Chapter Nine #2
“I know magic is historically supposed to run strong in our family—I mean, Merit was making objects fly before he could even talk—but it’s so naive to think it’s the solution to everything.
Especially with Dad’s health getting worse.
These days, he can barely light a candle with magic, but surely that doesn’t mean he’s completely useless.
He’s the king! Gods, it’s like she hasn’t even heard of diplomacy!
” Bash runs clawed hands through his hair.
“We can’t just blast people with offensive magic whenever we want!
I’ve given other suggestions, written drafts of possible agreements—I even counted every bag of food in our winter stores by myself and drew up a plan to have it rationed fairly without relying on the trading wagons.
At every stage, she overrules me. I’m losing my mind. ”
“Strawberry?” Card offers up, and Bash shakes his head.
“Alrick is supposed to be built on equality, peace, and justice for all its citizens. We can achieve reconciliation without magic, but it’s all my fault in her eyes.
Every trading wagon stolen from, every guard injured.
” His steps falter and Card’s eyes flicker over the sudden anxiety on Bash’s face. “I mean— It was— I suppose—”
“Babe, sit and have some food.”
Bastion does as he’s told and drops to the ground unceremoniously.
Card presses a grape to his fiancé’s mouth, then passes me a plate of raspberries.
I hold it in light fingertips, knowing I shouldn’t get involved in this.
I should keep quiet and let Bash rant, but Pigeon’s words rattle around my brain.
My help costs nothing, she’d said. While the citadel, the queen, does nothing to help her.
It’s anger that summons the words.
“I’ve heard that the north has been receiving much less aid lately,” I say.
“That people have had to leave their homes or fend for themselves because the citadel hasn’t been transparent with what happened to cause the pollution.
And that the people up there actually haven’t been corrupted by that tree—it’s just rumor. It makes me wonder what else is false.”
I am not prepared for the looks they shoot me. Bash is washed pale, his mouth open and an unfamiliar fear in his eyes. Card is similarly stumped, a crease between his eyebrows like he’s stumbled across a language he doesn’t recognize.
“Where…Where did you hear that?” Bastion asks, breathless, like the words winded him.
“Oh. Um.”
“Fliss, I never normally do this,” he says, unblinking. I’ve never seen him like this before. So desperate. So scared. “But I need you to tell me.”
Tell him the truth.
Just like his mother.
I look aside and grip the plate in my lap. I shouldn’t have opened my mouth. I know better. I screw my eyes tight and take a shuddery breath. Pigeon was kind to me. She saved my life. I don’t want to put her on the radar of the royals she mistrusts.
“Please don’t make me answer,” I whisper.
My words roll through Bastion like an ocean wave. He sits back, a tinge of embarrassment on his cheeks.
“Of course. I’m sorry, Fliss. I apologize. I—I forgot myself. It won’t happen again.”
Card glances between us. After a beat, he quotes, “ ‘Mr. Wolf, what could I possibly have to offer you, when you are strong and fast, and all in our forest know your name?’ ”
We both eye him, confused.
“Don’t you remember, Fliss? Our junior school play,” Card says, casually helping himself to some of the snack-size sausages. “The Wolf and the Rabbit.”
“I remember,” I say.
“I played the wolf, of course,” Card says, grinning at Bash, “and I persuaded the teacher to allow Fliss to be the rabbit despite her being the shyest child alive. Fliss had the cutest costume, didn’t you?
This little tail and fluffy ears. You should have seen it, babe.
I wanted to wear a real wolf head but they wouldn’t let me.
My grandparents have a painting of us actually.
I’ll have to dig it out. Anyway, near the end of the play, you know when the wolf has visited all the other forest animals for help and returns to the rabbit, you were so focused on your lines—”
I give him a small smile and finish his sentence. “I tripped backward and almost fell off the stage.”
Card’s laugh makes Bastion’s shoulders relax.
“I have never in my life had to try so hard to keep a straight face.”
“You were turning purple.”
“It was hilarious. One of the funniest things Fliss has ever done.”
“Well, I had to whisper ‘said the rabbit’ after every line. Acting is too close to lying.”
“True. Anyway, the rabbit says, ‘Mr. Wolf, what could I possibly have to offer you, when you are strong and fast, and all in our forest know your name?’ And the wolf replies, ‘Everything, my dear Rabbit, for you are all I am not. I have much to learn and this time I will not take what is not given freely.’ A classic parable. One to learn from.”
He pops a grape in his mouth like he’s concluded his story. Is he talking about Bash and me learning from it, or the rebels? Either way, he’s clearly drawn a line under the conversation.
“I’ve had to memorize a lot of speeches or other texts, mainly poetry, history, legislation, the like, but I’ve never had to ‘perform,’ ” Bash muses.
“Although…” There’s a beat. A flash of a smile.
“There was one time Will and I stole some troubadour instruments and put on a terrible show for his parents. We practiced for so long the night before, his dad ended up yelling at us to go to sleep. I still can’t look at a lute without remembering. ”
He takes a moment to chuckle to himself.
It’s a rare glimmer of joy. A glimpse of what once was.
Then his face submits to sadness and he retreats within.
Silent now, solemn, Bastion takes out a sandwich and leans on a knee, scanning the northern sky.
As the prince ruminates, I try to imagine a younger Will strumming enthusiastically on a lute and Ruth clapping politely.
I bet it was hilarious.
I bet I could get Ruth to tell me more.
Card pokes my knee.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Mm.”
He glances aside to check that Bash isn’t listening. “What you said about the north…Did you hear it from Willoh Vane? You didn’t actually end up asking him about the Odyssa, did you? I told you it was a bad idea.”
The silence stretches past even my normally slow response time. What? How has he jumped to that conclusion? What did I do to make him think that? I stammer, mouth dropped open, and in my shock, am forced to confront that my heart has skipped at the mention of Will. Again.
Like it did yesterday, when he’d offered to clean the plates after we finished all the tea and cake we could manage.
I thought it was chivalrous—until he winked at me and used a snap of magic to make them spotless.
Then, when Ruth showed me around her incredible garden, the wildflowers and fauna hadn’t been enough to keep me from sneaking glances over at where he teased Gill with a long strand of grass.
Afterward, Ruth explained her workshop to me, teaching me about her herbs and how, when her eyes are tired and her sight is lower than on other days, she uses sound and the small patterns of dried wax on the labels to differentiate the vials.
All the while, Will sat reading a magic textbook by the fire, the warm glow highlighting the (very adorable) focused frown on his face.
Every so often, he absentmindedly petted Gill’s head.
I helped Ruth package some of her deliveries and truly, honestly, enjoyed it all.
I didn’t go home until after dinner, during which I’d finally asked about the fascinating wooden furniture I’d been eyeing all day.
Ruth told me with a smile that Will’s dad had been a sorcerer who used magic to enhance his carpentry, similar to my floristry, and motioned to the painted portrait above the fireplace of a man with dark curls and a glint in his green eyes.
Will grew silent after that. Far away. So even though I was reluctant for such a pleasant day to end, I asked him to walk me back to the crossroads in the forest. He promised to be waiting there in three days’ time for our trip to Mithian.
It’s my bottle of joy, my wax-sealed secret.
Mine.
I don’t want to satisfy Card’s curiosity. From his reaction earlier, I’m assuming he and Bash are on the same page. Both seemed concerned that I might have heard something true about the north. Something that might not paint the royals in the best light.
“Willoh Vane was not the person who told me about the northerners having to hunt for themselves, no.”
Card studies me.
“Hmm. Well, I hope you’d tell me if you’d gotten yourself in trouble.”
I keep my face straight, but guilt laps at my insides.
Card has never averted his eyes or watched his words around me.
He’s trusted me from the day he charged into my life, a bright-eyed chatty child, and remained glued to my side since.
It’s hard to consider him losing faith in me.
Imagine if he knew who I was meeting and where I was heading in a few days.
Imagine if he knew I was starting to trust the sorcerer more than the prince.