Chapter 16
Month Three
T he end of the summer months is signalled by the Firebug Festival. Each year, the firebugs buzzing around the humid swamps of Mossgarde migrate to warmer climates. I have fond memories of Aunt Meena holding my hand tight as she took me to the village centre when I was young. She made sure to wrap a thin scarf around my neck to keep the first nip in the air out. We, and the rest of the village, gathered to watch the glow of the firebugs as they started their long journey.
“Does the king allow you to watch the firebugs?” I ask Vanya as I roll dough in the castle kitchens. It is the first time she has allowed me to partake in kitchen tasks since my injury. I find myself enjoying the rhythmic back and forth as I knead, able to ignore the twinge in my ribs.
“He does,” Vanya replies simply. I am unable to take my eyes off my dough in case I roll it too thin but surprise shoots my eyebrows up.
“Really?”
“Half of us,” she concedes. “The other half must work through it.”
“Oh.” My shoulders sag. “Well, that is a shame. They are beautiful, indeed.”
Memories of Aunt Meena flood my mind, spiking a pain through my chest. I pause, hands shaking, and move the conversation on.
“H-have you ever seen them?” I ask.
“No.” If Vanya notices the tremor in my voice, she does not comment. “I work instead.”
“Every time? Why?”
Vanya gives me a side-long look.
“If I do not work, the work does not get done.” She glares at other staff, who immediately scurry away.
“That is untrue!” Eliza pipes up from the sugar station. “That time you had a fever and you were in bed for days . We worked okay then.”
“Enough talk.” Vanya waves us off. “Keep rolling.”
Eliza and I share a smirk but keep quiet. I feel like I am a young girl in the presence of Aunt Meena in one of her sterner moods.
I stay until dessert is served to the king, and we have our own smaller share afterwards. Once the pond apple pie is eaten, I say my goodbyes and make my way back to my chambers. My mood darkens .
The prince has not often spoken to me since the night I fractured my rib. I stayed in his chambers for a few days after, out of the way of the king. Inez checked my bruises, fussing over me and ensuring the correct dose of lavender tonic. But the prince stayed in the adjoining room, rarely acknowledging me.
I continue to visit his chambers every few days as we had agreed but his room is always vacant. I only hear him return after I have gone to bed and locked the door. Each morning I awake, he has awoken earlier and disappeared.
Inez had brought me news from the other servants—the prince told the king I was rightfully horrified by his transformation and I had been scared into submission. The thought brings bile to the back of my throat. But I know it is necessary to deceive the king. There has been no word on my second escape attempt.
Despite this, the longer the prince ignores me, the more I am uncertain of his intentions. The image of the warm, passionate prince I had spoken to is rapidly fading. Instead, it is replaced by the cool, aloof man I am acquainted with.
But when I return to my chambers, there is a note on the bed. I pick it up, curious. The paper is thick and stamped with royal ink. Sweat breaks out on my palms at the thought of another note from the king but I relax when I realise it is signed by the prince.
Be ready at sundown .
If it was a note from anyone else, it would be ominous. Perhaps it still is , I think to myself. After all, he has not spoken to me since that evening. I chew my bottom lip, contemplating, before deciding on the benefit of the doubt. I consider calling for Inez to help me get ready but there is a chance she will be one of the servants permitted to view the firebugs. I do not want to disturb her evening, in that case, so I dress myself.
The corseted dresses are too difficult, and I spend several frustrating minutes trying to fasten them before giving up. Instead, I pull on a loose-fitting dress, my hair poured loose over my shoulders. I have seen the prince in far worse states so I do not think he will mind. And if he does, it shows more of his character than mine.
As the sun dips below the trees, I hear a knock at my door.
“Enter.”
The prince steps in, donning a deep blue tunic threaded with gold. He is clean-shaven, and his hair is combed. My stomach flutters, which I internally scold myself for—he has been ignoring me. He does not deserve my frivolous affections.
“Miss Shivani,” he greets me and inclines his head. “You look lovely.”
“Yes.” I sniff, even though I do not agree. He must sense my irritation because he has the grace to look contrite .
“I apologise for—”
“You have nothing to apologise for, Your Highness,” I interrupt him. “We are not friends. You do not owe me your time, and nor do I owe you mine.”
The prince swallows.
“Nevertheless,” he continues, “I would like to show my thanks for your help when I was…in a poor condition. Especially now you are mostly recovered.”
He stretches out his hand. I look at it hesitantly, chewing my lip. How was he aware my rib was nearly healed?
“Not as friends,” he continues. “But as allies?”
His eyes are earnest, and my resolve quickly crumbles.
“Very well. As allies, then.”
I put my hand in his before sliding it up to rest in the crook of his elbow. He smiles so widely, the corners of his eyes crinkle. Damn him . I find myself smiling back.
The prince leads us to a wall lined with shelves. Various vases and books sit innocently on the wood, and I throw a curious glance at him. He reaches behind one of the shelves, and a moment later, I hear a click. Another hidden door. The prince squeezes his fingers between the gap and pulls, revealing the passageway.
“How many secret tunnels are there?” I ask as I follow him inside. I make sure to close it tight behind us.
“I could tell you how many I know of,” he replies, grabbing a torch and leading the way. “But I am quite certain there are others I have not discovered.”
“How did you discover them?”
“There is little else to do other than explore, and I have had a lifetime to do so.”
I fall silent, a twinge of sadness in my chest. For as much as I am trapped in this castle, I have only tasted a drop compared to the prince.
The passageway is steep, made almost entirely of rough-hewn steps. There is no other light except for the low orange glow of the prince’s torch, and I stumble several times.
“Here,” the prince says after my third near-fall. “Hold out your hand.”
He reaches behind himself to hold my hand and guide me up the steps. It is slower but safer. My cheeks warm as my hand clasps his but I remind myself it is only to stop me from falling.
“We have arrived,” the prince announces when we reach the end. I respond by wheezing, my rib protesting with a dull ache.
As we step out from the passageway, a cool breeze brushes over me, and I realise we are outside. I blink and look around.
We are high, somewhere near the top of the castle, where a room used to be, but most of the walls and ceiling have crumbled away. There is enough brick left to shelter us from the elements but the great hole in the corner of the room allows us a wide view of the evening sky. Flickering torches light up the small area, and when I cross over to the wall, I can see down to the grounds below. It is full of servants, the tops of their heads moving around as they find a good viewing spot for the firebugs.
“What…?” I trail off, unsure of what I want to ask.
“The firebugs,” the prince clarifies. “I thought you would like to see them.”
“But…why?”I squint up at him, brows furrowed.
The prince cocks his head.
“The people of Mossgarde watch the migration, do they not?”
“Well, yes.”
“I had hoped this would…” He hesitates and gives me a sad smile. “Be a comfort to you.”
I turn to look out over the wall. We are high enough that I can see over the treetops and into the distance. Where the swamp of Mossgarde ends, and the fields begin. Ice-peaked mountains line the horizon, one standing taller than the others. The mountain housing the city of Swordstead. Somewhere in one of the Three Great Oceans, Frostalm cuts through the sea. The House of Learning. My freedom.
I look at the servants bustling below us, and I know somewhere even further below, deep in the centre of Mossgarde, my Aunt Meena sits and waits for the firebugs without me.
A great sob explodes from my chest. I clap my hand over my mouth, but it is too late. I crumple to the ground as tears stream freely down my cheeks. My body heaves with each violent sob as though it is being ripped out of me.
“Miss Shivani?”
I turn my face away from the prince, squeezing my eyes shut. Shame burns my cheeks, but he does not say anything more. I feel his presence as he sits near me but allows me my space. I wrap my arms around my knees and cry and cry and cry.
My tears eventually dry, the pain ebbing away but never quite gone. I take a shuddering breath and wipe my face with my sleeve.
“Here,” the prince says softly and offers me a cup of hot tea. I stare at it, startled.
“W-Where did you get this?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
He nods at a wicker basket sitting between us.
“I prepared it for tonight.”
“Which means the servants prepared it.”
He looks affronted.
“ I prepared it. Myself. You are not the only one who visits the kitchens.”
I look at him for a long moment and accept the tea. It is soothingly warm. I take a sip, and it eases my throat, raw from crying. I glance at the basket and spy a long container there, likely where the tea is stored.
“It is still hot.” I cock an eyebrow at the prince. He picks up the container and pours himself a cup.
“A gift from Swordstead,” he explains. “There is a structure within which keeps whatever is inside warm for much longer than you would expect.”
“Extraordinary,” I murmur, running a finger across the container. It must have been a royal gift—I have never seen such an item in the merchant wares. Inadvertently, I think of Frostalm and all the new and wonderful things I would have learned there. A lump forms in my throat again. I take a large gulp of tea to ease it.
The prince opens the rest of the wicker basket to reveal an assortment of treats. Delighted, I pick out a small snowberry cake.
“What happened here?” I ask after taking a bite.
The prince frowns and looks at the gaping hole in the side of the room. A light wind whistles past the brick.
“I am…not quite sure. Dragons, perhaps?”
“Dragons?”
The prince spreads his hands and shrugs.
“They are the only things I can think of who can come this high.”
I chew on my cake thoughtfully. Below us, the chatter of staff floats up like leaves on a breeze .
“Dragons did live here,” I say. “Originally. The First Home of Dragons turned the New Home of Witches. I have not found any texts about why they moved.”
“Perhaps we moved them.” The prince’s voice is quiet. I look out over the treetops.
“Yes. Perhaps we did.”
The sun slips below the horizon, and the sky fades to a deep blue. The first stars start to wink overhead.
“I have never seen so much of the sky before,” I say, keeping my eyes on the stars. When the prince gives me a quizzical look, I continue, “The tree canopy is too dense. The only way to see the sky is to leave Mossgarde.”
Or to be imprisoned in the castle , I think with a bitter irony. It took losing my freedom to gain the sky.
“You are welcome here any time.”
I smile, stomach fluttering. The prince looks down at me and smiles back. We are standing close enough for our arms to brush off each other. Even though there are several layers of fabric, it is enough to send goosebumps along my arms. And then, out of the corner of my eye, the first firebug appears.
It ascends slowly, just a glowing orange dot against the trees. The sky deepens into black, and a hush falls over us both. We watch the firebug dance up and up until it soars well above the treetops .
It is followed by a few more. And then more. Before long, firebugs ascend in their thousands. They fill the night sky, drifting upwards and towards the horizon with purpose. They move nearly in tandem. It is as though they are not individual firebugs but one giant creature swirling like fluid. My breath catches in my throat, and I clench my hands over the wall.
In Mossgarde, once the firebugs cleared the tree canopy, they were no longer visible. But here, the prince and I watch until they disappear into the distance. Even after they have gone, I find my gaze stitched to the horizon, searching for them still.
“Thank you,” I eventually say. My voice is thick.
“It was my pleasure.”
When I look up at the prince, his chestnut hair flutters in the breeze. His eyes are soft, and they catch my gaze. My pulse quickens. Whatever feelings I tried to bury have come back twice over. And I have no hope of stopping them.