CHAPTER NINETEEN
I avoided Kelara’s wide, pitying eyes all weekend.
I took Asha for constant outings, shutting down every prospect of conversation.
I was sure my elder sister had plenty of opinions about David and me, but they were just that—opinions—and I wasn’t willing to let her gut feeling hinder me from what I knew was the practical decision.
David and I had been together for years, and he’d been my safe place for all of them.
Why wouldn’t I marry him?
And she wasn’t one to talk. I’d seen her step out of the house for a few moments later that night, only to be crouched around the corner in a heated exchange with Felipe.
I’d watched through an odd angle of the window as he’d planted a kiss on her cheek, my body tensing at the sight.
She’d come in shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and greeting Asha as if nothing had happened.
As much as I wanted to confront her, I knew we both had accusations the other didn’t want to hear. So I kept my mouth shut.
Besides, I was occupied trying to avoid wedding planning.
Mama was ecstatic. I’d barely seen her all weekend.
Once David had left, she’d spent the next two days with his mother, discussing decorations and dates and dresses.
She’d invited me to come, but I told her I wanted to spend time with Asha after the accident.
The truth, however, was that the idea of being in those chats made bile rise in my throat.
So instead, I bided my time at home with Asha’s sunny presence, and we enjoyed the hustle of afternoon market strolls.
Once—just once—I recognized Ella’s blond, bouncing curls by a baker’s stall in the distance, and pulled Asha down another aisle, my heart pounding in my chest. After her words on the stairs, Ella would have to extend the olive branch, not I—I was done hounding her about the truth when she so clearly wanted to live a lie.
To keep myself occupied, I even suggested a visit to Gina’s. Armed with stew, we ignored the sweat soaking through our gowns as heat pressed against every inch of bare skin, and trudged over to the home of Kelara’s childhood best friend.
Lying weak on the bed, she was unrecognizable.
With sunken eyes and bones jutting from her skin, the Quiet Passing had moved quicker than usual in the mere two months since it had taken hold of her.
The disease had taken advantage of her frailty—it was eating her alive.
I couldn’t help the way my eyes darted away from hers as we talked, instead lingering on the faded walls of the room as she and Kelara shared gossip and tired giggles.
The room smelled heavily of death, and my mind spun with memories of long ago, of another room smelling of cold sweat and dry petals, of dead leaves and dry air.
The space was dizzying, my stomach churning with the same premonition that made me long to run away, just as it had two years ago. Gina would bid this room farewell soon: of that I was certain.
On the way out, Kelara eyed my paling face.
I gave her a wan smile.
“She doesn’t look very well, but her spirits are much better than Papa’s,” she said, voice wavering. “I think she might have a chance.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded.
The silence that settled over us was as thick and heavy as the humidity. My body itched with desperation to get back to the palace, to the stack of books waiting on my desk, to the prince who was fighting for answers that were out of reach for the rest of us.
Longing to feel anything but helpless on the other side of the palace wall.
“Again.”
Thomas sat before me cross-legged on the ground. Dark green clover tickled my fingers as I ran my palms over the tiny leaves. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and squeezed my hand into a fist.
I want beauty. I want the beauty that is to come, to come now.
I imagined the seed’s first breath of fresh air.
When I opened my eyes, a sapling poked through the dirt, a mere inch above the grass.
“Well done,” Thomas said, offering me a rare genuine smile.
My insides warmed. “Thanks.”
“Now push the enchantment further. Make it bloom.”
I closed my eyes again. I thought of the sapling uncurling, facing the sun, shining for all the world to see.
I thought of it reaching its potential despite the world telling it otherwise.
I thought of time racing forward, seconds passing like water in a stream, and its future self radiant and on display.
A golden thread flickered at the corner of my imagined scene.
When I opened my eyes, a bud perched at the end of the stem, closed tight.
My shoulders sank. “It didn’t bloom.”
He put a hand on my knee, and I stiffened. He immediately put it back in his lap.
“It was your first try at earth magic. You’re not going to get it perfect. Eventually, you’ll even be able to conjure the bloom without a seed at all.”
My knee ached at the emptiness left behind, even as my chest roiled with confusion. He was being kind. Why?
I studied his face. Was he having an unusually good day? Had I truly done something notable in his eyes? I supposed it was my first try at a new elemental.
He leaned back, seemingly unaware of my scrutiny. “Let’s take a quick break.”
I exhaled. “Alright.” I returned to plucking clover.
Thom pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “You mentioned your father was a fire mage.”
I hesitated. His eyes were fixed on the calloused hands I’d thrust at him so carelessly during our second lesson. I closed them so my fingers would cover the faded burns that graced my palms.
“He worked with other magics, too,” I said, my throat thick.
Too much had been kicked up as of late. I preferred Papa’s memory buried, just as his body was.
But from his journal to the herring, my wedding along with Gina’s condition, it seemed his ghost lingered everywhere I looked.
“But he was never able to master any of them. Fire was his favorite.”
“An inability to master the other elements indicates a shallow power.”
I stiffened. “And whose fault is that?”
“Pardon?”
I clenched my jaw, shaking my head. “Never mind.”
“You said he was never educated?”
I began to blink faster. “Yes,” I said quietly.
“Lyra.” He placed his hand on my knee again. This time, he didn’t remove it. “Lyra, I’m sorry if I’ve upset you.”
“You haven’t.” My skin burned as the pressure of his hand weighed heavily on my lower thigh. I didn’t want this. Not him, not like this.
“Lyra?”
My vision finally cleared as I scooted back. His hand fell weakly to the ground. He sat straighter, looking down. The hint of pink rested on his cheeks.
He cleared his throat. “And what drove his fire magic?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Remember what we’ve been discussing, about the reasons behind our magic. What motivated the magic he performed?”
I opened my mouth, unable to find an answer, still flustered from the Prince’s change in countenance.
“It’s alright if you’re unsure—I was just curious. Sometimes parents gift their children the same magic thread. But you’re a textile mage, so…”
“Yes,” I said, frustration sparking. “He wasn’t too pleased that I didn’t follow in his footsteps.”
“Not necessarily.” He adjusted his spectacles. “A magic thread isn’t the same as an element. It’s an emotion, or a longing. It isn’t necessary but it amplifies your magic. And it’s adaptable, too, though not by much.”
I furrowed my brows. “I’ve never heard of a magic thread.” But even as he spoke it, I could see it in my mind’s eye—the flicker of yarn, the shimmer of gold, the waver of it as it passed by me mid-spell. I hadn’t known what it was, but I’d encountered it briefly time and time again over the years.
“The theory behind it is quite new. We, or, I mean, the Mage Council has been expanding its search for wisdom beyond Amouridian borders in hopes of observing other magic theologies in search of deeper truths.”
“So where does the magic thread belief come from?”
His eyes crinkled, a spark of enthusiasm lit from within. I leaned forward.
“I’m glad you asked.” He took his finger, shook it, and drew in the air. Mist trailed from his finger, dark and smoky, creating a jagged shape that hovered between us. “Okay, imagine this is Amouridia.”
My mouth gaped. “How did you do that?”
He laughed, his eyes twinkling. “We can study air magic next. But focus here. This is us.” He added a curved line above our kingdom. “And here is Kerimiya to the North, and the wild mountains that connect to us both.”
My eyes followed along as he roughly drew the borders of lands I’d dreamed of seeing.
“Junira is to the west—that’s where many mages go for studies abroad—and Pa’abo’s deserts to the south. And here—” he scribbled with the mist so it floated east of Amouridia’s border, “—is the island of Cobleran and the Isle of Hearts.”
His eyes finally turned to me, inquisitive and energetic.
I smiled. “My Papa used to tell me of these lands. Of trolls and centaurs and sirens. We were—” My voice cracked, and I coughed to cover it up.
“I was insensitive earlier,” Thom said, his eyes heavy. “I’m sorry.”
I nodded, shoving away the ache of his memory. But no amount of smothering the pain ever truly worked. The memories only seemed to fester with time.
“You could always travel in honor of him,” Thom offered.
My mouth twisted. “It’s a nice idea in theory, your Highness, but you are forgetting one crucial fact.”
He lifted a brow.
“I’m a chambermaid.”
His expression fell. “I forgot that pesky detail.”
“It’s easy to forget not everyone has the privilege you do.”
“So I’m learning.”
My mouth curved upward.
Thom drew once more in the air, strengthening the lines of mist that had begun to fade.
“Of all our neighbors, Junira is a great ally for magical exploration. Their system is set up similar to ours, both magically and politically. And even more importantly, magic is stronger in the forests and mountains, away from our plains. Kerimiya would also be a useful ally,” he said, drawing a rough etch of the landscape.
“With the mountains being another strong source of magic, it would expand our continental mage network, but they are very superstitious about magic.”
I tilted my head. “Oh?”
“Have been for a long time. I believe a rogue mage or two terrorizes much of the country. The Mage Council has offered to assist the Kerimiyan royal family, but at the mere mention of magic, they cease discussion with us.”
I pulled my robe closer. “Oh, dear.”
He hesitated. “Are you cold?”
I lifted my brows. “Sorry?”
Before I could answer, he pulled his coat off and slipped it over my shoulders. “That should improve your situation.”
“I… thank you.” His coat was warm from his lingering body heat, and the smell of crisp, turning pages filled my nostrils. I sank into it, my heart fluttering.
“As I was saying,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose, “Kerimiya refuses to work with us. Cobleran is a wild card in terms of politics, and Pa’abo is incredibly challenging to traverse, so our current efforts have been toward an information exchange with Junira.”
“And that’s where you go to university.”
“Yes.”
“How long will you be gone?” I picked at the clover again, refusing to look at him.
“A while.” I felt his lingering stare. “I’ve two more years to graduate, if all goes well.”
“Two years?”
“Indeed.”
I bit my cheek, hoping to settle my racing heart before he noticed, unsure of why my body reacted over inconsequential things such as a prince’s travels.
When I looked back up, he was still staring at me intently. “So we must make the most of the time we have,” he murmured.
“Yes,” I said. The reflection of stars shone steadily from his irises, both dark and mysterious pits I feared falling into.
He’d be gone soon, anyway.
And I had David.
I looked away. “So, water magic?” I said, getting to my feet.
A pause stretched between us before he agreed.
But as we practiced, my head remained unsteady, my mind still angry.
My heart falling when I knew it shouldn’t.