36. The Gift
N icodemus was still sitting in the courtyard when Viola returned, dropping down onto the grass and dismounting before Blackberry had even stilled. The hippogriff ran off to plant his face in the trough Cordelia had erected for him. Nico’s heart leapt at the sight of Viola, flaming dark hair tousled by the wind, eyes brightened by the exercise—
But it plummeted into his stomach when he saw the stoniness in her expression.
“I’m being sent to the Farms,” she said.
Shit.
It was too soon. He hadn’t even begun to compose the words of how he would tell her, how he’d explain everything, and now there wasn’t enough time—
Don’t tell her. Wait for the next time. You’ve waited this long.
Don’t let her leave!
But he knew she likely didn’t have a choice, and if he missed this opportunity, it might be a year until the next one.
And he had already waited too long.
“All right,” he said, struggling to his feet. Viola reached out towards him, but he already had the cane in his grip. He didn’t want her help. Not right now.
“Come with me.”
Viola nodded.
They walked inside, Cordelia making herself scarce. Nico led her towards a concealed set of steps hidden behind a false panel. It was a lot less grand than the main staircase, a creation that had taken his shadows months to whittle out of the stone. These were simple and basic, with no adornments at all.
Inwardly, he groaned at the steps, summoning himself a floating platform instead. He held out his arm for Viola to follow, but she leapt onto the bannister instead and skidded all the way down to the bottom.
“Show-off,” Nicodemus muttered, following her down.
“You’re descending down the stairs on a platform made of shadow.”
“I am using my powers because I am injured. You are using yours because you are not.”
“If I upset you—”
“Oh no, please do it again.”
Viola smiled, dispelling his gathering of nerves.
“Something amusing?” he asked.
“I’ve never heard anyone call my athletic prowess powers before.”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“All of my peers are similarly adept. I don’t often get the praise. I like it.”
“I can think of a few more things of yours I could praise, if you wish. Quite a few, in fact. Perhaps I’ll start a list.”
Viola laughed. Once more, the sound slashed against him, like rain during a summer drought. It wasn’t right for him to enjoy it. Not right now. Maybe not ever.
Stop flirting with her and tell her.
They reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, a round stone entrance with multiple holes. He’d engraved it with a pattern of a moon sitting inside a sun, surrounded by stars.
“Ostentatious,” Viola remarked.
“Thank you.”
He summoned half a dozen shadows, thin tendrils that rose from the walls under the singular shaft of light. Each plunged into the keyholes simultaneously, wriggling in mechanisms impossible to reach with anything but a solid shadow. He suspected another mancer might be able to try—wind or water, perhaps, or flora if they had a source—but he wasn’t positive.
They certainly wouldn’t be able to do it alone.
The locks clicked open. The door swung on its hinges. Nicodemus pulled it forward, letting Viola walk in first. She paused at the threshold, and Nico marvelled at the wonder on her face, her dark eyes turned gold with the reflection of the piles of coins swimming inside his vault.
Nico doubted the King and Queen of Auro could boast of a better collection. It rivalled the hoard of any dragon, although the contents were meticulously laid out, swords on stands, jewels on plinths, armour arranged perfectly around the room.
The chamber within was bathed in a soft crystalline glow, their radiance casting dancing shadows against the walls adorned with intricate tapestries depicting heroic deeds and ancient legends. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the metallic taste of gold. Rows of carved chests lined the chamber, labelled and secured with intricate locks, their secrets known only to Nico and perhaps Cordelia.
Nico moved with practised grace among his treasures, his steps echoing softly off the vault’s stone walls. Every item held a story, a memory, a piece of his legacy. He’d earned every coin more than the person he stole it from. And yet, the pride didn’t swell as much as it usually did—not as he moved towards the back wall, where he kept his collection of talismans and enchanted objects.
Viola stopped to admire a suit of armour, the chainmail plated like scales, the pauldrons forged like folded wings. “The similarities between you and a dragon are vastly increasing, Mr Nightshade…”
Nicodemus forced a laugh. “Alas, I don’t breathe fire.”
“Only shadow.”
A part of him wanted to give her a demonstration, to breathe out a shadowy plume and make it wrap around her like flames, but this wasn’t the time. He had to focus.
Viola’s attention drew to the black veins in the walls, to the dark, iridescent crystals that sprouted there, like crusted blood. “Shadow gems,” she remarked. “This is your mine.”
Nico nodded. “When I first took shelter here, it was just a cave. Then I crawled deeper into it, and discovered those veins. They… called to me, like magnets draw together. Where else was I going to build my home?”
Viola raised a hand to trace the vein with her fingers. Nico shivered, imagining those hands on him.
“How did you find the cave to begin with?” Viola asked.
Nico paused. It was a good question. He just wasn’t sure how believable his answer was going to be.
“Nico?” she prompted.
“I think perhaps I was guided here,” he said. “But that’s a story for another time.”
Gingerly, he lifted his hand and extracted a small copper talisman from the stand, holding it up to the light. His insides curdled.
“What’s that?” Viola asked.
“What I want you to wear when you go to the Farm,” he told her.
“What is it?”
“It’s a talisman that protects against enchantments. ”
Viola frowned. “You think someone’s going to try and enchant me?”
“I know it.”
If he told her, she might not believe him. She might trust her memories over his words. She might refuse the talisman. His plan could fall apart. But if he didn’t tell her… she’d be furious. More furious than if he’d told her to begin with and she just didn’t believe him. Maybe. Either way, the truth was going to hurt. Either way, he risked her running.
Viola’s frown didn’t waver. “I’m not sure I want to ask…”
“An understandable feeling.” He took a deep breath. “I’m going to need to put this under your skin.”
“Come again?”
“If you wear it, there’s a possibility you could be searched.”
“No one has ever searched me before—”
“That you remember.”
Viola’s face trembled. “I don’t like this.”
“I know. I know, and I’m sorry.”
He handed her the talisman, freeing his hands and allowing her to inspect it, as if that might cause her some ease. He turned his back for a moment and went towards his collection of blades. Although Nico knew the principle of sword-fighting—he had several summers worth of practising with his foster brother—he was no master. Each of the blades here was little more than a pretty bauble to him, no matter the enchantment. He plucked a silver dagger off the bottom rung. The design was simple, no jewels or intricate carvings, but it was easily the most valuable blade in the collection.
“This is also for you,” he told her. “Don’t let its appearance fool you—it can transform into almost any weapon you can imagine.”
Viola’s eyes gleamed, as bright as a magpie’s. She took the hilt of the blade in her hands. “I don’t know, I can imagine a lot of weapons.”
The blade lengthened as she spoke, softly shimmering as it transformed into a sword, then a hammer, a halberd, a bow…
“I’m afraid it can’t conjure arrows or bolts,” Nicodemus informed her. “And if you transform it into a throwing knife, you’ll lose it just as easily.”
Viola was still staring at the weapon, now a spear. She tested the weight of it, and for a second he had the thought that she might just run him through with it. It might hurt less than her fury once she understood what he’d been keeping from her.
“This is the best thing I’ve ever been given,” she remarked.
“I should hope so, the thing must be worth a fortune. The Earl of Sandforth must miss it terribly.”
Viola laughed, then her expression sobered. “Are you giving me this to distract from the fact that you need to place a talisman under my skin ? ”
“Partly,” he said. “Partly as an apology. Partly also because I thought you’d like it, and use it, and it’s not doing anyone any good sitting here.”
Viola cast her arm out. “None of this is doing anyone any good sitting here.”
“I object. I come down here frequently to admire it all, and it does me a lot of good.”
A small laugh came again, but left even quicker than before.
“Come on,” Nicodemus said. “Let’s get this over with.”
He had a shadow collect the medical supplies and meet them in Viola’s room. She stripped herself to the waist and lay against the bed as he instructed, back exposed. He used a solution to numb her skin and cut a careful cross on the base of her spin. Once removed from the chain and thoroughly washed, he placed the talisman under her skin and sewed it back up carefully, drenching the wound in enough scar-sealer to heal an army. The mark was almost invisible by the end.
It was a horrible process. Even though Viola couldn’t feel most of it, his stomach still churned at the blood, his fingers shaking as he cut and sewed. This would all have been a lot easier if he didn’t care about her.
Everything would have been a lot easier that way.
Finally, it was over. Viola pulled her clothes back on.
“I’ve been to the Farm,” she told him. “Twice. There’s nothing interesting about it. But you’re suggesting that what I saw… That someone fiddled with my memories?”
Nicodemus grimaced. “Not just yours,” he said. “Everyone’s. Everyone who has ever visited the place, save a few. Tell me—what do you remember about the place?”
Viola hesitated, as if skimming through a book, trying to find the right page. “Green fields,” she told him. “Miles of wheat. Guarding fresh produce. The bunkhouse. Laughing with my colleagues in the mess hall. The scent of honeysuckle. Music—”
“Try to think of something specific,” he urged her. “A conversation you had there.”
“This one time at dinner—”
“Not inside,” he added. “Outside. Remember something from outside. ”
Viola opened her mouth to respond, then promptly shut it, only to open it a few moments later. “Nothing really happens there.”
“That’s what everyone says, isn’t it? And doesn’t that seem odd to you? If nothing ever happens, why does it need to be guarded? And is it likely that nothing has ever happened in all these years?”
Viola’s face trembled. He hated this, hated being the one who had to tell her. For years, he’d dreamed of telling someone else, revelled in the idea of showing them who their Crown really was. But he couldn’t revel in this.
“But why?” Viola asked finally.
Nicodemus swallowed. There was no more putting it off.
He took a deep breath, and told her everything.
Almost everything.