Chapter 53 Do You Feel You Made The Right Choice?
Do You Feel You Made
The Right Choice?
ZOLA
W
illow was determined as she walked into Isa’s room. Freyr, who’d been hired to fix a broken stained glass window in Visnatus, lay in bed with her.
Willow slammed a report onto Isa’s bed, the mattress thudding beneath her palm. Isa glanced up and began reading the page.
It detailed the gruesome murder of Marbella and Annabeth—Cynthia Constance’s claimed children.
Isa could hardly stomach it.
The girls were dismembered, their limbs twisted unnaturally and scattered across the floor.
Notably, there was no blood.
Looking away, Isa muttered, “Where did you get this?”
“Ms. Constance’s desk,” Willow said. “You see the damage, don’t you?”
Isa did, in fact, see the damage. But she would never describe it as such. Brutal murder wasn’t damage.
Willow nestled herself on the edge of Isa’s bed, looking between the pair. Twisting a strand of coily hair around her finger, Willow asked, “So where’s the blood?”
“You can’t insinuate things like that,” Isa said as Freyr reached down to pick up the photo.
“Why would there be no blood?” Freyr asked.
“Arcanes,” Willow said.
Isa shook her head. “You can’t say—”
“Maybe you can’t,” Willow cut off her best friend. “But Freyr and I are more than free.”
Isa was the advisor to Melody—the future queen of Folkara. She had a lot to lose. Willow hoped to become a mentalist for Folkara, while Freyr was stuck as a welder.
“Then keep me out of it.” Isa covered her ears.
“You say that now.” Willow’s voice was low, but loud enough for Isa to lower her hands and listen. “But what if we could stop them? Think of the way your life changes forever.”
Isa sighed, her gaze drifting around her private, single room—granted only to the most prestigious students. She had everything she wanted, except for one tricky little thing.
Freedom.
That’s what Willow was saying. Isa could be crowned a hero. She could leave the kingdom and its caste system behind with honor.
She would be free.
Without making a promise or a decision, Isa asked, “What do you propose we do?”
“A Weapon.”
?
They worked in Eunaris—Willow’s home world. She planned to harness not just the life force of the world itself, but the essence of the three of them: Willow’s magic tied to life, Isa’s to light, and Freyr’s to fire. She believed the power in the soil of Eunaris was the best way to achieve this.
But this had never been done before.
As time went on, Isa began to love the secret. For once, she had something for only herself.
But when it came time to power the Weapon, Isa froze.
“Are we sure?” she whispered to Willow.
Her best friend nodded. “We’re sure.”
Only, Isa was not. Cynthia Constance—just a teacher at the time, though she might have risen to any station she pleased—had whispered little worries into Isa’s ear about the peril of Weapons.
Weapons had long been outlawed, and for good reason.
Using a magic-wielder’s life force so unnaturally was a travesty.
They were about to use three.
Cynthia had told her Eunaris was magically sworn to oath. If they powered a Weapon on that land, Ilyria and Folkara would know. But no fears or anxieties would stop Willow from reaching her goals. Isa chose a different path.
“What if it backfires?” Isa said. “And the magic destroys us instead.”
“What if we kill the Arcanes?” Willow grabbed Isa’s hand, gently tugging her sweater sleeves. “Come on, Is. You know what this can do for us.”
Isa swallowed her doubt. Willow was right. She would find freedom, and Willow would gain acclaim. It was the best of both worlds.
So why did Isa’s stomach churn like a furious tide?
Freyr reached for her hand, a waver in his voice. “It’ll be okay.”
Isa said nothing. She tried to believe them.
Willow placed her hand on the Weapon, and Isa clutched Freyr tighter. Willow’s magic sparked, green wisps seeping into the metal as Isa shattered.
She grabbed her best friend’s hand before Isa could make a fatal mistake.
Willow turned to her as Isa tried to pull away. She couldn’t; her hand was stuck to her best friend like a fly in honey. Freyr stood ready to protect, as Willow’s eyes glossed over.
From her mouth came a string of monotone words:
“Bound to the Weapon,
Power can be gained through her possession.
In the place the Fire Folk were born,
A child waits unscorned.
Wrapped in magic none can reclaim,
The child awaits thy hand to turn her from their flame.”
Isa froze. She had heard the stories about prophecies. Throughout history, they had led men and women to victory. And this prophecy meant one thing: something would power their Weapon, without a doubt.
Then they could destroy the Arcanes.
There was no question anymore. It didn’t matter how many laws they broke; when they did what no one before them could, the Royals would have no choice but to award them!
That was it, then.
Willow stood taller, her eyes returning to normal, unaware of the power she’d just granted their small group.
“Don’t power it,” Isa said, still clutching onto Willow.
“What happened?” Willow asked, dazed as she glanced around the room, her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t power it!” Isa repeated, shaking Willow.
“Isa,” Freyr warned.
She turned to him, grabbing her lover’s wrist and pulling him next to Willow. Looking at the two most important people—her world—she said, “It was a prophecy for me. I’m meant to go to the Lume.”
“Maybe we were wrong—” Freyr began.
“This is certain!” Isa turned to Freyr, meeting his gaze. “It is foretold.”
Willow smiled.
“My love—”
Isa cut Freyr off. “If you wish to back out, I understand.”
Freyr shook his head.
?
Quickly, Isa and Freyr went together to the Lume—the volcano where the Fire Folk were born.
Despite my prophecy being clear, neither Isa nor Freyr believed they were retrieving a child. They thought it was metaphorical, perhaps because they were children themselves.
Isa was the one who went into the volcano. It was hard to breathe, even harder to retrieve, but when she pulled out a still baby, it crossed her mind that they’d misunderstood. Then the child drew a breath.
Moments later, she began to cry.
They brought the baby to meet Willow and finish what they started. Both she and the Weapon were gone.
Isa and Freyr fled back to Visnatus with the baby in tow. Almost immediately, they heard whispers of treason—their names tangled in the chorus.
Just like that, Isa got what she always wanted.
Freedom from the kingdom.
Isa bent the light around herself, the baby, and Freyr, concealing them. Together, they ran, reaching the outskirts of Folkara. Isa forced herself to decide it was okay—she could live this life. She could do it.
This was what she wished for, after all.
But after the baby’s first fire, she wasn’t sure she could. Half the village died that day.
A week later, Isa snuck out with a blanket covering the child. She planned to leave her in the woods for another family to find, perhaps someone better equipped than she was.
The baby wouldn’t die, she told herself. She would find a new family. A better one.
But Isa miscalculated; she thought Freyr was asleep. As she opened the dirty dwelling door, he whispered in the dark, “Where are you going?”
Isa sighed, considering hiding the baby in her arms.
“For a walk,” she said, her voice stiff.
Freyr’s gaze shied down. She hated the disappointment that colored his eyes.
“Isa—”
“She killed half a village! We can’t keep her.”
Freyr rose from the bed and walked toward his beloved. As he approached, he rested a hand on Isa’s arm. “What do you think she’s capable of in the wrong hands?”
“That’s not a fair question.” Isa shook her head, struggling to meet his gaze.
“You are the right hands,” he amended. “There’s a reason the prophecy was channeled for you.”
But the words did not reach Isa. Nothing could. Like Aurora, Isa was a child, unprepared for the weight of a daughter.
“There is no reason,” Isa finally whispered, pulling away from Freyr. She swept her hand across her forehead, tucking loose strands of hair back.
“Then why did you find her? Out of all the people in the universe, you have this baby. We have her.”
Isa liked the implication of the word—but perhaps that was her youth speaking, her naivety.
“We?” Isa echoed.
“Yes, we.” Freyr reached for the child, and Isa handed him his daughter. He held onto the girl tightly. “We’re in this together.”
Isa nodded. How quickly could a life change? Hers shifted in less than a day.
Freyr pulled her close. “We’re parents now.” He guided the new family back to bed, where they lay, Freyr saying, “We have to name her, Isa.”
Isa placed a hand on the child’s cheek. “What will a name do?”
“What will no name do?” Freyr spoke with a weight that Isa couldn’t help but sink beneath. While her question had been rhetorical, his was earnest.
So, looking down at the baby, Isa muttered the only name she could think of.
“Desdemona.”
?
The next five months were difficult. Isa and Freyr always ran, trusting no one and settling nowhere. Until, finally, they were found.
They were lucky to have gotten five months, luckier still that the person who found them meant no harm.
It was Willow—her stomach much larger than before. She was weeks away from giving birth.
“Lo,” Isa breathed, wrapping her arms around Willow.
“I can’t stay long,” Willow said.
“How did you find us?” Isa asked.
“Use this.” Willow grabbed her best friend’s hand and laid a stone in her palm. “Kill two people and glamour them as yourselves. You’ll get away.”
Freyr stepped forward, glaring at the orange stone in Isa’s hands. “We’re not killing anyone,” he said.
Willow looked between the two of them, her voice breaking. “Please. I don’t know what they’ll do to you.”
Isa grabbed Willow’s trembling hand with both of hers, kissing her knuckles and holding them under her chin. Willow seemed different—her usual ambitions subdued.
“What did they do to you?” Isa whispered.
Willow shook her head, offering a half-answer. “I’m working on the Weapon.”
“For yourself?” Isa knew the answer.
“For Folkara.”
Isa asked no more questions; she could not bear their answers. Instead, she said, “Tell me you’re safe.”
“I’m fair. But they’re coming for you.” Willow grabbed Isa’s hand again, prying her fingers open, and shook her palm so the stone rattled inside. “Kill two people. Glamour them.” They locked eyes. “Please, Is.”
Isa finally looked at the murky orange stone, hanging from a pendant.
Glamour was Folk magic, and no ordinary glamour could last long enough to fake a death. Seventy-two hours at most, not nearly enough time for the keepers to find and dispose of a body.
Willow answered before Isa asked. “It’s the Memorium.”
Both Isa and Freyr’s breaths hitched.
“Lo,” Isa breathed. “How?”
“Ms. Constance offered it to me,” Willow said. “You need to run. Tonight. Now that I’ve been here it’s not safe.”
“Not safe how?”
Willow stifled a cry and pulled up her sleeve. A long, winding tattoo covered her arm, but it wasn’t a tattoo at all. The ink moved like smoke. Isa nearly cried.
“I’m okay,” Willow said. She clutched her best friend’s hands, her love. “I’ll be okay. Take care of yourself.”
Isa threw her arms around her, lips near her ear. “Will I see you again?”
Willow nodded. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Then Willow was gone, leaving nothing but a Soul Stone in her place.
?
Freyr and Isa prepared to run once more, but their plans differed. Isa was certain she would kill two people before they left. Freyr wasn’t.
Despite growing up in the septic, Isa believed Freyr hadn’t seen the full cruelty of the Royals—not the way she had in the palace. Being a traitor to the crown was worse than being septic scum. She feared what they would do to her.
More than anything, she feared what they could do with the child.
“We can’t kill them,” Freyr warned as he packed their bags.
Isa sighed, shoving her single extra shirt in a bag and trying to tame her anger. “Why not?”
“We can’t play gods.”
“And why not? What have the gods ever given to us?”
“What have the gods not given you—” Freyr stopped himself, pressing his fingers to his temples.
Isa recoiled at his words, bringing a hand to her chest. “What?”
“Do you know how many people here would kill for what you had? Not even for political power, but the food and beds.”
“You know how I feel about that—”
“How can you complain that the gods are doing nothing for you, when everyone here—the people you intend to kill—have it worse?”
Isa wanted to shout back, but she understood.
She had once enjoyed clean clothes and fresh food, and after six months in the septic, she realized what a true luxury that was—despite her reservations about the kingdom and the Royals.
She harbored a lifetime of anger for all that was taken from her, but at least she had something to lose.
So Isa nodded. She nodded, angrily.
“Fine,” she said, throwing her pack over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”
Their anger followed them to the next village, and so did the soldiers. They chased them through the septic, from one village to the next, until Freyr was caught.
Isa almost gave up when they cuffed Freyr in magically binding shackles. She hid the baby and herself with her light magic, wondering if she should turn herself in. But when Freyr looked at her and offered a small nod, she stayed quiet.
And when Isa ran into the night, Freyr’s imagined voice chastised her as she killed the first person she saw, using the Memorium to glamour the body.
?
Today, Isa sits alone. A little girl walks across the distance of her mind, slowly approaching.
The big brown eyes are the first thing she sees, the ones she thinks might truly be red.
Then the hair comes into view, as orange as a blazing fire, and the freckles, the smile that she remembers so well.
She remembers.
At last, Isa remembers her daughter.