Chapter 28

I 've hardly slept since the incident occurred. Olly offered to continue sharing my bed, but I declined. To agree would mean crossing a line that I'm not ready to cross yet, not when I'm still trying to wrap my head around him. Around us.

As far as I know, they have yet to determine who hired the assassin. Nearly every second I stay here, my fear of facing another assassination attempt grows. With that single action, the assassin obliterated any remaining illusion of safety, even with the invisibles close by. Maybe Carcera was right for creating the barrier. Maybe life without such protection isn't worth the fear that comes with freedom.

I keep trying to distract myself from letting those thoughts consume me by focusing on the prophecy, but that ushers in more anxiety. Only three days remain until the ball. Three days to cast the spell that will allow me to see the invisibles. Three days until Guylita helps me understand what gift I possess.

Oh, gods. That's not enough time.

Sir Magis hasn't come close to providing anything of worth. Our lessons this week were filled with failed experiments like producing animation charms and protection spells. I nearly succeeded with the latter, but my protection shield broke with the launching of a pig's bladder filled with water, which exploded in my face and prematurely ended our lesson.

I hope that this recent string of failures is just a byproduct of my focus being elsewhere. If my failures stem from anxiety, then that's something I can deal with. But what if I don't have any special powers? What if these "gifts" aren't what they expected? What if I'm worth nothing at all?

"Were you able to locate the spell?" I ask Sir Magis in our Wednesday lesson.

He replies, "It's more complicated than I anticipated, but fear not. I will prepare the necessary ingredients before our lesson tomorrow."

"What do you mean by ‘ingredients'?" My knowledge of magic may be limited to what I've been exposed to over the past couple of weeks, but I've never heard of a spell requiring ingredients. Every spell I've cast so far derived from my thoughts alone. No ingredients, no incantations, just focus.

"This particular spell calls upon all three corners of magic - the visceral, the physical, and the incanted. The ingredients will be used to create a potion for you to consume while speaking the incantation and navigating the spell in your mind. I happen to be a bit of a… pioneer when it comes to this subject," he says with haughty confidence, though it inspires quite the opposite in me.

How am I supposed to pull this off when my magic is novice at best?

"This will work, won't it?" I need it to work. My future depends on it.

"The best outcome will be that the invisibles appear corporeally before you and no unintended side effects latch on instead." He shrugs in what seems like a deflection.

Cautiously, I ask, "And what would the worst outcome be?"

"The worst… well, let's not worry about that." His dismissal hardly instills confidence.

"I would like to know what risk I'm taking." I stomp, which sends a radiating pain through my sore legs. Olly had me running short sprints between barrels until I nearly collapsed. I suck back the pain, doing my best to maintain a stern, demanding expression. "What would happen if the spell goes awry?"

"Well, there aren't many recorded cases of the spell going wrong due to the nature of it. Most who cast it remain rather hush-hush. Thus, the only stories you hear are unverified rumors." He folds his arms across his chest, leaning back onto the desk.

"What rumors would those be?"

"Well, one courtesan is rumored to have lost her eyesight. A fisherman lost a limb. A teenager lost her life. But all of these are unverified rumors that needn't concern you. Alternatively, it's more likely that someone concocted the rumor as a way to tarnish another's reputation. There's no evidence to suggest an inkling of truth to the rumors. What I know for a fact is that Lady Liliana survived it. And you will too."

Considering that we now have a mutual vested interest in the success of this spell, I suppose that he wants to try it as much as I do. Except…hang on. Did we agree that the spell had to be successful for him to redeem his favor? I'm not sure that we did. But if I were to die, he would never have the opportunity to collect. If I were simply maimed or injured, however… I shudder at the thought.

How could I have been so stupid? I should have stipulated the agreement upon the success of the spell! Little did I realize that I could be throwing my life away. If this backfires, then I will be the most foolish woman in all of history.

He seems to notice my hesitation and adds, "Don't worry. I will practice on someone else before we try it on you."

"Who would allow you to try this on them?" I nearly choke on the words. Surely nobody would willingly offer themselves up for this.

"There are plenty of subjects who would love to have the same freedom as you." He folds his arms across my chest and gives me a look of warning.

Who would be willing to test out a spell where the potential side effects are endless, the most humane of which would be death?

"Where do you find these subjects?" I ask nervously.

"They're prisoners." His lips curve into a terrifying smile that sends a shiver down my spine.

"Prisoners?" How does Sir Magis have access to prisoners? "Where is the prison?"

I don't like the way that darkness seems to shroud him as he answers, "There are two prisons in Mendacia. One, the better of the two, is a two-day carriage ride to the west. The other, made for an unlucky few, is here."

"Here? As in, inside the palace?"

"Not exactly. They live so far beneath the ground that they're closer to the center of the earth than the palace," he says.

How could there be prisoners trapped beneath my feet? I can't begin to comprehend the misery of being deprived of sunlight, much less being the test subject of a power-hungry magician. There's a darkness to Sir Magis that I hadn't seen until now. It's wily and mischievous, greedy and ambitious. A terrible combination.

I hesitantly ask, "What makes a prisoner unlucky enough to be sentenced there?"

The word ‘unlucky' seems like an understatement.

"The souls captured here are those that are better kept… silent." He clips the last word, and I'm afraid to know what it could imply. "But the king allows me to use them occasionally as test subjects."

The bile rising up my throat threatens to overcome me as I spit out the words, "Test subjects? People, you mean? People with families and friends, histories and futures."

"Yes, people. Have you never contemplated how new spells are created?" A wicked gleam sparks in his eyes, smoldering, and suddenly I don't want to know more. He continues despite my silence, "We are revolutionizing magic."

"But at what cost?" I wince as gruesome possibilities flash in my mind.

He's stoic and unflinching, utterly terrifying. "Everything has a cost, Radya. Invention requires sacrifice."

A sacrifice that he, himself, does not seem inclined to make , I want to add. But I suck that thought back inside.

"Do you know what happens when we don't use test subjects?" He tilts his head, waiting only a second for an answer, before continuing, "Did you notice the glow that affects Their Majesties?"

"Yes, but…" I assumed that all royals had glowing skin, having never met any others, but now that seems like a stupid assumption. Why would anyone's skin naturally glow?

"They're obsessed with immortality – they begged me for it. They refused to accept that I am not a god, nor can I grant eternal life. But they were persistent. They'd seen my innovation - my ability to achieve magical feats believed to be nearly impossible. So, I did as they asked. I formulated a spell that would grant immortality… or so I thought. But they refused to allow me to test the spell on others first, fearing that someone else might live eternally. The spell failed, and now they are stuck with the radiance," he explains. "Of course, a little glowing skin isn't the worst consequence to suffer."

"What magical feats did you accomplish that made them accept such a risk?" I ask, though every question feels like inching toward the edge of a cliff.

His lips spread into a smile so frightening that I stumble back a step. "That is a story for another time."

A trace of fear skitters over my spine, and I decide to drop the question. I hope I never hear that story, or whatever it is that evoked that horrifying grin. Fumbling for words that seem reluctant to come forth, I ask, "What other experiments have failed?"

"What happens in that chamber is between me and the subjects."

"What sort of consequences have these subjects faced?" My voice is rising with every hammering question, and I'm growing increasingly irritated.

"That is none of your concern," he snaps with a fraying temper. Then, as a half-minded aside, he adds, "Though, Mr. Alexander sure is chatty if you ever happen across him. Regardless, I will be running the experiment to test your spell tomorrow, unless you prefer to test it yourself?"

If I object to the trial, then I could potentially face irreparable bodily damage…or worse. But if I agree…then somebody else might bear that fate in my place. No, I can't agree to subject anyone else to testing. If anything were to happen to an innocent person, then I would never be able to live with myself. Though fear may hold me tight in its grasp, I will not succumb to cruelty.

My mind is made. "No trials."

He raises an eyebrow like he can't fathom my choice. "If you wish, but I cannot be held responsible for any unfortunate outcomes."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Yes, tomorrow."

* * *

Gemma returned to the palace that evening with the best news of the day, not that the bar was very high. "Guylita agreed to come to the ball," she whispers as soon as Viola is out of earshot.

"That's great!" I can hardly contain my squeals of excitement but force it down for Viola's sake. Keeping her in the dark is for her own safety. "Did she give any indication that she knows of the prophecy?"

"She remained vague but hinted that she might be able to help. She's a finicky woman, Guylita. She jumped every time the wind whistled. I'm somewhat surprised she agreed, to be honest." Her wings flutter nervously behind her.

"Gem, I'll never be able to repay you. Thank you." I grab her hand and squeeze it.

Viola returns to the room holding a large garment bag draped over her arms. She stops just past the doorway when her ears perk up. "What are you two whispering about?"

Gemma meets her gaze, and they appear to be speaking through their mental link. Viola taps her foot impatiently and Gemma throws her hands in the air with exasperation.

"Are you two able to speak without… speaking?" I ask, trying to insert myself into the silent conversation so that Gemma doesn't accidentally reveal our plan.

"Sorry, Radya. Yes, we speak through the twin bond sometimes, but I try not to because it's very rude." Gemma flashes a pointed look at her sister.

"Well, if one of us wasn't keeping secrets from the other, then maybe we wouldn't have to," Viola snaps back.

I feared that involving Gemma would cause a rift between the twins. I realize now that my fear might be coming true, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Not without putting both of them at risk.

"Just show her the dress, Viola." The tension pulsing between them causes Gemma's wing to flutter furiously.

Viola turns back to me, inhaling a deep breath to regain composure. "Right. Radya, your gown for the ball arrived this morning. The seamstress would like for you to try it on now so that she can make any adjustments before Saturday." She hangs the garment bag on the bed's canopy and removes the dress.

An ivory skirt made of a soft, shimmering fabric falls to the floor, pooling in a sea of silk. Pea-sized rubies line the plunging neck. My jaw hangs open as I take it in and run my fingers over it.

"It's stunning," I say.

It is opulent and divine. This dress is meant for a queen. Or a goddess, maybe. No person, especially not me, deserves this work of art.

Viola smiles and wraps an arm around my shoulder. "I knew you'd like it."

"Don't forget the mask!" Gemma rushes over to the gown and pulls a rectangular box out of the garment bag's pocket, handing it to me with a smile so wide and bubbly that I think she might burst with excitement. I unwrap the silver bow that ties it together and then open the lid. Inside is a glittering ivory mask molded into the shape of a butterfly with golden flecks splattered across it.

It is both infinitely beautiful and eye-catching.

It would be perfect for someone else – someone who craved to be noticed, who thrived in the spotlight. But I am not one of those people. I prefer to blend into the background like a chameleon, especially now that I need privacy.

But in this dress, at a ball where I am in the spotlight, it will be next to impossible to go unnoticed.

Speaking to Guylita just got a hell of a lot harder.