Chapter Thirty #2
The air freezes around me. My ears ring as I stare down at the words.
My family—the one that abandoned me—they were just a surrogate.
My brother’s cherubic face flashes in my mind, the brother who I loved more than my own life.
He wasn’t my blood. That’s why my parents dropped me in the orphanage when he died.
I was a stranger from a foreign, dangerous land. And I’d killed their only child.
More words form on the page.
You have a locket that you’ve kept since birth, yes?
With a shaking hand, I write back,
Yes
And have you ever been able to open it?
No
I thought not, he replies. Just as with this journal, it is activated by the blood of our family line. With your blood, the locket will open.
I blink, staring at his words for a moment. I almost don’t want to take him up on his challenge, because if he’s telling the truth … But I have to know. Even if reality is difficult to swallow, even if nothing is ever the same again, the truth is always better than a lie.
I press my thumb against a thorn of Roze’s rose again and swipe it over my locket. It effortlessly pops open, and my breath catches when I see a small dragon on a coat of arms inside—just like the one on the silver stake.
As I hold it, King León writes,
It is the symbol of our House, he says. I gave you that locket the day you were born, dear one.
And what about the lion? I write back. The book has a lion wrapped around a dragon on the front.
The intertwined lion and dragon, he says, is the symbol of a kingdom that never came to be—Aragoa and Castelle together, a single unified kingdom spanning the Hivernian Peninsula. It was our dream—mine and Alexandre’s.
I flip the cover of the book to look at the symbol again—the embrace of unity, not division—peace, not war.
I write, How was it possible you and Alexandre were friends, with your countries at war?
There’s a brief pause, then his reply comes, like his pen is resting between sentences while he’s thinking how best to tell the story.
I met Alexandre in the Forest of Avenc in my youth.
I was hunting game, and I believe he was looking to escape his father for a few moments, when we happened upon each other in the woods.
In those days the war was raging its hottest, and our fathers were at their war camps nearby.
My upbringing taught me that I should hate him, that though I was just a boy, I should have slain him then and there—my sworn enemy.
I would have been a hero to my people, and my father would have been endlessly pleased.
But I was shocked by his appearance. He and I were both so young, not even old enough to attend Vandenberghe yet.
I’d been taught that Aragoans are creatures of pure evil, barely human.
But Alex … He looked anything but. Golden hair and eyes so blue, they reminded me of the wild sea off the cliffs of my Kingdom.
He stared at me across the glade while I held my bow.
And when I didn’t raise it against him, he nodded to me and disappeared.
At that time, nobles of both Kingdoms attended Vandenberghe on the condition of nonviolence within its walls, as they both laid claim to its origins and renown.
Alexandre and I were both in Berlaise House.
We had a zealous academic rivalry, but it gave way eventually to friendship.
And given time and many late-night talks before the common room fire, friendship turned to love.
We spoke at length about peace, about a new world where Aragoan and Castellian ideologies could coexist, about a unified Hivernian Peninsula.
Where our fathers were conquerors, Alex and I were dreamers.
When we left school, we knew we would not see each other until we’d swayed our separate Courts toward our dream of peace. So we created two books, using our magic, to communicate—the one you write in and the one I write in.
I loved Alexandre, more than I ever loved any woman. Even more than your mother, I’m sorry to tell you. He was my water and sunshine. I knew I would never be the same after him. Meeting him was like seeing the sun for the first time after spending my entire life in darkness.
My hand covers my mouth as I stare down at the page.
The Princes of Aragoa and Castelle were involved in a treasonous affair while their nations waged war.
It’s more than enough reason for any number of people to want them both dead.
They were going to stop the war. They were going to put aside ideology in favor of unity, something that would have made many people very angry.
There’s so much I need to ask him. I write, Are you a meiga?
Yes, he replies. Of a different kind than what is common in Aragoa. There is so much you don’t understand about the war. Alexandre told me how the story was twisted. Maria … she has always been vindictive.
I don’t understand. What was twisted?
León’s response comes slowly, like he’s considering carefully how to explain his next words.
There are two sides to meiga magic—the dark and the light.
Once they coexisted, balanced and entwined.
But as the war intensified, both Kingdoms began using meigas loyal to their side against the other.
Our family favored the dark while Aragoa favored the light, and as hate grew between our Kingdoms, so did separation between dark and light magic.
We encouraged our meigas to push their magic to greater and greater heights, gaining power we never thought possible—terrible power, costly power.
The light meigas in Aragoa did the same.
Shadow magic is, at its root, destruction and death.
Soon, without light, the land became death itself.
Death on its own was never something to fear, but without light magic to balance the darkness, death consumed Castelle.
The realm of the dead was rising to meet us, and we were quickly being separated from all that was living, separated from the rest of the world.
Your mother and I wanted to give you a chance to escape that death, we wanted to give you a chance at life, even if it was in our enemy Kingdom.
I breathe deeply, staring at his words. What does he mean, that death consumed Castelle? I want to ask, but I haven’t forgotten how little time I have left. Instead, I write, Queen Maria is a meiga. She’s growing more and more powerful, and she’s trying to have me killed.
If she wants you dead, then it is likely she’s discovered who you are, he replies. Your royal heritage. Light meigas have ways of discovering the truth, revealing what has been hidden.
She wasn’t told?
No. It was deemed best to keep Maria in the dark. I’m afraid Maria’s hatred of you has little to do with you and much more to do with events that took place before you were born.
Alex and I … we were both Crown Princes, expected to carry on our family lines, and therefore were required to marry women of noble birth.
When we were young, we fooled ourselves into thinking we could be together.
Alex, ever the dreamer, believed in our dream for far longer than I did, and I, fool that I am, let him believe.
Even while we were planning for our future unified kingdom, I didn’t share my concerns with Alex—that there would still need to be an heir, that there would be feuds over bloodlines that would fracture our newborn kingdom.
Unlike Alex, I had served as a soldier, had seen the horrors of war, had seen the hatred that already ran so deeply between dark and light meigas. I didn’t want more bloodshed.
It was our final night together, and Alex had no idea.
We swore that night that our love would endure anything, until death ripped us apart.
All the while Alex didn’t know that I would be gone before sunup, that the next day I would sign a betrothal agreement to your mother—a princess of Gault, whom I’d never met.
I didn’t know my father planned to break the armistice that night.
He’d never been in favor of it—visions of Castelle’s glorious reign over the entire peninsula clouded his regard for the lives of his own people, certainly for those of Aragoa, who by then was far weaker than us.
We had the might of the shadow meigas, and their magic was quickly consuming the light.
That next day, while I signed away any hope of a future with Alex, my father broke the armistice and the war was reignited before sunset. Alex and I never saw each other again.
With a lump in my throat, I write, So you betrayed him.
Yes.
I take a deep breath, absorbing this information. What does that have to do with the Queen?
With our kingdoms at war again, Alex’s father had his sights set on the small coastal Kingdom of Septania, which had thus far refused to assimilate into Aragoa.
Its port would grant Aragoa pivotal access to Castelle, and perhaps more importantly, it was home to House of Lucia, an ancient priory for light meigas.
Maria, the Septania princess, was a gifted student there.
I believe Alexandre wooed her and led her to believe he had more of his heart to offer than he did.
They were wed and had children before your mother and I were even married. Alex and I did not speak in those days, but I believe he was angry and bitter about my betrayal. He used Maria as a tool for his revenge against me. Her heart was the casualty.
Biting my lip, I write back, And what did you do?
I was consumed with wrath. Not jealousy—I knew there was no love between them, at least not from Alex.
But I couldn’t believe what Alexandre had done.
The acquisition of Septania threatened to destroy Castelle.
Thus far, it had been our fathers’ war. Now it was ours, and this was his shot across the bow.
I knew I had no choice but to respond. So I took a naval fleet and laid siege to Septania, attacking in the dead of night.
I burned Maria’s kingdom to the ground. It was an act of grief and hatred.
I suck in a shallow breath, remembering what Roze told me about his own birth—that his mother’s kingdom had been destroyed, that it was her grief and hatred, spilled into the earth, that sprouted him from the ground.
I am not proud of my actions in those days. Love and war do not mix, dear one.
No kidding.
As I understand it, Maria sank deeper into bitterness and hate as every attempt at gaining Alexandre’s affections failed. She blamed the fall of her home not only on me and Castelle, but on all shadow meigas.
Alexandre still hid me for you, I write. You didn’t always hate each other?
He pauses before writing back. I don’t think we could ever truly hate one another.
We loved each other too strongly, and sometimes that has destructive effects.
It’s true that we didn’t speak for a long time after the siege on Septania, but when I begged Alex for his help to save my child, he answered.
The bond between us was deep enough for him to do that much.
I don’t think Alex ever forgave me, but eventually he did deign to speak with me again, through these books. He was always more gracious than I.
He assured me that you’d be safe, that you’d be allowed to train with your magic in secret. We sent a trusted dark meiga with you to watch over you and to teach you when you were ready.
I blink at those words. I write, Before Queen Maria, I never knew another meiga.
King León’s response is slow, his words careful. We sent one of our most powerful meigas with you. Ona Borges.
I blink down at the words. I should have guessed it—it’s so obvious. The professor disappeared just as the recent danger for meigas really began. Her office was always full of those outlandish objects … She never told me, I write.
Again, his response is delayed.
Then when she returns to Castelle, she’ll answer for her failure.
I don’t know why Professor Borges didn’t tell me who she was or what awaits her in Castelle if she ever escapes Queen Maria, but there are more important things right now.
How can I stop the Queen? Does she have a weakness?
His words come hurriedly. If Maria is after your life, you are in dire straits, dear one. She is formidable. A light meiga’s power is always anchored to an object in their possession. It would be something important, but not an object that just anyone can access. Do you know of such an item?
My heart thunders against my ribs. I know exactly which item the Queen would use to anchor her power.
She has a mirror.
Then destroy it, he says.
I bite my cheek as I write back, I don’t know if I can.
If the mirror is enchanted, it surely can’t be as easy as breaking it. Queen Maria would never leave her power so vulnerable.
He replies, I know the power you have, Viola. Don’t pretend you don’t know exactly what you’re capable of.
I gulp. I need to make him understand. What the Queen has become—she’s more force than human, a living nightmare. But … have I not also become a living nightmare? Are my shadows not also something to fear?
No. I can’t think like that, not after what happened to my brother. I bite my lip before writing back.
I can’t always control my shadows—they’re dangerous.
Even writing it down feels like I’m revealing a secret. But when I read King León’s words, they’re like an arrow through my heart and steel in my bones.
Then be dangerous.