CHAPTER NINE
An hour later, I was back in my old room, my arm burning. The Hermit had cut me with his dagger, invoking the blood oath between my aunt and me. I was bound to her, physically and magically, with no choice but to complete my mission. To thwart the Hermit’s prophecy on pain of death.
But I was still without power, still completely drained of all magic.
The Azete was too starved to try and heal the wound.
If I didn’t feed soon, it would scar me forever.
I had a feeling that was my aunt’s intention.
The Hermit’s as well. A permanent reminder.
As if I could forget. But as I pulled up the sleeve of my tunic, I finally laid eyes on the scar I hadn’t allowed myself to see in years.
I’d been too weak after the chimera attack to heal myself, too broken with grief. And so the scar remained—a red gash that sliced from the back of my left wrist to my elbow.
I pulled my sleeve back over it and closed my eyes. It was too late now—that scar would never heal. And now, another would join it.
I took a shuddering breath and leaned forward, my hands resting on my knees.
“I have food,” the Hermit said, walking through my door. No knock, no warning.
I shook my head, though I eyed the tray carefully, my traitorous stomach grumbling.
Scrambled eggs, toast, and a mix of cheeses and fruits were piled high on a plate.
On another was a slice of what had once been my favorite dessert—something I hadn’t eaten in seven years.
A cheesecake drenched in raspberry syrup, baked inside of a vanilla sponge cake. Summer cake.
It was a delicacy—one that had become rare as the chimera infiltrated more of our fields. Destroying more of our crop. My mouth watered.
My mother knew how much I loved it, and when raspberries became difficult to harvest, she still made sure I had a summer cake prepared every year on my birthday.
I could smell it hovering in front of me, sweet and sugary.
So fucking familiar. A soft breeze blew through the window, bringing me even more of its scent.
With the sun streaming into my room, I was reminded of summers eating slices of the cake, of laughing with my mother as I took another forkful.
I could almost taste it now by sight alone.
My eyes watered, and I turned my gaze to the window.
“You know I need to feed in other ways,” I said.
“If you want me to become Olivay, I need to feed for real.” I gestured at my hair, honey-blonde, straight and messy, then I blinked my ice-blue eyes, catching sight of my rounded features and my pale skin in the mirror.
This wasn’t going to be easy. I couldn’t just tweak or alter what I’d been born with as I’d done over the years.
I was going to have to change everything.
My looks, my height, my voice. My entire personality.
The amount of power it was going to take to sustain her form magically and mentally was going to require feeding every day and night.
“Oh? You need to feed to shift?” the Hermit asked, pretending he was shocked at the news.
“You think I don’t know that?” He snorted.
“Did you really think I hadn’t arranged for provisions?
That I haven’t considered every detail of this for years?
You’ll be well fed and prepared,” the Hermit said, “before we arrive in Eskalon.”
“I’m hungry now,” I snapped. But it wasn’t me who’d said that. It was the Azete. My voice had lowered to an unnatural rasp.
“I am speaking to the mortal part of you, not the Azete. The part that I assume is equally as hungry?” The Hermit raised a dark eyebrow, pushing the tray of food toward me again. “You haven’t eaten in days, and I’m getting tired of holding this.”
“Then put it down. I’m not hungry.”
“I can feel your stomach burning. Eat. It will revive you. Then we’ll deal with your other hunger before we arrive at the castle tonight.”
“Tonight?” I asked. “We’re leaving tonight?”
“We’re leaving as soon as you finish breakfast,” he said.
“I almost had to wake you yesterday to get there in time. But that little chimera attack in town pushed the king’s plans back.
But there are no more delays. The betrothal of Eskalon’s prince to the Spartvan princess will be announced tonight at a tournament in the couple’s honor. ”
I shook my head. “I’m supposed to become someone else by tonight? Why not just wait until we’re closer to the wedding for me to switch places? To—come in when it’s time to—” I closed my eyes, my stomach twisting still at the thought of bedding Jaron again.
The Hermit clicked his tongue. “The less the real Princess Olivay interacts with the people of Eskalon, and the prince himself, the better. He does not know her. His people know her even less. Their time together has been so limited it might as well not exist at all. And the king has many plans, nearly two weeks of events to show her off, to let the country fall in love with her beauty. And, as a result, this will give the prince ample time to get to know her—to have conversations and share secrets you’ll not be privy to—unless you are the one holding the conversation.
Unless you are the one sharing the secret.
And in this time, you have the opportunity to create her personality.
Imbue it with your own, something you must do.
It offers less chance of you being discovered for what you are. Trust me, this way is easier.”
I scoffed. “Are you mad? Maybe the prince doesn’t know her? But what of her family? Her friends? Servants?” I asked. “How will I get past them? Surely they’ll be in Eskalon at least through the wedding. That’s two weeks of deception.”
The Hermit groaned. “Some are in the country. Most are not. And the princess is supposed to be spending her time becoming acquainted with her betrothed. She’s going to be very busy at the tourneys, balls, parades.
There’s even a royal hunt for a boar on the schedule.
You will most often be with the prince. And when you are not—when her family is present, I will also be with you, advising, assisting. ”
“Making sure I don’t betray our Queen,” I hissed.
“I’ll be making sure that you succeed,” he shouted. “The prophecy is mine. Trust that I have plans in place to ensure your success. Now enough of this! Eat. Until you leave this room, your only job is digestion.” Then he slammed the door on his way out.
I nearly collapsed against the bed. And the while, birds chirped outside, robins tweeted.
Erys flew past my window, his wings glowing luminescent blue beneath the sun.
And down below, running through the castle grounds, were witches continuing about their day with no idea what was happening in the south tower.
Or what was about to happen in Eskalon. Gods.
I wanted to be one of them. Born with normal power.
Power I could restore without stealing. Power I could use without hurting the ones I loved.
Power that didn’t make me someone to hate.
Suddenly I couldn’t eat, nor sit still. I stomped over to the wardrobe, my frustration bubbling over. I kicked the door with all my might. And at once, something rattled and shook, and there was a sound of something metallic clanging against the floor.
I pushed the door back and found a golden locket affixed to a chain. A necklace—one I never thought I’d see again.
My mother had worn it every day for as long as I could remember, always tucked beneath her dresses, lying beneath the bolder jewels that adorned her as queen.
I used to play with the locket when I was a girl—still young enough to sit on her lap.
I used to hold the locket in my hand, close to her heart, tracing the engravings etched onto it.
A pair of eagle-like wings rose on either side of a sun and moon.
The design was similar to the sigil of House Zakros, save the wings on the official seal were witchmoths.
And in between was only a moon, no sun. The locket had been a personal design she’d made it by hand, based on a dream she told me she had when she first learned she was pregnant.
I picked it up reverently, my heart pounding as I ran my fingers over the gold, just as I had all those years ago. I brushed away the dirt that had accumulated, and then found the locket’s clasp, pushing it open.
I gasped as the images settled before me. Two small pictures, both drawn by my mother, lay on either side of the locket, like the answers to a question I’d been voicing in silence for years.
I had long wished to see my mother’s statue of Orsete, to see any sign of my mother, and only back in the castle had I been able to voice the thought, to give energy to the desire. And now, this locket had just granted me both, as if she, or Orsete herself, had heard my call.
On the right was a likeness of Orsete, beautiful and regal, with wings of flames behind her back, and on the left, she’d rendered a portrait of me. My exact likeness. I had never known, never knew that she’d drawn me, or that she’d been wearing me around her heart. Wearing my picture until the end.
You are strong. You will survive this. And you will lead.
My mother’s final words. They rang through my mind. The presence of the necklace felt like confirmation of that, like a promise that it wasn’t over for me just yet. Maybe I no longer had to appeal to Batrir. And maybe, just maybe, Orsete and my mother’s spirit were still supporting me.
It was time to remember where I’d come from, and face what came next, not with strife, but with strength, as much as I could muster.
I clasped the necklace, my hands shaking, around my neck, and tucked the locket beneath my shirt.
Then I picked up my fork and stabbed the summer cake.