Chapter 18 #2
She walked ahead with me, leaving Quinn and Winnie to linger behind.
It was a quiet walk to her bedchamber, but once we were alone together, Florence relaxed and accommodated me with a glass of red Hadrian wine.
I took a sip and reeled; it was dry, much less sweet than its Gallaean counterpart.
In my time in Pontarena, I’d been served a variety of beverages, but this one was the least likely to make me ill from the sugar content, though it also tasted the strongest.
“That Percy fellow is a royal bellend,” Florence said. “If you could punish him for his snide remark, how would you do it?”
The question struck me as odd, but I obliged. “Eye for an eye. If he sought to humiliate me, bring me down a peg on the ladder, then I would do the same to him.”
Florence’s lips tugged into a knowing grin.
“Although,” I continued, “he is supposed to be dead.”
“Ah. One of the prince’s enemies?” Florence asked, tilting her head. Her eyes smiled. “Why don’t we kill him?”
Choking on the wine, I quickly set the goblet down before I could spill any on myself.
“It can be done,” Florence assured. “It would take a moonlit ritual, as the goddess shuts her eyes at night. It is when the Lord’s power reaches its peak.”
My secular upbringing was coming back to haunt me. While my father would sometimes invoke the gods, and my mother would occasionally pray, I knew nothing of the specific rules these immortal beings followed. It all seemed like a fairy tale. “I still don’t entirely understand.”
Florence pulled her necklace from her gown, toying with its moon-shaped charms. “It is believed by some that once, before the dawn of civilization, there was only one god—a united being—and that it was mankind who brought about the split. Men and women’s needs were so different in nature that one god could not serve them both with fairness.
The Lady of Day came about to serve women, the Lord of Night, men…
but the rule is different for those who bear magic, if you recall.
The truth is that the Lord and Lady both resent and love one another.
They exist in eternal duality. By using magic, we defy the natural order set by the Lady of Day and offend her thusly; to place the strongest of spells, we must speak our incantations by night, in the presence of the moon. ”
I tried to follow along. “And this Lord of Night would approve of us killing a man?”
“The gods favor their emissaries over the common man or woman. So long as we ask in respect and follow the ritual, He will not oppose.”
A chill ran along my spine, as if the god was reminding me of his presence. I shivered until it subsided. “I don’t know. To kill with magic seems too easy.”
“It is hardly easy,” Florence disagreed. “The ritual required to use such strong magic is damned unpleasant. You won’t die from it, but especially the first time, it is…taxing.”
I really didn’t like the sound of that, or how familiar Florence seemed with such a ritual. “Have you killed many people?”
Florence’s dark eyes went distant. She was quiet for too long, like she’d been forced to relive some unpleasant memories. “Only when I had to.”
Remaining uncertain, I swirled my thumbs. “Well, I have yet to use magic at all. Perhaps I should start with something…I don’t know…smaller?”
“Tell me what it is you wish to do, my lady, and we will make it so.”
“We discussed humiliation,” I recollected, eyeing the wine. I couldn’t believe I was entertaining such a conversation while completely sober. “Let’s have Percy make a fool of himself. Show me what this god is capable of.”
Florence expelled her demons, that wicked smile returning. She stood up and made her way to a small chest near her dressing area, withdrawing a white piece of chalk and a handful of candles. Then, she turned to me with a look that said she was almost attracted to the mayhem of her business.
“Very well, my lady,” Florence said. “Let’s move the furniture, clear a space. I will give you your first taste of magic.”
Lightning brought a false daylight to the darkness outside.
Rain pattered against the windows of the dining hall, filling the air inside with a distinct musk.
I half-expected to look up and find bats dwelling in the rafters, or to stumble over stalagmites on the way to my seat.
The weather brought a draft into the palace, and so my efforts to dress like a Hadrian were muted by the addition of a fur cloak.
To my dismay, Percy was nowhere to be found. I made passing glances at Florence throughout the meal, wondering exactly when our curse might take effect, but very little had been made clear to me at all.
Take a candle in your hand. Close your eyes until the afterimage disappears; keep them shut, and whisper your will into the dark.
It was eerily simple. Part of me wondered if the chill that came with my incantation was simply a willingness to buy into the illusion, or if some other presence had really crept into the room with us.
When the candle’s lingering light went out behind my eyes, I could have sworn someone was standing right in front of me, breathing…
but when I opened my eyes, there was only Florence, sitting on the opposing end of the complex circular diagram.
Another crash of thunder, and then a monster materialized in the doorway.
Half the room shouted with fear as it stumbled forward, the mud coating its body dripping onto the immaculate floors below.
It bumped a tall candelabra so that five little candles went flying, and fortunately their flames found nothing to catch.
“Gods!” Queen Adelaide yelled, rising from her seat. Her alarm shifted to thinly-veiled outrage. “Is that you, Percy?!”
Wiping the mud from his face, Percy revealed his identity to the room.
He awkwardly shuffled to pick the candelabra back up, then used it for balance when it seemed he might fall over.
“My apologies, Your Majesty—I was out for a…a walk…when all of a sudden, this big raincloud…pissed all over me. I fell in the courtyard.”
I sipped my wine, careful not to seem too watchful.
Was this my doing? Percy might have simply been caught outside in the storm. The rational side of me insisted this must be no more than coincidence; storms happened, and people slipped in mud. The timing was impeccable, but surely there was a more logical explanation.
“And you did not think to change?” the queen replied, her focus drifting down to his trail of boot prints.
Percy followed her gaze, then went to the tableside. “I was hungry…not thinking straight, I suppose.”
“Did you hit your head, man?” Nicolas chimed in, barely concealing his amusement with false sympathy.
“No, I…” Percy began, and then his eyes cleared up as if he’d just woken from a dream.
Florence coughed quietly from my side, but she didn’t have to clue me into anything.
As he looked down, then up, then left and right, and steadily gained a sense of where he was and how sopping wet his clothing had become, I knew that somehow, despite everything I knew to be possible, I was responsible.
“How did I…?” he muttered, confusion saturating his features. His focus snapped to the queen. He straightened in an attempt to regain some dignity. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I shall take my leave.”
As he turned, his belt caught the corner of the table, and in one big, chaotic motion, he pulled the tablecloth away, scattering bowls and plates all across the dining hall, robbing several nobles of their supper.
A roasted duck bounced against the tiles, its accompanying root vegetables rolling until they reached the other side of the room.
Wine spilled like blood and trailed outward, staining shoes and the bottoms of dresses.
The room erupted into laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to smile.
If I could do this with only a whispered intent, what more was I capable of?
Such a well of power—it was vast, uncharted, like standing over the edge of an abyss and looking down.
A thrill unlike anything I’d ever experienced surged through my veins; I fought to contain it, telling myself that this was a dangerous game… but to come from nothing to this?
Percy slipped, crashing headfirst into a spilled pudding. It was a nauseating display, a cruel mixture of satisfaction and revulsion battling for dominance inside me. I recoiled at how easy it had been to strip him of his autonomy, to momentarily take control of his will like a vengeful puppeteer.
Magic was more than mere power—it was total dominion over the fates of others. The seizure of destiny. Responsibility for everything and everyone, if I claimed it. The moral vertigo dizzied me, and I set down my drink before it toppled from my tremors.
At last, Percy escaped. Queen Adelaide sighed, leaning back in her seat in an unladylike slouch. She massaged her temples for several moments as the courtiers resumed their fit.
“Has he been sneaking off to the cellars?” she asked, loud enough that anyone in the room could answer.
A genuine question, but one that only earned more laughter as they mistook it for a joke.
She slammed a fist on the table with one controlled, loud motion that silenced them all in an instant.
“Shame on all of you. Clearly something is wrong with the man. He only recently recovered from his sickness.”
The guilt held the courtiers’ tongues, weighting their eyes to the ground.
“I’ll have a physician look him over,” Nicolas offered. His own amusement simmered down as he addressed the court. “My mother is right. We should have sympathy for my dear cousin. He must be unwell, to behave in a manner so possessed.” His eyes met mine. “I have lost my appetite.”
“Indeed,” Queen Adelaide agreed, patting her face with a napkin before rising. Everyone else stood in reluctant solidarity.
I waited to leave until the corridor outside had mostly cleared. Then I took my ladies-in-waiting and my guardsman to the door, carefully stepping around the mud. A crew of servants rushed by with mops and buckets.
I could hardly speak a word on the way to my chambers. No one but Winnie could, as she came between Florence and me with a scowl.
“Cruel,” she whispered. “Like cats playing with mice.”
Even Quinn was suspicious, though this time he had no proof that I was in any way involved. He watched us cautiously, keeping a safe distance from what was beginning to resemble the palace’s coven.
At the top of the stairs, Nicolas waited. He narrowed his gaze as we walked past.
“Alana.”
I flinched, craning my neck to face him. My ladies departed alongside the viscount, heading off to their respective chambers.
Nicolas closed in and arched his brow. “Busy day?”
I wasn’t sure whether to nod and launch an exposition, or remain quiet and wait for him to tell me what he already knew.
“The quiet game, hm? Let’s start with this,” he said, giving the swell of my breasts a sharp flick. I drew back with a startled gasp.
“How dare you—”
“Tell me why you’ve decided to dress yourself like a whore.”
My jaw dropped. I struggled to lift it back into place. “You’ve seen me in this very gown, my prince. In Pontarena.”
“Yes, but that was there, and this is here,” the prince growled, stepping forward.
I backed up until my head touched the wall behind me.
“The Hadrians have much to admire, but you don’t need to let that culture claim you.
There is plenty to appreciate in Gallae.
I would say the sense of modesty here is superior. ”
I made myself tall. “The only culture I’ve seen is between this palace and Pontarena. Until I came here, all I knew was woolen cloaks, furs, and kirtles. I find this form of expression freeing after a lifetime of hiding myself away.”
Nicolas softened. He gave me an apologetic look, smoothing his thumb over where he’d flicked me. My body surged like it was filled with hornets.
“You should see more of Gallae. Perhaps you should take an outing. Bring Quinn, of course,” he added, then returned his focus to my dress.
He let his eyes roam me freely as I sank uncomfortably against the wall.
His mouth went so dry that his words were no more than a croak.
“Gods, I can hardly stand to look at you. A shift would be less revealing. They’ll think I’ve picked a loose woman, that I have no control over my house… ”
I had to shove my disgust deep down inside me as I forced myself to take his hand. I was beginning to understand how weak he was to such affections, as his breath shuddered from only that little touch. “Let any who mock you meet my wrath. I can do far worse than a bit of shit and mud.”
Light bloomed in his eyes. He grinned in recognition of my misdeeds, lifting my hand to kiss it.
His lips were soft to the touch, but I tried not to let myself fall distracted.
“Very well, dress as you will. Perhaps this is a good thing. Some merging of identity is due for Antier. A master tailor shall craft your desires…and perhaps a few of my own, down the line.”
He caressed the side of my neck. I couldn’t suppress the shiver his touch provoked, or the clouds that began to fill my mind.
“Oh, and regarding the shit and mud? While it has been wildly entertaining, I want to see blood next,” he whispered.
My thoughts catapulted back to reality. “My prince, I’ve already tormented the man.”
“Then his torment should meet a swift end,” Nicolas said. “Don’t let time soften your resolve. By his orders, you would have died; let him die by yours.”
A final word. He turned to leave, but I followed him. “Is this what you command, Your Highness?”
I knew in my gut that Percy had to go. I had the alibi of a good person, one who had offered a remedy when he fell mysteriously ill, and he still resorted to veiled threats and mockery.
I wasn’t even sure it was about self-defense anymore. Now I hated him, wished foulness upon him, even death. But Nicolas needed to feel his part in what was to come.
Nicolas paused, turning to face me. “You are the axe within my hand, my lady.”
A strange rush surged through my veins. I stifled it, bidding farewell to Nicolas before and hurrying along to Florence’s room.
After a few quick raps on the door, the witch answered. She looked up and down, measuring something invisible to the naked eye.
“We’re doing it?” Florence asked.
I lowered my head, but kept my eyes steeled forward. “What do I need to do?”