Chapter Six #3
I pulled the book closer, tracing the marks of Prospero’s hand. “Where would the Moon reach exaltation?”
“Taurus.”
“Did Prospero know what we were capable of, if such a state was possible?”
“He had ideas. Guesswork only.”
“And what did he guess? Could a magician give the king a new son, by chance?”
Surprise lit in him. “That, I’m afraid, is something Prospero failed to illuminate. But yes. I believe that was his hope.”
I settled in the chair, paging back and forth, but I couldn’t make sense of Prospero’s scribbling either.
So I flipped, instead, to the section stained with red dye.
Roland saw the desire dart from my mind to the knowledge within. “Why are you studying Mars?”
“I’m trying to recall one of Prospero’s lessons.”
“At this hour?” He shook his head. “You never sleep much, do you? The only times I ever saw you were those nights—” He trailed off with a low hum. “Those nights you helped my mind lie still. Or when you’d while away an afternoon as a cat, up in some tree.”
I continued turning pages, absorbing nothing. I only slept through those nights to be close to Roland and Hal, not out of necessity. “I’ve never needed more than an hour or two.”
“Yes, a delightful quirk.” Sighing, he stood to poke the fire. “Be careful with that book. It’s the only copy I managed to save.”
As he disturbed the flames, his fear resembled my own. For the first time, I wondered: Why was he competing? He was lord chancellor. The Venus King.
I was here to ask questions that would otherwise turn in me forever.
The competition, affording precious time at the palace to unravel the truth.
Yet already my resolve had begun to crack.
What about his? What could his prize be, other than to maintain what he already possessed?
His power. His influence. Then again, he’d risen so high as a magician, he could fall from no greater height.
And below, the Guildfords circled in wait.
I slid the book beneath the tepid glow of a candle, tried to concentrate.
Yet I still felt Roland’s presence. The fire crackled, smoke wafting my way.
Sentences bled into one other. It was only after he murmured, “Lurk well then, Mouse,” and gently tugged on my hair as he passed that I was able to focus.
As the door swung shut behind him, I closed my eyes, smoothed the hair he’d stirred, and bent over the parchment again.
Here, Prospero’s handwriting was legible.
Familiar again. Mars, he’d written. A lunging planet. A planet of action and pain.
Yes. That was it. I tugged at the memory buried beneath layers of earth, clawed at it with my nails until I sank into the past.
“Mars today.” Prospero’s exasperated glance toward the boys. “Roland, do shut up. Or tell me what you know of Mars, not the kitchen maid.”
“Mars rules over murderous, ty—” I began, but Prospero cut me off with his hand.
“Not what Roland has told you to scare you.” Here he looked pointedly at Roland and Hal. “What do you know?”
“They seed discord,” Roland said. “They can tear through flesh. They can imbue someone with hatred. They break bonds.” Something Roland knew innately—he saw those bonds everywhere he looked, a great tapestry of intimacies, of lovers and fellowships.
“They can rupture a marriage of twenty years with a single glance,” he continued. “They are … swords.”
Prospero nodded, impressed. Roland was a maddening combination of perpetually unprepared yet naturally gifted. “Yes. Precisely. Marsborn are walking swords. A drawn sword makes you more formidable, yes. A drawn sword also makes you stand alone, for who would venture near something so sharp?”
“So how does one beat them?” Roland asked.
“For you, it would be a battle of mental strength. You’d have to take hold of his mind, his desires—now remember what I told you about desire, Roland.
If a Marsborn wishes to harm you, it will be easier to twist that into desire to harm another, or himself, instead.
Far more difficult to make him cease his quest for harm altogether.
” His sapphire eyes met mine. “And Bianca, what would you do to protect yourself?”
“I’d become a creature impenetrable to a sword. Something thick-skinned.”
Roland tugged on one of Hal’s earlobes, rolling his eyes.
“Very good,” said Prospero, shooting the boys another scalding look. “And how might Mars influence King Richard?”
“He’ll declare a war,” muttered Hal.
“His vigor will be renewed?” tried Roland. Hal laughed so hard he started choking, and Roland had to pound his back.
Prospero shook his head. “Roland, when you are twenty-one years old and ready to make your oath, you’ll serve an earl or a lord very much like the king.
You must learn this.” His gaze swung to me.
“Both of you. The king might hear a rumor that raises his suspicions. His queen’s stare lingers on another man.
A councilor talks over him or disregards him.
An argument is struck. Little, tiny stabs.
Those are the wounds that fester in a man like him. They happen every day.”