the flash happened,” she says. “I heard something like - like glass breaking. I went down to look, and, well...”
Her voice trails off, and I realize all at once how strange it sounds to hear Bridgette afraid. But then I see what she’s looking at.
The monumental crystal that makes up the main tower of the Crux is...
cracked. A jagged fracture mars the otherwise flawless surface of the stone.
I step forward, running a hand down the length of the crack.
It reaches up from the base of the massive crystal, stretching almost as tall as I am. It feels oddly warm to the touch.
“That... surge caused this?” Garrett asks.
“I’m not sure. It’s been some time since I’ve been down here, but... that crack may have even begun the last time it happened,” Bridgette says.
I let my hand fall away from the crack before I look around the softly glowing chamber. I wrap my hand around the spell Arlon left me. Down here, its power seems to thrum. A wave that ebbs and flows.
No, not a wave. I know that rhythm.
It’s a heartbeat.
It’s a pulse.