Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
Mira
The sun was truly gone now, smoke from the torches thick in the air. I pushed my way through the mass of people, but Lillian had already disappeared. Swallowed up by the thick crowd.
Whatever the Artisan had said, it must have been bad. Lillian wasn’t the sort of person to jump at shadows, and the terror in her eyes scared me more than I wanted to admit.
‘Are you alright?’
I whirled around, my heart pounding. A strong hand steadied me as I stumbled.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, staring up into Aric’s face. I felt my skin flush at our closeness and hoped the darkness hid the redness of my cheeks. ‘I’m just worried about Lillian. We bumped into a fortune-teller, and he told her . . . I don’t know what he said. Now she’s disappeared.’
‘If I know my sister,’ Aric replied, ‘she just needs to be alone. She’ll come back when she’s ready – she’s never been one to brood for long.’
‘I guess,’ I said, full of dread I couldn’t shake.
A pair of pretty traders brushed past me, only to do a double take when they spotted Aric. My teeth ground together, though he seemed oblivious to their coy glances and inviting smiles. His gaze was on me, and I was suddenly conscious of the way my dress hugged my body.
The heat in his stare made my throat go dry, and I found my eyes lingering on his rugged features and tanned, muscular forearms. He was particularly handsome tonight, in the fine linen top and leather breeches Lillian had made for him.
‘Come on.’ Aric’s smile lit up the markets, brighter than the lanterns above us. ‘Let’s have some fun.’
Just like that, I felt myself soften. It was difficult to stay angry with Aric – especially on a night like this.
Taking his hand, I let him lead me through the iron gates of the Atwoods’ manor – tonight, flung open for all – and into the manicured gardens beyond, where musicians were playing with abandon. A few people were dancing, but most milled around the grounds, sipping spiced wine.
The royal representatives kept to themselves, waited on by servants as Governor Atwood spoke with General Tiran, the Warrior in charge of the Choosing Ceremony. The thought of him assessing me in the town square was panic-inducing, and my stomach coiled into knots. My nerves weren’t helped by the sight of Nikolas and Stacia, but thankfully Aric steered us in the opposite direction – to a far corner of the gardens, where we had a bubble of privacy.
‘May I have this dance?’ he asked, bowing in a courtly fashion that made me laugh.
‘You may,’ I allowed, turning my voice haughty and cool – like a noble Ravalian lady, bestowing him with a great honour.
His arms encircled my waist, holding me close as we swayed to the rhythm of the string band. It was clear Aric didn’t know any of the dances favoured by the Ravalian Court, but that didn’t matter. I wouldn’t have traded this moment for the most talented dancer in the empire. I wouldn’t have traded this moment for anything.
He leant back slightly, his gaze capturing mine. ‘I’m sorry that I told you so abruptly, Mira. I never wanted to hurt you.’
‘You didn’t hurt me,’ I said, but I didn’t think either of us believed it. ‘I just – I wish—’
I wish I was enough.
‘I know,’ Aric said softly, and the sympathy in his voice was cutting.
I pulled out of his embrace. Was it possible that even if he hadn’t decided to avenge Kain, he might not have wanted a future with me? Was his sympathy because he couldn’t return my feelings?
‘I care about you, Mira. I just . . . I can’t be what you need.’
His face was suddenly inches from mine, and the intensity in his eyes told a very different story. There was a part of him that felt something for me. Maybe it was an instinctual reaction to the dress, the dance, the romance of the moment – but he wanted me too.
All of a sudden, I saw everything in a new light. All those times he’d pulled away from me, the attraction he’d never acted on . . .
‘You told me you spoke with that soldier a year ago,’ I said in a choked voice. ‘How long have you been planning this, Aric? How long? ’
He didn’t quite meet my eyes. All this time —
‘I know I should have said something sooner. But I couldn’t let you go, Mira. I couldn’t .’ His voice turned pleading. ‘I wanted a future with you. I still do. If circumstances were different—’
‘But they aren’t.’ I took a deep breath. ‘What if I told you that I wanted that too? To be with you?’
Aric pressed closer, and I knew I needed to back away. To put as much distance between us as possible, before he hurt me more than he already had. But I’d never been able to refuse Aric anything, and I couldn’t refuse him now.
Instead, I closed my eyes as his lips brushed mine. It was tentative at first, like he was giving me the chance to pull away. When I didn’t, he deepened the kiss.
It was nothing like my unpleasant encounter with Nikolas two years ago, or the fumbling kisses I’d shared with other boys. My surroundings disappeared, until I was only aware of Aric – the feeling of his body and mouth pressing against mine, the unfamiliar, exhilarating warmth spreading through my veins.
It was only afterwards, when he pushed me away from him with gentle, firm hands and whispered, ‘I’m sorry,’ that I understood.
Aric’s kiss wasn’t a beginning. It was an ending.
It was goodbye.
I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, in a darkened corner of the gardens. From here, the laughing, twirling forms of the dancers were like something out of another world.
I raised a hand to my face, where I could still feel a flush on my cheeks. But whatever emotion Aric had stirred in me had dissipated. Eventually it would hurt, but right now, it seemed I was beyond even that.
‘I hoped I would come across you again.’
I stood abruptly, shocked out of my thoughts. The Artisan’s footsteps had been so quiet I hadn’t heard his approach at all.
‘I think you like scaring people,’ I said harshly. ‘Whatever you said to Lillian was terrible.’
‘Terrible . . .’ He stretched the word out in his melodic voice, as if examining the syllables. Then he nodded. ‘I suppose it was terrible. Though not for the reason you think.’
‘What did you say to her?’
The Artisan smiled faintly, and I noticed that his skin was covered in tattoos. They crawled across his features, obscuring them like shadows. As I stared at him, realisation came in a rush. My eyes dropped to his lips: the upper tattooed black, the lower gleaming gold in the moonlight.
‘It’s you,’ I breathed. ‘You’re the same fortune-teller I met in Damar.’
His smile curved wider. ‘I wondered when you would realise.’
‘But your skin was clear of tattoos a few moments ago,’ I protested. ‘You didn’t look . . . like you do now.’
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Parlour tricks.’
It was such a casual answer for something so unbelievable. I took a wary step back.
The Artisan watched me, his mismatched eyes filled with amusement. ‘I don’t mean you or your mother any harm.’ Then he turned serious, folding his muscular arms as he said, ‘You didn’t heed my warning.’
And if I can see the trail, then so can they.
‘We left,’ I said tightly. ‘We came here.’
He didn’t contradict me, but I had the sense I’d missed an important point. My eyes shifted to his cheeks, where the ink of his tattoos seemed to waver. On the left side of his face, I saw a toothy smile. The right depicted a snarl.
‘The dualities of nature,’ he said, catching me looking. ‘A reminder that everyone has the capacity for both light and dark. The future is no different.’ He paused. ‘What I told your friend was for her alone. But I can discuss your future.’
I hesitated, but couldn’t help myself. ‘I want to know why you warned me. And why you’re here now.’
‘Two interesting questions.’ He rested a finger on his bottom lip. ‘The answer to your first question is simple: I wanted to help you. As for the second . . . I was sent here.’ He tilted his head. ‘You’re really not going to ask about the future?’
Why are you so interested? I almost asked him. What do you know about me and my mother?
But those questions seemed too dangerous, somehow. Too personal.
‘Does Aric survive?’ I asked instead. ‘Does he become one of the emperor’s Warriors?’
I had the sense that the Artisan was surprised by my choice of question, but his unreadable expression didn’t alter. ‘The boy will become a Warrior, but he will never fight for the emperor.’
‘But that doesn’t make sense!’
He ignored me. ‘As to his survival,’ he continued, ‘that very much depends.’
‘On . . . ?’
The Artisan studied me for so long that I wondered if he saw something I couldn’t, if my future was inked across my skin like his tattoos. ‘You, Miss Tundra. And the princess.’
I blinked at him, wondering if I’d misheard. Even with our plans to enter an Order, it seemed unlikely that Aric’s future would be linked to the princess in any way.
Without waiting for a reply, he asked, ‘What do you know of your mother’s enemies?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Only that we’re running from someone.’
He nodded slowly, as if weighing my response. Then he said, ‘Running won’t save you. Your mother’s time is drawing to a close.’
The words hit me like hammer blows. ‘What are you saying?’ I whispered, thinking of my mother’s face as he’d shown it to me: trembling and afraid.
‘Your mother made a choice, a long time ago,’ he replied. ‘That choice has haunted her ever since. It haunts you now, too. But her death will set you free.’
Her death.
‘No.’ My voice broke on the word. ‘No, that can’t be possible.
There must be some mistake—’
‘There is no mistake,’ the Artisan interrupted. ‘She will die, one way or another. But before she does, you need to find the locket. Always keep it with you and tell no one you have it.’
‘What?’ I stared at him uncomprehendingly. ‘What locket?’
He closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were unnaturally bright. ‘Search behind your tent. Something of yours is buried there.’
‘My mother wouldn’t take something from me,’ I protested. ‘Even if she did, I have nothing of value.’
‘Ah,’ he replied, ‘but your mother has already stolen something once.’ He turned away, towards the distant lights.
‘But I don’t understand,’ I called after him.
The Artisan glanced over his shoulder, a pillar of shadow and ink. The tattoo on his left cheek winked at me in the moonlight: a ghoulish grin.
‘You will.’