37. Chapter Thirty-Seven Bahira
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Bahira
T he sun pours in through the windows of my room and blinds me where I lay on my bed, my head pounding from the alcohol consumed the night before. A bottle lays on the green and gold ornate rug, the smell of hard liquor permeating the air—my stomach roils in response. Huffing out a breath, I roll slowly onto my back, a forearm resting over my eyes.
This is a new feeling for me. Well, that’s not exactly true. The feeling of being a failure—of not amounting to anything—has simmered beneath the surface of my false bravado for a little while now. Each failed experiment and derogatory comment only added fuel to the fire that I tried desperately to keep extinguished. Today however, it burns brightly within me, creating a warmth that sends bile up my throat and trepidation through my body. Or maybe that is the alcohol trying to escape. Despite not wanting to reminisce at all about magic or experiments or journals, my brain has always worked too scientifically—too logically. Even half drowned in inebriation, it’s still trying to sort through any data that can be gained from my latest failure. You could try—
“No,” I respond to myself, halting the train of thought.
Another rush of nausea barrels through me, and I bolt from the bed, running to the bathroom and kneeling before the toilet just in time. I gather as much of my thick hair back as I can, vomiting so hard that I begin to see stars from the force of it. When the urge to expel my insides finally dies down, I collapse onto the cold stone of the floor. Tears already leak from my eyes, but I can’t be sure if it’s from being sick or if it’s because of the crushing weight of defeat sitting on top of me. Squeezing them shut, I focus on my breathing to try and stop the swirling thoughts of “what if” and “what about.” It doesn’t matter anymore.
A gentle knock sounds on my door, as if the person somehow knows that my skull feels as though it might crack if the noise is any louder.
“Your Highness, are you awake?” a sweet voice asks. It’s Sarai, one of the ladies-in-waiting for both my mother and I.
“I am,” I shout back, immediately wincing at the slicing pain in my head that my volume causes. Fuck, how am I going to get through this hangover and attend the Summer Solstice celebration tonight?
“It is nearly time to join your family for the celebration, Your Highness, are you ready to get dressed?” Her much quieter voice doesn’t feel like needles pushing into my brain, but the realization that I slept the entire day proves that I still do in fact have enough in my stomach to throw up again. I swallow the sensation down, truly feeling like I’ve hit rock bottom with the action.
“Sarai,” I say, my throat burning and voice hoarse, “I need to shower, and then I will be ready to get dressed. Can you also send food up? And I will need—” I pause, swallowing again before forcing the words out of me. “I will need a healer. I’m not feeling well.”
“Of course. Everything will be ready out here for you by the time you are done with your shower.”
“Thank you,” I rasp and wait to hear the door close before slowly sitting up and reaching over to turn on the faucet above the tub. I make it as cold as possible before undressing and practically slinking in like a snake. The water sprinkles down on me from the spout overhead, but all I can manage for a while is to stay seated and let the freezing drops slowly begin to clear my mind and calm my stomach.
For so long, I truly thought I was capable of doing the impossible. Magic in our world appears to be sentient—a living thing that allows the beings of Olymazi to wield it. The mages’ connection with it is less specific than any other kingdom’s. The fae use it to bond with their dragons. The sirens are given their seductive song and ability to live under water. The shifters can take two forms—one beast and one mortal. But the mages can manipulate the magic. They can spell it onto items and use it to control the elements around them. They can use it to heal and to hurt, in small degrees. And I just want that same connection. It is like I am standing on the outside looking in at my own world. Mortals may not directly have magic, but they can at least access the Continent’s magic through blood. I have mage blood flowing through my veins. I am mage!
But then, maybe I’m not. What separates mages from mortals is nothing more than a slightly longer lifespan and the ability to wield magic. My mother had said that magic is secondary to the person wielding it, but that can’t be true. I am not mortal, but I am not truly mage either. And that means I am adrift in the ocean between two worlds—one that I am desperate to be connected to and one that I am more a part of than I ever want to be.
Forcing out a breath, I slowly stand, feeling marginally better than I had when I first woke up. Tilting my head up towards the water, a sharp feeling of unease hits my gut as I remember what is happening tomorrow. Kai Vaea, King of the Shifter Kingdom, will arrive at our border with the intent of taking a mage back to his island. I am still unsure what he expects someone to do about the supposed blight he believes to be affecting the magic there, but I put the thought aside as I have no room to talk about retaining the hope of fixing defective magic.
After washing my hair and body, I finally step out of the shower, feeling a bit more like myself again. A beautiful dress fit for the celebration tonight lays on the bed, as well as a meal of buttery rolls, carved ham, and zucchini. I reach for the food first, eating my fill and finally settling the bitter waves that have been plaguing my stomach. Sarai enters the room shortly after, helping me dress and styling my hair before an older mage, the official palace healer, steps in.
“Happy Solstice, Your Highness,” he begins, his dark green robe with silver embroidery swallowing his frail frame. His long gray hair is braided back from his face, wrinkles inset in his dark skin near his eyes and forehead.
“And same to you, Galen. Thank you for coming on such short notice.” I force a gentle smile to my face as he lays his hands on the top of my head. “I am not feeling one hundred percent today and wouldn’t want to miss any of the festivities tonight.”
He nods his head in agreement, a knowing glint showing in his eyes before he closes them to focus. “It is an honor to help you, Bahira. It is not often you have called on me, so it is a rare Summer Solstice present indeed.”
His magic glows a brilliant green as it pours over me—the pain in my head ceasing immediately, as does the remaining sour feeling in my stomach. I take a true deep breath for the first time this morning. I watch in the mirror of the vanity as Galen’s hands tremble from the effort of healing me. The man is in his sixth decade of life. His magic should be just as strong as it was in his second decade, and yet, I can tell from the strain on his face that he is struggling with just healing my hangover symptoms. And that angers me. It angers me that this man is losing his magic and, thus, losing his ability to help serve the people of the kingdom he loves. When his eyes open, I replace the look of concern that had painted my face with one of genuine warmth.
“Thank you, Galen. I am now feeling ready for revelry and raucous behavior,” I tease. His responding raspy laugh sparks a true beaming smile from me this time as he pats my shoulder fondly and makes his way out the door. Sarai returns to her spot behind me, finishing up the last details of my hair before stepping back and interlacing her fingers in front of her.
“You look beautiful, Princess.”
I stand to walk towards the mirror in the corner of my room and am remiss if I don’t say I agree with her. My fingers roam over the light blue tulle of my skirt, the fabric gathering at my waist before flaring out. The top half of the dress is white and has a bodice with a deep v-cut in the middle and beads of glistening silver and black sewn into shapes of flowers and small suns. Creamy white silk fabric drapes delicately at my shoulders, contrasting brightly against my tan skin and the blue of the skirt. Sarai has made several small braids around my head, gathering them into one large plait that works its way to hang over one shoulder. I look regal and royal and like everything I don’t actually feel at the moment but will have to fake at the celebration.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Sarai,” I agree. “Thank you.”
She smiles brightly, dipping her chin before leaving the room. I sit on the edge of my bed, wrapping the silver ribbons of my sandals up my ankles and part of my calves. Once they are laced, I take one last look at myself before leaving my room and walking down the stairs. While I have no idea what I will now do going forward—something that leaves me feeling unmoored—I know one thing for sure that will be resolved tonight whether I want it to or not. I haven’t spoken to Daje since my fight with Gosston, when Daje stepped in and used his magic against him. I know he meant well, and I know he did it because he truly thought he was helping me. Looking back, I can even admit that I probably acted too severely in my response to him that day. I just wish he would have at least listened to me. That he would trust me. My heart beats heavily in my chest as I force down any lingering thoughts about magic and my place in this kingdom, choosing to instead put on the mask of a carefree princess. The warm summer air lays thick around me as I lift my dress and step into a waiting carriage.
Independent of the heat, sweat gathers at the base of my neck from my nerves. Nothing has changed for me save my own acceptance of my shortcomings, but it somehow feels like everyone will know that I am struggling when I step foot out of this carriage and into the midst of the celebration. Separate from my own spiraling, what will people think about the shifter king arriving in two days time? My father has already sent word that a strong mage will be chosen to go live for a few months on the shifter isle, but I wonder if it will dampen the mood at all.
I ponder this as I watch the trees whizz by as the horses pull the carriage down the stone pathway. The setting sun gilds everything with its soft glow, making flowers shimmer and leaves gleam. I am the last one to leave the palace, which undoubtedly means all attention will be on me when I finally arrive. Fucking fantastic.
Despite everything, my irritating brain can’t help but contemplate the chart I have been developing from the information gathered out of the mage journals. Small symbols that represent every time a mage has commented on a change in magic throughout the kingdom lay out on a timeline in my mind. My lips purse together as I debate internally whether or not I should keep going with this research. It is like I have a person sitting on each shoulder shouting out opposing thoughts to sway me either way.
You love to read. What is this research but just reading?
You’re reading with the intent to pull data, and so far all the data you’ve tried to utilize has been fruitless. Pointless.
There is no harm in simply charting out information.
There is harm when it gives you false hope that you might still find a solution.
Back and forth my thoughts go, a new headache forming from tension. The jostling of the carriage coming to a stop finally pulls me from my own personal hell as the door opens. I gather the tulle of my skirt into my hands, lifting it out of the way of my feet as I carefully step out, my eyes widening at the display of lights and decorations set up before me.
Every Solstice celebration is held in the middle of an old amphitheater that is now used more as a recreational area for various gatherings—both big and small. Deep, sweeping semicircular terraces are inlaid with a set of wide stone steps that lead down to a large, open grassy area at the center, the space large enough to fit everyone on this side of the kingdom. Arches of draping wisteria flowers in pinks and purples dot the pathway to the steps interspersed with spelled flames in glass bowls hanging from metal hooks every few feet. In the thick trees that surround the back of the open space below and the edges of the deep tiers, I can see flames dancing in glass balls, spelled to stay suspended in the air. The thick, twisting banya and pirang trees were originally only lightly grown throughout the tiered seating area to provide shade and improve acoustics for mages watching the performances below. Now, they grow every few feet along the steps down, creating a thicker interwoven canopy above. The large grassy center is left completely open to view the night sky, except for three large evenly-spaced arches overhead that span from one side of the oval amphitheater to the other. Each one has pink and yellow wisteria flowers and large vines of heart ivy in every variation of white and green draping down just over the heads of the party goers below. More spelled flames dot in between the arches, floating on a wind of magic.
Carefully, I make my way down the steps, noticing grass and small yellow flowers growing in the cracks of the laid stone. The center of the large space is entirely covered in short grass, the variety a thick, dark green that cushions each of my steps as I look around to find my parents. Wooden tables filled with food and drink stretch along the entire length of the open field on one side while a band of mages playing different musical instruments are placed on the other. Most are of the string variety, the light and melodious sounds beautifully fitting for a summer party. Sure enough, the eyes of the party-going mages find me, I politely nod and smile in their direction, ignoring the scream that’s attempting to work its way up my throat.
I find my parents, dancing together right in the center of the celebration amidst the people they both love dearly, and make my way over to them. My father hugs me tightly to him, somehow a look of sympathy and understanding keenly shining in his eyes. My mother squeezes my hands lightly, commenting on the beauty of my hair and dress before leading me over to grab refreshments.
“How are you, my rose?” she asks, taking a small bite of a sun-shaped sugar cookie.
I don’t like lying, especially to her, but I also don’t feel like hashing out what the last twenty-four hours of my life has been like. So, I smile and take a sip of my water before answering with a generic “good.” I know that she can tell it isn’t quite the truth, but before she has the chance to ask further, a familiar voice sounds behind me.
“Would you like to dance, Bahira?”
I grimace slightly as I slowly turn to face Daje, not missing the amused glint in my mother’s eyes. My gaze roams over him as his does the same to me. Where mine merely assesses what he is wearing out of simple curiosity—brown trousers tucked into black boots, a black long-sleeved jacket embroidered in deep red with gold buttons running up the middle—his devours me, a spark of heat appearing as he lingers over the exposed skin on my upper chest. I clear my throat, feeling uncomfortable under his stare. He is my friend but he wants so much more from me than I can give him—than what I can be for him. Or at least, that is what I previously thought. His gaze holds mine and I feel my barriers beginning to crack further.
Maybe a life with him is all that should be left for me to focus on now. All this fighting, all this reluctance to accept what is—it has been pointless. So why shouldn’t I entertain the idea that maybe a life with him could be better?