Chapter 17

A n entire week passes without any sign of Olly. He left without so much as a note to explain his sudden change of heart on the rooftop. If the twins hadn't told me that he went to meet with the war council near the border, then I would have thought he had disappeared altogether. Why couldn't he at least say goodbye?

I know that he is there because it is his duty and, given the recent developments in Carcera, there is no better time to strategize. I know that. But the demon on my shoulder refuses to stop planting seeds of doubt.

The timing of it stings. We nearly share a kiss and then he suddenly departs to the other side of the country. Is he avoiding me? What if I imagined the whole thing? Maybe I perceived the situation to be more intimate than he did. It was me, after all, that leaned in. Not him. Was he so repulsed by me that he went running to the opposite side of the kingdom? Oh no. Was he dropping hints that I was just too foolish to notice? He did say that he sometimes resents me. What if his resentment extends further than he let on?

We were only ever meant to be friends so that I could sway him toward my cause. My quickening pulse seems to have forgotten that cause entirely.

If I'm being honest with myself, I don't even know for sure that I want our friendship to progress in that way. I hardly even know the man and every conversation ends with me storming off in a foul mood. I don't want to be with him, not really.

My logical side knows that.

It must have been the bubbly clouding my judgment and pulverizing that logic.

I feel embarrassed for acting so foolish. Perhaps it was a good thing that he nipped it in the bud before I had a chance to destroy any inkling of friendship.

The one benefit of my anguish is that I can now summon fire on command. I lit candles, fireplaces, and bonfires with ease. Sir Magis had me conjuring flames all week and refused to move on to other tasks until I could safely extinguish them. On the other hand, it seems that reaching a truly joyful and calm mental state is out of the question at the moment.

There was a particularly close call with a candle placed far too close to a curtain. Fortunately, Sir Magis had the foresight to invite several maids to our lessons, each armed with a bucket of water.

With my mind constantly flitting back and forth from one shameful scenario to the next, I hardly feel up for being around new people. But amid that bubbly high at the banquet, I agreed to explore Somne with Liliana. At the time, it seemed like a great idea. So far away. But now that she's arriving soon, I wholly regret my decision.

I walk out to my bedroom balcony and inhale a deep breath of the cool sea breeze, desperate to calm my mind. I am worthy. I am capable. I am strong.

I repeat these words in my head, hoping that they might ease some of my stress. My mother used to chant like this when the world became too dark and lonely a place. Her words echoed throughout the cottage like a hymnal plea. And just when I start to feel a hint of relief, the twins knock on the door.

"Radya, Liliana is waiting in the foyer. Are you ready? Would you like for us to walk with you?" Viola offers in a gesture that I greatly appreciate. This palace, with all of its twisting and winding corridors, confuses the hell out of me.

"Yes, please. And, Viola?"

"Yes?" She responds with a touch of uncertainty.

"Would you come with me? And Liliana. Would you join us? We're going to explore Somne, I believe. Gemma, I'd love for you to join us, too." They look at each other with raised brows, and I mentally plead with them to accept. They have a calming presence that I could clearly use right now. "Come on, it'll be fun! You guys are always cooped up in the palace, so maybe it would be nice to get out!"

"I'm sorry, Radya. We would love to, but we have work to do here." Gemma offers a sweet smile, but I can't hide my disappointment. "Come now, you'll have a great time. We'll take you exploring another day."

I nod, taking one last calming breath before following them through the corridor.

* * *

When Liliana greets me, she exudes the same vivacity that warmed me to her at the banquet. Her tunic and trousers with black leather gloves seem more practical than the dress I'm wearing now. Are we riding? Should I have worn something similar? Before I have another moment to consider the option, she pulls me out the door.

This side of the palace is completely new to me. It's intimidating knowing that I only occupy one teeny, tiny segment of this monstrous place. Will I ever be able to navigate these grounds with the same confidence and ease that I found in Carcera?

The garden splits into two halves with a long cobblestone path cut through the center. Flowers line the immediate path in a row of blooming colors. Beyond it, the land appears to be divided by utility. Rows of fruit trees – apples and oranges, lemons and mangoes – sprout from the earth on the left side while towering bean stalks and climbing tomatoes span the right. There doesn't seem to be a single weed in sight. A stone wall stretches across the far side, and I can't see where it ends. It seems to run on and on, extending far beyond the length of the palace.

Liliana tugs at my elbow as I take it all in. "Have you seen much outside of the palace since you arrived?"

I haven't. There hasn't been time. Or, have I not made time?

Either way, it's another deficiency to add to the list. Another reason that I am not fit to be the Queen of Mendacia.

"I went down to the beach once," I say, even though it changes nothing.

How long have I been here, anyway? Ten days, I think. But if I've been here for ten days, then that means only twenty days remain until I'm forced to accept or deny the arrangement. My chest flutters at the thought.

"I will have to be an excellent tour guide, then." She leads me to a carriage pulled by a restless bunch of horses. It's a bright red contraption with wheels that are half as tall as me. Clearly, being inconspicuous is not on Liliana's agenda.

I follow her inside the traveling gourd, careful not to hit my head on the golden trim. Before I can situate myself, gravel beings to crunch as the carriage shakes to life. I stumble into the seat opposite Liliana and try to hide my embarrassment.

"Does the palace have any protective enchantments on it like the one in Carcera?" I ask behind blushing cheeks.

With a knowing smirk, she leans against the door and points her gloved finger to a woman standing atop one of the many towers lining the perimeter. "See those sentries?" She wears the same navy uniform as the guards stationed out front, but unlike the guards who wear their weapons emblazoned on their bodies, she appears empty-handed. A ruby red sash drapes across her chest in place of a baldric. "She's a praecian warrior. Her magic is more lethal than any weapon or enchantment. Nobody stands a chance of slipping past the praecians."

I've never heard of a praecian warrior. We have no such defenses in Carcera, though I suppose that's why we require a barrier. But if the most lethal and threatening force comes from these praecians, are there other villages out there with that protection? Could that have been an alternative to the barrier all along? And if we have such great power in our defensive forces, is it possible that our enemy holds the same?

"Are there any praecian warriors fighting for Umbra?" I hold my breath while her mouth wrinkles in consideration.

Finally, she says, "No, not exactly. The term praecian applies more to their training than their innate being. Young girls with exceptional magical ability, athleticism, and intelligence are sent to the praecian academy for training. They dedicate fifteen years to honing their skills. And even then, only the best receive their station here."

"What do they get in exchange?" Fifteen years is a long time to spend in training.

"They, as well as their families, are handsomely rewarded," she emphasizes the word handsomely like it's an unfathomable amount.

"Are they all women?" I scan the towers in search of an answer and confirm that only women appear in sight.

"Yes, this particular strength of power only appears in women."

The idea of anyone possessing any sort of magic is still quite foreign to me. I'm still struggling to comprehend my own ability to throw carrots across the room. But if only praecians are capable of a specific strength of power, does that mean there are different tiers of magic?

I ask, "Do different people have different powers? In Carcera, I knew only of Lord Myles and Lady Lora's magic. Though, who knows how many might be capable if it weren't for the enchantments on the barrier."

"To think of Lord Myles as the pinnacle of magical ability is an abomination." She lets out a hearty scoff, which makes me wonder if there's some animosity between the two of them. "But, to answer your question, not all are born with magic. Not all are born with powerful magic. Some are capable of no more than an occasional fizzle of air."

"But Lord Myles created the barrier, right? Do you not consider that to be powerful magic?" I witnessed the barrier's strength with my own eyes. I saw it decimate a man in a matter of seconds.

She bursts into a howling laugh that rolls through her like a tremor. "No, no, my dear. Lord Myles did not create the barrier. That is strictly the result of praecian power."

"I didn't know." I retreat into my mind and begin turning over each misinformed memory one by one.

"There's no better time to learn than now," she says with a calm reassurance. "There are levels to magical abilities. Some of the most powerful, like the praecians, can kill with the blink of an eye or summon darkness with the snap of a finger. On the other hand, the less capable, like Lord Myles, are bound to spell books and incantations. They lack both the natural ability and the creativity to produce any magic without those aids. Speaking of abilities, how are your lessons going?"

"I can move objects across the room and conjure flames, though I have yet to successfully extinguish them." As I admit this truly unremarkable progress, a chilling thought rakes over my bones. If everyone is born with some degree of magic, then what makes me special at all?

She reaches across the carriage and places a hand on my knee. "The natural elements are difficult to master. If you're able to conjure flames so soon into your studies, then that is impressive."

I try to smile, but the corners of my lips act in defiance, flickering more toward a frown. I don't want to talk about it anymore. "And what of your magic? What are you capable of?"

She cups her hands together in front of her chest and then leans over to blow gently into them. A minute passes, and then she reveals a rosebud resting in her palms. The white petals begin to peel open, forming a perfect bloom. "Take it," she says.

I lift the rose to my nose and take in its delicious scent. It's more intense than a garden rose but every bit just as lifelike. The petals are soft and delicate. The leaves curled around the bud have flecks of brown dotting the edges. How is that possible?

"It's a great party trick, but it is my brain that makes me special, not my magic."

"It's amazing. Really, it is."

She winks at me and nestles back into her seat. They're such tiny, simple things to correct – the creator of the barrier and the extent of Lord Myles' power – but to revise that knowledge forces me to rewrite my own history. It calls into question everything I know, everything I believe. It's another thread in the fabric of my life being unwoven before my eyes.

Of course, I should be used to that by now.

The farther we get from the palace, the darker the land becomes. Rather than the lush greenery seen on the grounds, the land here appears withered and desolate. Rotting trees, dried bushes, and cracked earth line the path. Weeds sprouting up through the dirt show the only signs of life. How did this place become so ruined?

My eye catches on something moving in the distance, and the back of my neck begins to tingle like we're being watched. "How far are we from the market?"

"Not too far, don't worry. This land gives me the creeps, too," she says as I continue to stare out the window in search of whatever life I thought I found. "Nobody lives in the deadwoods anymore, not since the Mad King destroyed it during the war. He scorched the land with roaring flames. Burned every civilian that lived here alive. Some say that you can still hear their screams echoing in the trees."

"They made it all the way here?" The chord of terror echoing in my chest is begging me to turn around.

"Some of them, yes," she says as she begins fiddling with her gloves, pulling on a stray thread. "But we won in the end, didn't we?"

But if the Mad King could get so close to the palace once, then what's stopping him from doing it again?

An eerie silence overcomes us as I imagine the people who once lived here. Their lives came to such a brutal end at the hands of the Mad King. The same Mad King who sent the prowlers to my cottage.

Were the tormenting flames the last thing they saw?

Several minutes go by without another sign of movement. Only the sound of the horses' hooves clomping against the dirt and the creaking carriage drowns out my racing heart. No birds are tweeting, nor are wolves howling. The silence is unbearable.

"Where do all of the people live?" I ask in search of something to fill the emptiness where life should be.

"You'll see soon enough."

"How did the palace go unscathed while this land burned?"

"That's a great question." She quietly drifts away in thought but doesn't answer.

As we move out of the deadwoods, the land becomes reinvigorated. The trees transition from the color of death to a verdant green. Nature's sounds once again echo through the air. And it isn't long until a group of children come sprinting closer to get a view of the carriage. Each one is covered in filth and bruises, though that is likely the consequence of a rousing game of tag.

They stare at us as we roll past. One child raises a hand to wave, but the older one slaps it down. She leans into a curtsy and lowers her eyes to the ground, beseeching the others to do the same. I nod to them, and they dash off, continuing with their game. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liliana smiling at me.

* * *

Rows of townhomes painted in all shades of color come into view as the road turns from dirt to cobblestone. Pink stucco homes with bright yellow shutters, staircases painted to match, and climbing ivy decorate the neighborhood. As we move deeper into the town, more and more people appear. Some dress finely, others more practical. A baker sets out fresh loaves of bread in the window of his shop while an elderly couple sits on a bench out front. People are sitting on balconies and others are gathered on the street. Kids are running wild like we caught them mid-game. There's so much life here, so many people. Is this what a real city feels like?

"Welcome to the market," Liliana says when the carriage comes to a stop.

As soon as my feet hit the cobblestones, I do my best to take it all in. This market is so much larger than the one in Carcera. Stalls of every sort stretch on as far as I can see, selling fabrics, jewelry, art, ointments, food, and everything in between. People of all shapes and sizes are moseying around with woven baskets filled with goods. Hand-painted tiles line the ground – each one is a unique shape that fits into a larger starburst pattern.

A few people stare at me as I pass, and I wonder if it is my reputation or appearance that piques their curiosity, but I try to shrug off the thought. Liliana, ever the social butterfly, flits from stall to stall to meet with the vendors. Each one greets her with a warm, welcoming smile, and I imagine that a large part of her success is due to her genial nature. Sure, business acumen helps, but an outgoing personality must open a lot of doors.

While she's busy speaking to vendors, a necklace catches my eye. It reminds me of a necklace that my mother used to wear – a silver chain with a painted sparrow pendant. I reach out toward it with my left hand, but the elderly vendor grabs my wrist, latching onto it with a spindly grip. I choke back a scream as I mutter my apologies. Maybe she thought I was trying to steal?

She turns my hand over and examines the birthmark, showing impressive strength in her crooked fingers. Her beady hazel eyes blacken as if her soul is being pulled into a distant void. I try to loosen my hand from that steel grip as I look around for Liliana, but both attempts prove futile. Liliana is nowhere to be found, nor is anyone else. The whole market - every last person and stall - is obscured by thick fog that appeared out of nowhere. It surrounds us, blocking both vision and sound.

Her grip tightens and pulls my attention back to her.

She gurgles a moan in a voice coarsened by salt and shadow, "You do not belong here. You must return to your throne and unify the nations."