Chapter 57
Elva
Ilean against Hal’s shoulder, gazing out at the swathes of black-silk night. The moon is just a crooked sliver, but the stars burn bright, speckling the sky like tiny white diamonds.
These past few days have been a period of adjustment – for everybody.
The liberation of the serfs marks an end to over fifty years of tyranny, but for many it marks the beginning of a new age, a new life.
The hours following Hal’s decree passed in a dreamlike blur.
Ingra was released and taken to the medical wing while the rest – some smiling, some weeping, some in a state of dazed disbelief – began streaming out of the palace gates, piling into carts and carriages headed for the fleet of Ostacrian ships waiting in the ports, each vessel crammed with chests of Castellion gold and bound for the Otherlands.
Pip hugged me tightly before joining Seth, Ty, Clover and the others.
I watched them go, these people I grew up with – all of us casualties of a war we did not start, guilty of no crime beyond being descended from the vanquished.
So much was stolen from us. Our stories will forever stain the pages of history books.
We are human scars, and we may never truly heal.
Yet while what Hal has done cannot erase the past, it does promise a future.
One that is free from oppression and bloodshed. One that is free.
I thought about Obsidia and felt a wistful pang of longing for the life I left behind. I know that one day I will return. But when I do, it’ll be with my sister.
Though it seems I was not the only one who chose to remain. For some, Ostacre is all they’ve ever known. Home is not always a straightforward concept. But now they are free to choose. Several have even decided to stay on at the palace, where they’ll be paid fairly for their service as attendants.
As for Matron, she was discovered filthy and hysterical at the bottom of the Pit.
Mostly, opinions are divided. After the initial shock wore off, many courtiers felt that Hal’s display of mercy was a testament to his character.
Others, including his advisers, were furious, saying it only served to demonstrate poor leadership and lack of judgement.
Word continues to spread like wildfire. Soon the whole of Ostacre will have heard the news, and no doubt King Balen will use it to kindle yet more support.
To my surprise, Caius Castellion has made no attempt at retaliation.
The last I saw of him was in the library, sitting in his armchair, muttering feverishly to himself.
Hal believes it’s only a matter of time until King Merrick of Thaven withdraws his daughter’s hand, since freeing the serfs was certainly not what the king had in mind when he demanded Hal prove he was the more powerful ally.
It seems that liberating my homeland may just be the downfall of his own.
Politically, Hal is balancing on a knife edge.
He needs Thaven’s support in order to defeat his uncle. That, or a miracle.
Hal slips his hand into mine – his skin is as cool as the night air caressing my face. Part of the observatory’s domed roof has been slid open to reveal the constellations.
I shouldn’t be glad that his betrothal may soon be brought to an end, not when it could destabilize his position even further. And yet, however selfish it might be, I cannot bear to think of him with another now that he has never felt more like mine.
I watch a wisp of shadow curl fluidly round one of the floating orbs of light in front of us, then dart away again before it can extinguish it.
Hal smiles a little. He’s still coming to terms with my being a Mage, just as I’m slowly getting used to this strange new dynamic between us.
Strange, but good. Because now I am free to love him without guilt or fear.
Now, there are no more secrets between us.
Well – apart from one.
Slowly I reach out to trace the dark circles under Hal’s eyes, my fingers grazing the small criss-cross scar on his cheek. ‘Tell me what’s wrong with you.’
His jaw tightens and one of the glowing orbs flickers slightly. ‘Elva, I …’
‘Tell me,’ I whisper again. ‘Please.’
He gets to his feet and moves to the edge of the observatory, as if he can outrun the question. I follow him.
We stand there, face-to-face.
There’s a long, tense, painful pause. Then Hal seems to deflate, as though someone has stuck a pin in his chest.
‘It’s not what you think,’ he begins. ‘I’m not suffering from some common affliction. This is no virus or disease.’
I frown. ‘Then what?’
‘I’m not ill,’ he says quietly, looking away.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I … I’m …’
‘What?’ I plead. ‘You’re what?’
He takes a deep breath. ‘Cursed.’
The word is barbed and jagged. It hooks into me, burrowing deep, reverberating over and over inside my head.
Cursed.
Cursed.
Cursed.
For a moment my mind turns blank. An empty, echoing chamber. And then, all of a sudden, a flash of light, a finger-snap, and everything begins to slot into place.
Caius Castellion. The statue garden. The story.
Noble, handsome Emmeric was born into a powerful family.
I stare at Hal as if seeing him for the first time. He holds my gaze, a thousand different emotions dancing across his face.
Irabella was a rare beauty, with hair like cornsilk and eyes as bright as jewels. But she was also penniless, a mere servant.
Emmeric and Irabella – that’s what Ingra teasingly called my secret lover and me.
It was her little joke. Rich boy, poor girl, divided by circumstance, united by love.
Yet never once did I imagine our resemblance to these characters extended beyond that.
But now, I understand. The old man wasn’t talking nonsense. He was trying to tell me something.
Because Emmeric was cursed.
‘It was a … a Mage.’ Hal grimaces, then shoots me an apologetic glance. ‘I believe it was her act of revenge for what my grandfather did during the War of the Empires.’
He was cursed by a vengeful witch who blamed his family for her people’s ruin.
‘The curse fell on the first-born sons of House Castellion. The Light Wielders. It was my grandfather’s punishment – that the Maker’s gift would die along with his line.’
In destroying their legacy, she took away their dominion.
‘In some ways what happened to my father was a kindness. He was dying anyway, growing weaker every day.’ Hal closes his eyes. ‘I … I can’t stop it, Elva. The opium seems to slow it down, numb the pain, but I’m only delaying the inevitable.’
Irabella was forced to watch her love sicken and die, knowing there was nothing she could do to stop it.
No. No.
We are all stories, girl. Just as we are all of us bound by this curse of blood.
My knees finally give out. Hal catches me in his arms and we sink slowly to the floor.
‘How do you know?’ I choke out.
A hollow laugh. ‘Fox. Of course, I thought he was lying until I realized he wasn’t.’
Tears blur my vision. Hal. The dutiful prince, condemned for the crimes of his grandfather.
Terror becomes tinged by fury as I remember what Caius Castellion said:
Every story needs a villain, you know.
I suppose that explains why he would take this stance – painting the vengeful Mage as the enemy rather than Emmeric’s tyrannical family.
‘For so long I clung to the hope that there was a cure,’ Hal murmurs into my hair.
My heart gives a sudden lurch.
A cure? Or … a key?
‘Blaze,’ I breathe.
Hal draws back, one eyebrow raised. ‘What about her?’
‘Your grandfather seems to think that … that she has the power to break the curse on Emmer– I mean, on you.’
‘He does?’ Hal considers this for a moment. ‘I don’t see how Blaze has anything to do with this,’ he says slowly. ‘But if somehow she does – she’s still missing. Her brother too. We won’t know anything until she returns. If she returns.’
The orbs of light shrink smaller and smaller until they extinguish completely.
Hal sighs, weary and defeated. ‘At least now I know that my rule – my life – wasn’t entirely wasted,’ he says. ‘If I am going to die, then I’ll die knowing I did something good.’
‘Don’t talk like that.’ I take his face in my hands and force him to meet my gaze. ‘This is not the end. There has to be a way to fix this, and we’re going to find it.’
His answering smile is unconvincing, but he pulls me close and kisses me softly – and that kiss feels like a promise.