Chapter 2 #3
She shook her head. Just the heavy collar, then, which had since been removed from her.
But my mind caught on the “one soul at a time.” I could not enter two lumie at once; I could only heal one person at a time.
It made sense then that a soulbinder could only bind one soul at a time.
Surely a mindreader could only read one mind at a time as well. Dan might know.
Thoughts of my brother weighed down my half-heart.
“I think I can get through to him,” she murmured.
I choked on a scoff. “To King Nicosia?”
She nodded. “He seems reasonable.”
Princess Eden was a mature, levelheaded woman. Privileged, but open-minded and kind—I’d seen as much at her breakfasts with Renn at the castle, and in the way she heeled Prince Adrinn. But such a statement was pure na?veté.
“It’s a farce. You must know it’s a farce.”
“I can play along,” she pressed.
I heard a door opening, likely to her room. “Be careful,” I rushed. “Don’t trust him.”
Eden turned away to face the newcomer. I caught a mumbled greeting, saw the elbow of a guard, I think, and then Eden vanished from my sight.
She didn’t return.
For two days I stayed in that conservatory.
Servants checked on me throughout, bringing me food far better than any prisoner should have—roast chicken, meat pies, fried onions, little cakes.
I could just see the floor below through the aperture formed around the tree, but the space was often empty.
When a staff member or the like did pass through, they were hardly entertaining.
Seeing me bored, a woman in blue-and-black livery brought me a few novels, as well as a canvas and selection of paints.
I was not much of an artist, but I made use of them anyway to pass the time, pondering alongside Ursa what exactly the Sestan king thought to gain by this.
My menses came—late, likely due to the hunger and stress of traveling here—so she also brought me a girdle and clean cloths to manage it.
Bright and early on the third day, King Nicosia came to me himself, four guards in tow; two of them were women, something I had never witnessed in Cansere, and they had white braids at their wrists.
White was for Hem, the god of gods and kings, but he was also the god of justice, which I assumed was the representation here.
Still, I rarely saw women don anything but violet for Zia.
The king moved my soulbinding from the Egroran to himself, then escorted me down to a private breakfast chamber. I wondered why he didn’t use his magic specifically on Princess Eden, but left her to his men.
I wondered if he saw me as a threat.
Boiled eggs, bacon, crumpets, and jam awaited us in a green, wallpapered room with three symmetrical lancet windows on the far wall. I helped myself, carefully monitoring the king, wishing I could read his mind the way he wished to read mine.
“Where is the princess?”
My concern seemed to amuse him. “She wasn’t feeling well today, so she took breakfast in her room.”
“In the dungeon?”
“My, my”—he smoothed his napkin on his lap—“what terrible things they’ve poisoned you with, Nym. Princess Eden Shim Noblewight is a guest here. She stays in a suite.”
I studied his face, but he schooled his features better than even Renn.
“I thought”—he buttered a crumpet—“that you might want to understand me better, so I in turn can understand you. Today I will show you my city, and the freedoms you can enjoy here as a Sestan citizen.”
I raised my eyebrow. “You wish to make me a citizen?”
“You may make yourself one, if you so desire. Forgive the magic”—he gestured between us—“but until we are on truly peaceful terms, it’s necessary, and far less clunky than chains, don’t you think?”
Nothing running through my mind would help the present situation, so I focused on my meal.
After we ate, the king had my fur-lined cloak and boots returned to me, and we set out in a little carriage west of the palace, toward the military grounds.
There were at least three dozen barracks here and an enormous rookery that housed birds of prey the size of dogs—the same birds that had lifted soulbinders over the walls of Rove Castle.
I fought a chill at the sight of them, their beady eyes glaring, their hooked beaks like scythes.
A dozen or more training grounds littered the area, along with several buildings for armor and arms. Despite the cold day, many soldiers scuttled about, completing chores, receiving deliveries, or practicing in the frosted fields.
We passed several barracks until we reached a narrower field with perhaps twenty people on it performing simple strength training and archery.
“Crafters, like ourselves,” King Nicosia explained.
“Out in the open, training alongside ordinary men. The only thing separating them is their rank.” He directed me to look at the soldiers closest to us.
In addition to the silver stitching marking their rank, they had silver shapes—circles, triangles, half circles—beside them.
“You would wear a half circle for healing. Circles for mindreaders, triangles for soulbinders. They are trained in their magic, too, there.” He pointed farther west. To which building, I couldn’t be sure. “At the school for them.”
“Why don’t you have a designation?” I asked, looking at his collar. It didn’t peek above his coat, but I’d seen it before. Gold bars instead of silver thread, no extra shapes.
He smiled patiently. “I do. I am king. And”—he leaned in conspiratorially—“there is not enough space to distinguish all that I can do.”
Seeming pleased with himself, he continued on, clasping his hands behind his back. I kept pace with him, his guards following a few steps behind.
Looking between the buildings, I saw a little boy in uniform. He could not have been older than my brother Heath.
“How old do you start their training?” I asked.
“When they are ready, of course. Usually they’re brought in by the age of ten.”
“And if they’re not?”
His steps slowed. “Not ten?”
I shook my head. “If they’re not brought in. If their parents know they’re a crafter and don’t report them.”
He frowned. He didn’t like the question. “Then we receive them as we can.”
I knew he wanted to paint a pretty picture for me, but I’d heard tales from merchants passing through Fount.
A crafter was not killed in Sesta for knowing magic, no, but all users of craftlock were property of the crown.
Dan had confessed his craftlock to me during my last trip to Fount; he was a mindreader.
Illegal, in Cansere. Were Dan discovered in Sesta, he’d be taken in, conscripted, and .
. . I don’t know what punishments he’d face for his secrecy.
Were I not a crafter myself, and therefore valuable, I’d likely be hanged for harboring him.
Perhaps they’d kill Brien instead, to set an example, or make it easy and just aim for Terrence, the baby of the family.
Would they test each of my siblings for the craft first?
I wondered. But I did not ask. King Nicosia was trying to coerce me to his side, to make me see the freedom I would have under his rule, but this was not true freedom.
There was little difference between a crafter losing her life to the noose and losing her life to service.
Either way, choice was stripped from her.
“Are they all soldiers?” I pulled my cloak closer.
“Oh, no, not all. We have healers in our hospitals, mindreaders in the police force, soulbinders on the farms.” He chuckled. “The sheep can’t get very far when they’re chained to the dog.”
I nodded. “An apt word for it.”
The king’s smile faltered for a moment. “Let me show you our trade district.”
I was grateful for the day’s chill as the king walked me through the streets.
Very few vendors had anything outside; we had to enter squat buildings, each huddled up to its neighbors, to see the wares, save for those who could afford glass windows, which were few.
But keeping my head down, hugging myself, masked the emotions streaming in from Renn: Sorrow, then hope.
Sorrow again, a flicker of humor. Farther away, this time.
Manageable. But should any show on my face, I would need to explain them, and I worked on possible excuses while pretending to be interested in King Nicosia’s tour.
We returned to the palace for an early dinner, where servants served far too much food for two people. The guards and footmen blending into the wallpaper did not eat. I chewed a bite of salted pork slowly, watching the king’s expressions.
“I know you wish to ask me something,” he offered. “Go ahead.”
I swallowed. “Why is it only you?” King Nicosia had to be at least forty-five. “You could have adult children, but you haven’t spoken of them. Or lords and ladies in your dominion, but none share this table.”
He nodded. “Do not worry yourself.”
“I wasn’t.”
He met my eye. His own glittered with amusement. “I have no need to host my neighbors, not when I already demand their men at the front, and not in this season. And I’ve chosen not to have any heirs.”
He dodged the rest of my questions to the point I stopped asking them and focused on my meal. Afterward, he escorted me out of the breakfast room, but as we entered the Great Hall, we met another contingent of guards, and among them a familiar face.
“Ah, there is my prize!” King Nicosia strolled forward with open arms to greet her.
Princess Eden did not return the sentiment.
She seemed unwell, but considering she’d been abducted from her home after most of her family was murdered, of course she did.
Her face wore a mask of blankness; even when her eyes landed on me, she hid any recognition.
I fought to mirror the expression. Her pale skin glowed all the paler against the deep-blue dress she wore.
In Sestan fashion, it had tight sleeves from shoulder to wrist and padding around the hips.
No cincture. Nothing to denote her position as princess.
The king took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “Miss Tallowax, it is a true pleasure to have you in my home during such a joyous time.” Pulling her close, King Nicosia ran a knuckle down the side of the princess’s face. “Tomorrow, dear Eden is to become my queen.”