Chapter 17
JO
“Where are you two going?”
Beau and I freeze in place, turning to find my mother in the door leading to the kitchen.
Dressed in a nightgown, hair falling in waves around her shoulders, one would believe she just rolled out of bed if it were not for the flour dusting her fingers.
Her favorite time to bake is late in the day, sometimes well into the night, but it appears she’s calling it quits early tonight.
“To the tavern,” I answer. “We’re meeting with Drake.”
“Oh,” she sounds. “How’s the new commander doing?”
“Sam is impressed,” I say.
Drake used to be second to General Samasu, but my mother convinced Sam to hand the reins to his successor so he could follow me to the border. While young, Drake has proven himself to be a skilled leader.
“Good,” my mother says. “Anything interesting on the docket?”
Beau offers a casual shrug. “The usual.”
There’s a long pause where all three of us trade glances, and I already know what’s coming before my mother asks: “Are you sure you’re ready?”
“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Word is already spreading of my return.”
“It’s only been a week’s time,” she reassures me, stepping closer. “You’re allowed a period to settle.”
I’m steadfast in my response. “The people need to see me.”
The conflict in her expression is evident. The pride of a ruler who agrees with my decision, having had to put her title before her own well-being many times, battles for precedence with the worry of a mother for her daughter who has only just come back from battle.
My reliance on the sleep aid tea hasn’t helped to alleviate her worry either.
A small grin pulls at her mouth, regardless. “Let me at least pack some of my toffee cakes. Messer loves them.”
This time my smile is genuine as we watch her scurry to the pantry. She adores Messer, always saying he’s like a puppy you don’t have to train, which is mostly true. He still could use a bit more edifying.
She returns with a basket and a bottle of champagne.
“To celebrate your victory at the border,” she explains, handing the bottle to me and the basket to Beau.
“The people will be excited to see their champion.” Then she pinches my side, and I yelp, rubbing the sore area.
“Quit sneaking out. You’re too grown for that nonsense. ”
Beau’s eyes slide to me, the smugness radiating from her. When I knocked on her door and told her to schedule the meeting, she advised me to inform my mother of my intentions to venture into the city. I didn’t, obviously, but only because I knew she’d worry.
I confess as much as I embrace my mother. “And don’t wait up,” I tell her, finally.
She pulls back, cupping my face in her hands as she stares at me. “Much like yourself, I am also grown and will do as I please.” Smiling, she swats me away. “Go have fun. Tell everyone I said hello.”
And by everyone, she means Messer.
I grab a fistful of sugar snap peas from the bowl by the door on our way out.
The rabbits hiss as soon as we step into the courtyard, and we sprinkle the peas like confetti, which subdues them with relative ease and allows us to weave along the winding paths toward the door at the front of the courtyard.
We wait for a carriage to pass before crossing to the other side of the street. I pull my woolen coat closed to ward off the chill in the air, knowing that any effort to remain anonymous is futile. No one in Maile wears overcoats this early into winter unless they’re new to the city.
Tonight is particularly busy. People are out to enjoy the weather before the first snowfall. And while I was used to living in a bustling community in Alaha, it’s vastly different in Maile.
Here, magic intensifies everything.
A family spills from a nearby eatery onto the street.
Two parents and three kids; there’s nothing particular about them except for the youngest of the children, a girl who can’t be any older than six.
She skips alongside her sister and when she glances both ways to check for buggies before crossing the street, her eyes reflect off the lanterns, flashing a ghostly white before returning to a more normal color.
An early indicator that she has the gift of foresight—the same as Greta’s.
There’s a pastry vendor on the corner and he delivers the desserts to the customer’s hand on an invisible gust of wind.
Across the way, one of the city’s fire starters stands on a ladder, refilling a burned-out lamp with oil before reigniting the flame with a strike of his finger.
And a little further down, a resident is tending to her rose bushes by her front stoop, the petals unfurling just the slightest at the touch of her fingers.
The term Heir isn’t used here much, if at all.
There are simply people who have magic, and others who do not.
Having magic is still considered a blessing from the Mother, but the religious association has waned with time.
At least, that’s how my mother explains it.
It’s undeniable that the land still holds secrets because even those who are giftless suffer from their eyes leeching of color when traveling at sea.
It doesn’t take long for people to really take notice of me and my bulky coat, and I try not to appear too hurried as Beau and I maintain our steady gait toward the tavern a few streets away.
I wave and give thanks to compliments and congratulations for the battle won at the border.
Kids are the boldest, running up to me to bow, sometimes wrapping their little arms around my middle before their parents wrest them away with apologies.
My mother loves being in the heart of the city, to be accessible to her people.
She’s the type of queen I aspire to be. The smile she gives me is the same she gives to her people: honest and open.
She radiates joy and kindness, making anyone that comes across her feel seen just by being in her presence. It’s a skill I’ve yet to master.
Sensing my discomfiting thoughts, Beau takes my hand and squeezes it.
“I’m fine,” I reassure her.
“You know better than to lie to me of all people, Jo.”
I suppress a sigh. “Can’t you let me get away with it every now and then?”
My question brings a begrudgingly small smile to her mouth. “Never.”
She looks beautiful in a pleated skirt that reaches her ankles.
Hair twisted into a braid, with gold strands woven in and out and a tiny golden butterfly ornament at the end.
Maile’s symbol and my family’s crest. Many of the refugees fleeing the spreading war also wear the butterfly as a symbol of appreciation for the safe harbor, but Beau wears it simply because she loves Maile. And my mother.
“I received word from my mother late last night,” she says.
I lift a curious brow. Beau has kept regular communication with Greta since we left Kenta, but she rarely mentions it to me unless there’s news worth sharing.
“She said there’s tension in the palace. A rift between the king and my brother.”
She’s long since quit referring to Edmond as her father, but she hardly ever mentions her brother unless there’s something particularly noteworthy, and my heart stutters in my chest. “Any idea why?”
“One can only speculate. The reasons could be endless, considering … well, everything.”
Even though it’s little more than nothing, it’s something. A morsel of hope.
“It wasn’t supposed to take this long,” I mutter under my breath.
Beau tilts her head, looking at me from under her lashes. “Four years doesn’t undo a lifetime of manipulation, Jo.”
“I thought the king would have shown his true colors by now.” That Acker would see through his father’s manipulation tactics.
“Edmond doesn’t need magic to be persuasive,” she says.
I hear the unspoken words she refrains from tacking on. I need to give Acker the same grace I would ask in return. Not that I have or ever will ask him for forgiveness for my betrayal, but that’s irrelevant.
“It takes people years to come to terms with who their parents are, even without being the subject of heavy magical influence,” she says.
Our spies have informed us of Acker’s reluctant participation in leading the council during his father’s frequent absences.
It was due to his orders alone that forced me to the northern border to defend against the Strou.
Meanwhile, Edmond’s been biding his time while he rebuilds his power, and there’s nothing I regret more than not ending his existence when I had the chance.
My dagger was there, poised to sever his lifeline with a single slash, something none have been close enough to even try before, and …
I failed.
I thought that ignoring Acker’s plea for his father’s life would make me as evil as the man I was trying to kill, but being merciful was just as selfish as any self-serving action the king himself has taken.
I knew if I killed his father that Acker would never look at me the same way again.
That adoring gaze I’d grown accustomed to would be forever twisted into disgust. The mere idea of that gutted me.
And with one hasty decision fueled by the hope that Acker could one day forgive me, I damned the lives of countless innocent people.
A day, I realize, that will never come.
It took me entirely too long to admit to myself that Acker never loved me, not truly.
He only wanted me because of the connection we share, the Bond that Mother Nature forced upon us.
What he thought he felt between us as children before I went missing.
But what he really wanted was someone like Irina.
A placid placeholder in his life. A trophy. A prized horse.
And I hate that I proved just how useless I am by not fulfilling my promise to Kai. To the rebellion. To myself, in the process.
Since I betrayed Acker and left Kenta, I’ve regretted not killing the king every single day. It’s because of my cowardice that the continent has been thrust into chaos.