Chapter Five
When the Air Touched, Kaelen, and a soldier herd me out of the room, Trick is still pleading not to die. I want to scream at everyone. I want to rush to my friend. I want to wake up and realize that all of this has been a bad dream.
I do none of that, because the soldier and the prince walk very close to me, probably to stop me from escaping.
“Aren’t you afraid to be this near the amulet?”
The sorcerer flinches at the bitterness in my tone but answers calmly. “No need. It’s beneath your dress for now. When we arrive at my rooms, I’ll ward it in multiple ways so you can bear it with relative safety to yourself and those around you.”
I don’t have the fortitude to scoff at “relative safety.”
When we turn into a side corridor, the soldier leaves us. We continue in silence, and I’m constantly aware of the weight of the murderous amulet around my neck.
“They probably won’t kill him,” the prince finally says indifferently. “Your friend.”
“Probably?”
“We’ll need him. As the king said: a backup nobody.”
The cruelty in his words shocks me into snapping back at him. “Oh. Well, certainly people’s lives should depend on what royalty needs.”
I don’t know who I think I am, to talk to a prince like this, but I’m so far past the limit of what I can bear today, I’m almost numb. Even to fear.
The prince says nothing, but his face turns to stone.
“He’s my only friend. Unlike you, I haven’t been raised with friends around every corner.” I instantly regret my words when I remember he was so young when he lost everything.
He grimaces. “The people of this court jockey for position and play the game of honors and privilege with every waking breath. The queen has some small affection for me and loves my sister like a daughter, so the courtiers treat me with care and false attention. The second that changes, they’ll be on me like ravens on carrion. ”
When the sorcerer glances back at us, she nods. “It’s mostly the same for me. A few people here have genuine respect for magic, but mostly, I’m feared or despised. Too many believe that sorcerers should be the targets of bounty hunters, like they are in Khyrrus.”
I knew that. Those same bounty hunters target those of us with Gray Mind, too. Rich aristocrats who want a perpetual indentured servant or a captive sorcerer pay handsomely.
Kaelen scowls. “Karrina and I are guests here, as Pallan is quick to point out whenever I venture an opinion that differs from his. For my sister’s sake, I’ve been forced to bow to his wishes since the king took us in ten years ago, after the Zhagarn sent the Fell to murder my parents.”
“As … King Pallan’s guests?”
His bitter laugh holds no amusement. “Right. Though the only difference between guest and prisoner in Pallanhold Keep is accommodation.”
The sorcerer stops in front of a closed door at the end of the hall and shoots an admonishing look at the prince as she pulls a key from her pocket. “And you’ve learned nothing in the past ten years if you say such things where any ears might hear.”
“The hall is empty,” Kaelen says. “My hearing is as good as that of the lost snow leopards of the Panterran Mountains. As the old saying goes, a snow leopard can always hear you coming.”
“I thought that was a metaphor,” I venture. “For the battle-readiness of Valourian warriors.”
The Panterran Mountains on the Valourian side and the Altarran River on the Khyrrus side form a natural border between the two kingdoms, and the Valourian standard portrays a snarling snow leopard.
The Khyrran standard sports a fish, as the Khyrrans aren’t a war-making people, and the fishing in the Altarran River is the best in the land.
Pyrrh’s standard is a wolf with a bloody muzzle. I doubt the symbolism escapes Pallan’s enemies.
Kaelen tilts his head in an oddly catlike manner and studies me. “You know quite a bit for a servant found covered in dirt from cleaning. There’s more to you than what you show on the surface, isn’t there?”
“Isn’t that true of everyone?” I dare to reply. “But no matter what I know or don’t know, I don’t see how I can possibly do this thing you all are asking of me.”
He leans closer, his gaze filled with purple flame. “Remember this, Soli goddess-touched: we must succeed, or all of Altarra will be destroyed. Therefore, we will succeed.”
The Air Touched, who has been staring back and forth between us like she’s watching a championship game of Spires, throws her hands in the air. “Yes, yes, I think she knows the stakes by now. Enough already!”
Without bothering to see if he answers, she faces the door, murmurs a brief chant, turns the key in the lock, and swings the door open. “Welcome to my humble home away from home.”
My anger at Kaelen and the fog that has enveloped me since the king ordered Trick’s execution both dissipate into fearful curiosity. I’m about to enter the sorcerer’s chambers, which likely house any number of terrifying things. “Really? Your rooms?”
We follow her inside, and I’m almost disappointed when no bats or spiders rush at me.
The sorcerer walks to the fireplace, but the prince and I stay near the door.
“You’re staying with me because I need to ward and monitor the amulet.
” The Air Touched takes a thick cloth and uses it to pick up a teapot hanging over the fire.
“Tea, I think. I’ll ring for food, too. Kaelen, are you staying? ”
The prince shakes his head, his expression grave. “No, I need to find my sister and comfort her. This—this will be hardest on her.”
The sorcerer flinches as if he struck her. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “If I could have found another way—any other way—”
“I’m sure you did your best,” he says in a tone that implies he’s not sure of that at all.
There seems to be a casual friendship between the two of them, but perhaps only a shallow one. Beneath their surface courtesies, I sense in each a deep distrust for the other. I know Valourian is welcoming to magic users—or, at least, it was before Corvynne’s forces conquered the kingdom.
So, this must be personal.
Another scrap of knowledge to hoard.
Kaelen pulls the door open with controlled ferocity but stops before walking out. “Soli, I’m … I’m sorry you got pulled into this. The quest is vital, but I’m sorry it’s you.”
And then he’s gone.
What do I do with that? He was angry that Flack hurt me, but he thinks I’m too weak to be useful. He’s sorry I got pulled into this, but he’s determined we’ll succeed at all costs. Who knows what that even means? What it means for me?
The next few hours are among the strangest I’ve ever passed.
The sorcerer sends me to her bathing chamber.
In any other circumstances, I’d find the novelty of a real bath with actual hot water luxurious.
Now, though, I grimly scrub my body and hair, trying to avoid touching the amulet as much as I can.
I still don’t catch on fire, although maybe being in a tub full of water would help.
The image of Lil flashes into my mind, and I fight back tears. I won’t let these people see me cry.
When I’m dressed again, drying my hair before the fire, I swallow the small amount of pride I have left and beg the sorcerer to find out what she can about Trick.
She sends the servant who brings a tray of food to ask, then bids me to eat quietly so she can concentrate on binding the amulet into a containment locket.
I nod at her request, staring at the huge platters of food on the tray. “Is this all for me?”
She shrugs. “You might save some for me, or I’ll order more. Now, quiet.”
There is enough food for a half-dozen people, so I won’t have a problem saving some for her.
The bounty is so superior to any I’m allowed at the library that I take a moment just to savor the scents wafting from the tray before diving in.
The beef roast is so tender it melts in my mouth; the salad of greens with a tangy oil-and-herb dressing is delicious.
I even sample two tiny lemon cakes and a small jam pie before I have to admit defeat, my belly protesting the huge amount of rich food after years of subsistence provisions.
Part of me keeps trying to put down my fork, guilty over being alive to eat all this food when Lil is not. But the pragmatic side that helped me survive the library tells me to eat while I can. Who knows what awful thing might happen next?
When I’m finally full, it’s difficult to remain silent and not ask any of the dozens of questions crowding my mind.
The sorcerer is crushing herbs and lighting candles and murmuring spells over a small piece of metal, and I’m afraid to distract her at a critical point.
When she finally holds it up, I see that it’s a silver locket on a sturdy silver chain.
The locket itself is wider and thicker than any I’ve seen before, but this one is designed to hold the jeweled amulet, not a miniature portrait.
“Theoretically, this should protect anyone who comes into contact with you. I believe you’re safe, but if someone touches you and the amulet sets them on fire, would you burn with them? There’s no way to know,” she says absently, turning the locket over and over in her long, graceful fingers.
It takes me two tries to get any words out. Shock and disbelief combine to form an obstruction in my throat. Finally, I manage: “You believe? Theoretically? There’s no way to know?”
Her level gaze meets mine. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll test this on myself.”
“Oh, yes. I feel so much better knowing we might burn to death, but at least we’ll be together.”
Her eyes flare with golden fire, and I find myself curling up into the mental cage that has trapped me for so long. The space that kept me timid and cautious, rather than bold.
The darkness weighs heavy inside this cage, but it’s safe.
It’s safe.
And safety is always most valuable to those who’ve never had it.
I remember, vaguely, feeling safe with my mother. Or is it just hope turned into memory? But not since then.
Never since then.