Chapter 20

Chapter 20

AMALIA

A malia picked the simplest dress she’d stolen from her mother’s room to wear the day she snuck out of the palace.

It was a crimson gown, with a hand-stitched skirt that cascaded off her hips in waves. It came with a matching cloak, the golden clasp fashioned to look like a songbird with a sapphire for the eye. Amalia fastened it around her shoulders.

She stood in front of her mirror, looking at herself and gathering the courage to leave. She’d asked for the mirror to be brought to her bedroom, feeling as though she had lost something by not noticing the way her face had changed over the last few months.

But staring at her reflection now, Amalia fought the urge to crawl back under her covers. Some might consider her pretty, she supposed. After all, she had her mother’s nose, her mother’s eyes. Her mother had been pretty—beautiful, even. Everyone said so. But somehow, Amalia didn’t feel like the features fit her face as well. She felt like an unfinished painting, like there was something missing from her that everyone else had. Something her mother had.

She’d spent an hour styling her hair after her bath, trying to get her curls under some semblance of control, and even braiding crimson ribbons into her hair. And yet, after all that work, the ringlets looked flat and limp. Lifeless. With a sigh, she plucked at one of the ribbons, reaching for the sharp scissors her handmaids had left to trim it one final time.

Good enough.

Before she could chicken out and go back to bed, Amalia found her largest nightgown and put it gingerly over her mirror, covering the reflection. She was tired of looking at herself, tired of seeing a poor replica of her mother’s face staring back at her. Maybe it would get easier with time.

But for now…

Amalia took a deep breath to steady herself. Then, with all the courage she could muster, she opened her window to climb out.

She’d snuck out once before when she was just a child. It had been just after her Awakening, and after the joy of finding out she possessed control over all four elements had worn off, she had felt… empty. She had expected things to change between her and her mother after she’d been officially named heir to the realm, expected that her mother would begin teaching her how to use her powers, the way the generals in Solare taught their soldiers. She had expected her mother to be proud.

But nothing had changed between them at all. Sure, Amalia was suddenly invited to public appearances and was suddenly expected to be present at all her mother’s parties and meetings, a silent miniature version of the queen everyone loved. But behind closed doors, her mother behaved just the same as she always had. It was as though she knew from the moment of her birth that Amalia would be a disappointment and had decided right then and there not to waste time on her.

Unable to take it any longer, Amalia had run away.

Well… “ran away” is perhaps an exaggeration. She hadn’t even made it out of the palace before she’d been caught by a guard and escorted back to her rooms. Her mother had been informed, Amalia assumed, but she’d never brought it up to her. The next time Amalia had seen her, though, she’d looked even more disappointed than usual. As though she realized that even running away was somehow outside of Amalia’s skill set. Too incompetent to even accomplish that .

This time she wasn’t running away, Amalia told herself as she hopped down from her window to the ground below, clumsily using Air to slow her fall. She just needed to get out of the palace, just needed to see what was going on outside those marble walls in the city proper.

In the weeks after her mother’s death, Linh had told her what a mess the realm had become. The city was full of riots and murder, crimes committed out in the open, innocent people being dragged into the streets. It had terrified her when she’d heard that, and somehow it seemed to get worse and worse every time Linh updated her. For a while, she’d been so sure the rioters would come for her, would pull her out of the palace to make her pay for her mother’s crimes. The idea kept her up at night, too frightened to sleep.

Linh had described some of the horrible things they were doing to young Witches. Deplorable, disgusting things…

She just needed to see it for herself, Amalia resolved. Just needed to look out at the city and know how things were. Then, maybe, she could help somehow. That’s what her mother would have done.

Wasn’t it?

There were so few guards around the palace now. Not nearly as many as there had been when her mother was still alive. And since Solare had burned to nothing, there were no soldiers around this side of the palace to catch her and take her back to her room. Still, Amalia pulled the hood of her cloak up and kept her head down, hoping she could at least avoid being recognized, in case a palace servant saw her.

It was a longer walk to the city than she’d expected, and by the time she’d crossed the river and left the palace grounds, her legs were already complaining about the exercise. She hadn’t done much more than gentle walks around the palace gardens in years. Was it any wonder she was so out of shape?

But Amalia kept walking, hood up, trying to ignore the heat of the summer day and the shaking in her legs. She could do this. She would do this.

Linh had told her the palace was one of the few safe places left in the city—perhaps in the entire realm. Linh had her believing that since her mother’s death the city was crumbling under the weight of crime and horrors beyond her imagining.

A small part of Amalia wasn’t at all surprised to find out it was a lie.

The city looked just as it always had, and the streets became busier and busier as she walked further into the city center and away from the imposing shadow of the palace. There wasn’t chaos here. People were not being murdered in the streets, being dragged from their homes in broad daylight. No one was being tortured, no one was being violated or ripped limb from limb…

The sidewalks were full of citizens walking with their friends and family, full of people hurrying to and from work, full of people shopping, and talking, and laughing. After a while, Amalia lowered her hood, unable to stand the heat a moment longer. Her feet hurt, and she could feel herself getting blisters from shoes that weren’t meant to be walked in for more than a short distance, but she didn’t care.

There were more people on these streets than she’d seen in all her life.

She looked around at them all, wide eyed. She’d known, of course, that the city was full of people from all four Factions, but at the palace she’d had little contact with anyone besides other Witches. Here, there were Shifters—some in their animal forms. A Wolf prowled the street, stopping to scratch behind their ear with a long back foot. Not a single person other than her looked twice at it. There were even Demons, some with horns of various sizes and textures, but others with scales and long snake-like tails. She saw no Vampires, of course. The sun was high in the sky, and they were a nocturnal Faction by nature. But their presence was clear here, even during the day. A candy shop advertised their lollipops as “fang safe, for Vampire children,” and another sign further down the walkway specifically assured patrons they were open until dawn “to accommodate all Factions, day or night.”

After almost two hours of walking, Amalia knew she should head back to the palace, knew that even if no one noticed her absence she should at least go back before she was too tired to walk at all. Yet… she couldn’t seem to leave. Every street brought new wonders, new shops, and new people. It was nothing she had ever experienced before, and she drank it all in, staring around at her city in wonder.

Demons were, by far, the Faction she’d had the least contact with, and the first Demon she’d seen with horns—actual horns, that curved from the side of his skull and ended under his ears, like a ram’s—had smiled at her so sweetly she’d almost tripped over her skirt and fallen. There had been no menace in his eyes, no anger. He seemed nothing at all like the creatures Linh had warned her about. Nothing at all like the savage things her mother had described.

That was another thing—her skirts. Even though this dress had been the simplest of her mother’s gowns, and even though she’d worn dresses just like it every day of her life, Amalia looked around at the people on the street and felt wildly out of place.

None of them wore clothing like hers, not even the women. They wore pants, and skirts, and shorts. They wore things unlike any she’d seen before, and though their outfits weren’t fancy, Amalia coveted every garment she saw.

And the clothing changed! As she walked, the neighborhoods shifted around her, and so did the people. Demons gave way to Shifters, and young student-filled neighborhoods gave way to businesses, and then to warehouses.

Amalia was so in love with the world around her, so in love with the changes and the people, that she didn’t notice at first that she was lost. She had been following a song in her heart, a feeling rather than a road, and suddenly all the businesses were gone. There were people here, sure, but they looked… harder. Angrier.

Suddenly, no one was looking at her dress and smiling. There were no friendly nods or approving glances. If she’d felt overdressed before, it was nothing compared to how she felt now. Eyes followed her. And they did not look welcoming.

She had somehow managed to make her way into the shipping and warehouse district, and the workers here were not impressed with the ribbons in her curls, and her rich crimson cloak and hand-stitched dress. Amalia tugged her cloak tight around herself, trying to hide her clothing as best as she could, and began to avoid making eye contact. She looked around the streets and tried to remember where she’d been, tried to remember how to get back.

She couldn’t see the palace anymore for all the tall buildings around her, but as she circled the block, she noticed that one direction seemed more uphill than the others. That should be the direction home, shouldn’t it? After all, the palace sat at the highest point in the city— surely if she made her way uphill, she should eventually find her way back to a place she recognized.

Her legs were in agony by now, and she knew her feet were bleeding from where blisters had formed and popped. She ached . But she had no choice now. She had to keep going, had to get home. Steeling herself, Amalia pushed the pain down. She could do this.

At least… she thought she could.

Amalia’s foot caught the curb at a wrong angle, and she tripped, stumbling into a large male Shifter who was smoking outside a factory.

Instead of offering her his arm, or asking if she was okay, he gave an irritated grunt and pushed her until she stumbled away from him.

“Watch where you’re going, Witch,” he barked, curling his lip at her.

Amalia felt her cheeks heat. She’d never heard someone say Witch that way, as though it were an insult, not a blessing. Weren’t they the greatest of the Factions, the most beloved by the Goddess? Why would anyone say it in such a manner?

She mumbled an apology and hurried away, glancing behind her often to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

The Shifters didn’t chase her. But they laughed as she left, and Amalia felt herself blush hard enough that she was sure her neck was the same color as her dress.

After a few blocks, Amalia wasn’t sure she was going the right way, after all. Uphill was a harder concept to judge than she’d thought, and she backtracked several times, trying to figure out which direction was which.

She should just pick a direction and keep going, Amalia decided, stopping for a moment to look around once again and decide which direction was her best bet. If she turned right and then headed straight, that seemed like the best possible?—

Amalia gasped as someone grabbed her arm and yanked her into an alley. They pulled at her with enough force that she lost her footing and stumbled, falling to her hands and knees.

“Well, well, well,” came a voice from behind her. “Look what I caught, fellas.”

Scrambling to her feet, Amalia looked around in horror .

A boy stood between her and the entrance of the alley, blocking her way back to the street. He was maybe a little younger than she was, but he was big. Tall, with dark blond messy hair, and wild looking eyes. A Shifter.

A predator.

She glanced around at the rest of the alley. There were more boys here, a whole group she hadn’t even noticed when she’d been trying to find her way. She’d been so distracted, so focused, she had walked right into trouble.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“What brings a Witch to this side of the city, huh?” the boy asked, advancing toward her. Amalia scrambled back away from him, only to be shoved back toward him by another of the boys.

“A rich Witch, too,” another said, stepping forward and fingering the hem of her cloak. His eyes fell on the golden bird clasp of her cloak and widened with a greedy hunger.

“Please don’t,” Amalia said, breathlessly, trying to pull out of the grip he held on her clothing. But they were all moving closer to her, surrounding her. She had to get out of here, had to find a way to escape.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” the first boy said, chuckling. He was clearly the leader, the oldest of them. And the scariest. “We’re not going to hurt you. We’re not savages. But that is an awfully nice coat you’re wearing, isn’t it? I’m guessing a fine noble Witch like you doesn’t leave the house without some gold, huh? You’re lost, aren’t you? Give us what you have, and we can get you safely home. Promise.”

Amalia’s heart was pounding in her chest as the boy came even closer, towering over her.

“I—I don’t have any money,” Amalia said, looking around her desperately. She didn’t. It hadn’t even occurred to her to bring any since she’d never carried gold before. She had to get out of here, had to?—

“Leave her alone, Jayce,” came another voice. Firm and female, this time. Deeper down the alley, someone hopped down from a fire escape ladder and started toward them.

This girl didn’t rush. She approached slowly, like she had all the time in the world. The crowd of boys parted to let her through.

And she was …

Beautiful , Amalia thought, heart beating hard against her ribcage. This girl was beautiful.

The boy towering over Amalia—Jayce—stepped back immediately. They all did, every single boy in the alley, heads lowered like they were in trouble, eyes on the gravel at their feet.

“Look at how scared she is,” the girl said, frowning at all of them. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Apologize.”

“Sorry,” Jayce mumbled, backing away further. They were acting like scolded children.

“ Louder ,” the girl ordered.

Jayce glanced up at her quickly, then looked at Amalia.

“We’re sorry,” he said, staring her full in the eyes. “We were never going to hurt you, and we didn’t mean to scare you that badly. Honest.”

“That’s okay,” Amalia answered, her voice a broken whisper, as she looked from Jayce to the girl.

She was Amalia’s age—sixteen, maybe seventeen, with soft brown hair, and big green eyes. She was breathtaking, Amalia thought—really, truly beautiful, not like her, with her mother’s incomplete face. With her too-thin face. This girl was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her. So beautiful it made her mouth dry and her palms sweat.

“Ignore them,” the girl said, stepping to Amalia and brushing her hands over Amalia’s cloak as though brushing away the boys’ touch. “Boys have no manners, do they?”

Amalia had no idea, but staring up into this girl’s wild green eyes, she nodded. That seemed to be the right answer, because the girl smiled widely at her, and to Amalia it was like seeing the sun come out from behind the clouds.

“What’s your name?” the girl asked, still smiling that warm smile at her.

“Amalia,” she answered, a little surprised she could still speak.

“Amalia,” the girl repeated, her smile widening. Her canines were sharp and dangerous looking, visible between her plump lips. “What a pretty name. And my! What a pretty dress!”

She stepped back to admire it, looking Amalia up and down, taking in the crimson cloak and the expensive gown.

“And your hair! You’re so precious-looking, just like a little doll, aren’t you?” the girl asked. She tilted her head to the side when she spoke. “I’m so sorry about my friends. I hope you can forgive them. They’re just stupid boys. They don’t know any better.”

“Oh,” Amalia said, blushing from the attention. “Oh yes, of course. I forgive them.”

“Good!” the girl said, clapping her hands together, and Amalia gasped as she stepped even closer, taking Amalia’s arm and looping her own arm through it, pulling her close enough that their hips and shoulders touched. Her skin was so warm Amalia could feel it through the thick fabric of her dress.

“My name is Vivian,” the girl said, walking Amalia past the boys and back to the street. Back to safety.

Vivian. What a beautiful name , Amalia thought.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Vivian,” she said, breathlessly. The street was warm and sunny, and suddenly her feet didn’t hurt much at all.

Vivian pulled her closer and glanced sideways at her with sparkling eyes. “You’re so formal. It’s cute.”

Cute ? A blush rose on Amalia’s cheeks.

“But you can call me Vee. That’s what all my friends call me.”

Vee smiled at her wide enough that her sharp canines flashed in the sunlight. “And I can tell we’re going to be very, very good friends, Princess.”