Curses of Lavender, page 28
“What is it?” the Record Keeper asked, head tilted in awe.
“Why don’t you take a look?”
The Record Keeper leaned forward and blinked at them through the orb. “I can... see.”
Elian grinned. “I am Elian.” He pulled Thicket next to him, wrapping an arm around her waist. A pleasant shiver rolled down her back. “And this is Thicket.”
Something glistened in the corners of the Record Keeper’s eyes. Tears—of joy? “You have done me a great service, fixing my flaw and gifting me with new knowledge. I cannot wait to tell my brethren. Oh, how I can lord this over them. Finally, I won’t be the blind owl, but the owl with a cure!”
Thicket grinned. It was adorable. Sassy—and a bit frightening—but adorable.
“That is wonderful and all,” Elian said, not sharing her adoration, “but please” —he waved his hand in rapid circles— “on to your half of the bargain.”
The Record Keeper shifted from foot to foot, dispelling its excitement. “All I know is that prophecies are created by the Numyna.”
“What is that?”
“Who are they,” the Record Keeper corrected. “The Numyna are twelve divine spirits that preside over this world from Menheir, the land of mist. It is a space that is attached yet separated from our world. If a human develops a soul wish, they are ferried to Menheir by what your kind calls the Soul Siren. In order for their soul wish to be granted, they must prove themselves to be pure of heart. Those who succeed receive a prophecy, designed to guide them down a wholesome path. Even the exceptionally good have the potential to sour—especially when presented with great power.”
Thicket was about to ask another question, but the Record Keeper cut her off, “I cannot reveal much more; I am forbidden by my superiors. However, I can say that Murdoc Vogeli went to the Numyna. It is the reason for the blue fire in your veins.”
Electricity shot through her like a pulse. She remembered asking Caspian why her bloodline had blue fire. This was the answer. The answer to everything. Her power. The conflict between Thicket and the Soumort Princess. The prophecy. The war.
It had to do with the Numyna.
“Thank you for your help,” Thicket said.
The Record Keeper nodded. It stepped back from the glass orb. Its eyes immediately narrowed as it peered up at them, then trailed to the orb with a saddened look, as if it thought they were about to take the orb away.
“Keep it,” Elian said. “It isn’t perfect, but I promise that I’ll return one day and fit you with a proper pair of vision glass. Your vision will never be blurry again.”
The Record Keeper flapped its wings happily. “That would be most appreciated, friend.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Thicket and Elian raced back to their rooms, eager to share what they had learned. Once again, Marcellus was outside her door. As soon as he saw them, he pushed off the wall. “Well? Did you pass?”
Thicket’s heart squeezed, his words from the night before replaying in her mind. We are not friends. We are not acquaintances. I am your guard, and that is it. We will never be anything more. “Yes,” she said curtly.
“Did you see the king?”
“Yes.”
Marcellus’ jaw ticked. “And?”
“And he was useless, of course,” Elian replied in her stead. Marcellus’ jaw clenched harder. “But, we did have a chat with the Record Keeper.”
“Well?” Marcellus demanded.
“Where’s Bern and Lotta?” Thicket asked.
He scowled impatiently. “Inside. Now what did—”
Thicket moved past Marcellus and pushed open the door. Bern shot to her feet, followed by Lotta. They were in the sitting room, an orange-yellow fire crackling in the fireplace.
“You’re back,” Bern said. She took one look at their expressions and winced. “What happened?”
Thicket and Elian took turns explaining. The rite, the power of the stones, their meeting with the king, his refusal to help. At that, Thicket saw Marcellus’ fists bunch at his sides. And finally, they told them about the Record Keeper.
“That’s how she controls the animals,” Lotta murmured, studying the ground thoughtfully. “The signs were all there. Wolves travel in packs—just like the squadrons. I should have known…”
“No one knew,” Thicket said. “The Record Keeper said it couldn’t reveal information not yet discovered by humans, but that someone learned about the wolves’ magic a century ago. That had to have been the Soumort Princess.”
“Right after she left Minloc,” Bern said, voice whisper quiet. At Thicket’s confusion, she clarified, “When your parents told her you would be queen, she flipped. Stole the crown and stormed from the castle. She wasn’t seen for months, until she showed up in Bilya with an army of animals.”
One of Thickets image dreams flashed in her mind. The Soumort Princess holding a glistening object. At the time, she couldn’t tell what the object had been. But now…
It had been a crown. Her crown.
Thicket’s dreams had given her pieces of the puzzle, even then. But it still wasn’t enough to give her a clear picture of what happened. What was the prophecy? How had the Soumort Princess discovered the wolves’ secrets? How had she even obtained a sleeping curse?
A hand gripped her shoulder. Thicket startled, glancing up to see Elian, leaning over the back of the couch behind her. She grabbed his hand and gave him a grateful smile. Turning back, she saw Marcellus’ eyes narrow. Bern, however, was smiling.
Thicket cleared her throat, casting her gaze down to her kiwi, curled up in her lap. She stroked the warm brown stone of its back. “What also stumps me is this prophecy. The Record Keeper said the Soumort Princess was trying to decipher it, but it didn’t know what the prophecy said.”
“It also hinted,” Elian added, “that she was trying to change it.”
“Have you heard of the Numyna before, Lotta?” Marcellus asked.
She shook her head. “I have not. The Soul Siren, yes, but I thought it was just a myth. And it seemed to be working alone, not as part of a group.”
“Did no one question where Murdoc Vogeli got his power?” Thicket asked.
“While we did not know the Numyna by name,” Lotta said, “we do believe there is some force or deity out there. Magic cannot be left unconfined. That is why Aneuma must be tethered to humans. If not, their magical energies would run rampant, causing disturbances that would make a hurricane look as harmless as a rain shower.”
Bern nodded. “We all assumed those forces rewarded him for his actions with Algernon Soumort. That it was a sign he was the true king of Vindrya.”
“Yeah, well apparently it wasn’t that much of a blessing,” Thicket said. “The Dymrian king has purple fire.”
They fell into a shocked silence.
“I am not surprised,” Elian said bitterly. “It has been a feat my family has been working towards ever since Murdoc Vogeli. They were furious he had bested them. After that, everyone who married into our family was required to have at least yellow fire to ensure the royal family’s magic wasn’t watered down. Most of my family had a mix of yellow and purple fire. The more purple the better. My magic was the weakest, with only a sliver of purple. It was why my father was elated when Vindrya reached out about a marriage alliance. The only known blue fire wielder would be enough to salvage my shortcoming. Artus is the first I have seen in my bloodline with true purple fire.”
“What are we going to do when we arrive back home without an army?” Bern asked.
While the information about the wolves was game changing, Caspian told her she should never make promises she couldn’t keep. She had already promised her people an army. If they found out she lied, or worse that she’d failed… The whole reason she kept the truth about her memories a secret was so they wouldn’t lose faith in her. But wouldn’t this have the same outcome? How could she recover as a leader when their first true impression of her was yet another failure. Another way she was incapable of protecting them. Would they believe the Soumort Princess? Would they start to see Thicket as a fraud?
They all fell silent. None of them had any ideas, but they also didn’t want to leave Dymree tomorrow empty handed.
Behind them, a door flung open. They jumped to their feet. Marcellus stood at the head, sword drawn. Thicket’s kiwi was right beside him, shrieking in warning.
“Relax.” Alouette closed the door behind her, brushing aside a lock of honey-brown hair, now hanging in loose waves.
“What are you doing here?” Marcellus demanded, shoving his sword back in its sheath.
Alouette shot him an impressively sharp stare. “I am here to fix your mistake.” Her gaze swept across the room. “I warned you that Dymrians have insufferable egos. I warned you that rumors would spread. To insult one is to insult all—especially with your reputation. It was exactly the kind of excuse my father was looking for.”
“You said something about fixing,” Bern said, crossing her arms. “Not a lecture.”
Alouette flicked her eyes to her. Her head tilted in cat-like curiosity, blue eyes twinkling. “Every few months, my father and I visit the Night Market. We splurge, buying from as many vendors as we can. It stimulates the economy. The more money they have, the more they will spend, and the more that comes back to us. You will do it for us this time.” It wasn’t a request, but a demand.
Bern clapped her hands against her mouth and squealed emphatically, all signs of hostility gone. All Thicket felt was dread oozing through her body. She exchanged a wary look with Lotta. “We don’t have any money—”
“It is all taken care of.” Alouette reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out two pouches, both plump with coins.
“Why are you helping us?” Thicket asked.
“Because I think my father’s court is full of prideful old fools. Because I think that when I am queen, I want the wielder of the blue flame on my side, as my ally. Because I believe that your sister is not a simple threat. If you fall, who knows who will be next. I refuse to let male arrogance waste precious blood.”
Thicket held the Princess’ eyes. “Do you really think this will work?”
Alouette shrugged. “Dymrians believe Vindrya abandoned them. To remedy that, give them attention. Show them you are willing to engage. They do not have to know the money came from me. Once they realize their abandonment was not your doing, they will forget all about you and go on despising the next thing.”
Thicket dipped her head. “Thank you, Princess Alouette—”
The Princess of Dymree scoffed. “Please. Drop the formalities.” Her blue eyes glittered. “And don’t thank me, Thicket. I will have need of you yet.”
The Night Market was truly something to see. Dymree was lustrous during the day, coated with a thousand different words to describe its beauty. But at night, the words became song.
Everything was amplified. Sunlight was replaced by firelight, and how it moved made the world glisten in a way the sun could never inspire. Stars twinkled above, watching in joyous harmony, scattered like fragments of the giant moon which hovered above the Golden Mountains, its bottom half concealed by the silhouette of mountain peaks.
The city itself was breathtaking, despite the noise and roil of the packed streets. It was a chaos Thicket could get lost in. Would happily drown in.
Alouette herself escorted them, talking about all the different kinds of shops and treasures they could find. She said that the market opened at sunset, prevailed through the night, and closed at sunrise. Bern nodded along, clearly not surprised by any of the information. Alouette’s eyes gleamed, and her lips flicked up whenever Bern pointed at something in the distance, jumping up and down in an unconfined excitement.
When they reached the entrance to the Night Market, a large wooden arc with flickering orange torches on either side, Bern linked arms with Lotta and Alouette. She shot Thicket and Elian a wink before dragging them into the crowd, leaving Thicket, Elian, and Marcellus alone.
Thicket’s cheeks flared bright red.
“Do you…” Thicket turned to face Elian. His cheeks were also red, and his usually confident blue eyes were downcast. “Do you want to see the Night Market with me?”
Butterflies swirled in her stomach. She opened her mouth to say, of course, but found words were beyond her. She looked away and nodded. Elian grinned, extending his arm out for her. She wrapped her hand around it gingerly, electricity sparking as the warmth of his skin pressed against her palm. She fought against a grin as they let the crowd carry them away like the retreating ocean, Marcellus trailing behind them.
There were dozens and dozens of market stands. Their parcels glowed gold in the light, and paper lanterns were strung from buildings down both sides of the street. The overall effect of the Night Market was enchanting. The food, the hassle, the trinkets, the color. It all blurred seamlessly together in one long happy trail as they waded along, carrying bags and bags of goods, faces sticky with food long devoured.
“We won’t be able to carry this all back to Bilya,” Thicket said when Elian stuffed yet another box of chocolate truffles into one of their bags.
“Nonsense,” he said.
She eyed the bag dedicated to candy, pastries, and other Dymrian foods. “And we won’t be able to finish it all.”
“Thicket—we aren’t supposed to be practical about our purchases. The whole point of this is to make purchases. We are supposed to spend every last drop, remember?” Elian shook the pouch of gold Alouette gave them in emphasis. They had spent what she imagined to be hundreds of dollars, but no matter how many things Elian dumped in their bags, the pouch never seemed to empty.
“I guess… It just feels weird.” She gripped the handles of her bags tighter. “Spending all this money. Does it feel weird to you?”
“We used to do this when I was a child, too,” Elian said, his arm brushing against hers and sending a chill down her spine. “Not as drastic as this, but we would make our rounds.”
She’d forgotten he’d lived a different life. Had forgotten he was a prince—the former crown prince. Then again, she was a princess. What had her life been like growing up in a world where throwing money away like this was nothing out of the ordinary?
“Oh…”
Elian pulled her to a stop, bending his head to meet her gaze. “It always feels weird. But, try to think about how our frivolous spending helps the vendors. The more money we spend, the more they make.” Elian turned his head towards a vendor. His face lit up in a grin. He handed his bags to Marcellus and wound through the crowd towards the stand. Thicket watched him empty a small handful of gold coins into the jeweler’s hand. Wide-eyed, the jeweler handed Elian an item. As Elian made his way back, Thicket saw the jeweler count the coins, make a fist, and press it to his heart. The way he looked at Elian’s retreating figure made her heart melt.
“Here.” Thicket shifted her eyes away from the vendor and to the fist Elian held out for her. “This one is for you.”
As he opened his palm, green light scattered across his skin as the light from the stalls hit the necklace. An emerald necklace.
“Elian, I… I can’t wear something like that.”
“Sure you can.” He grabbed her hand and spun her around so her back was to him. “You are a princess.” Her stomach dipped and twirled as Elian brushed her hair to the side and wrapped the freezing jewels around her neck. “And I am a prince. It is my job to spoil you.” His fingers tickled her skin as he sealed the clasp. She blamed the cold for the shudder. “It reminds me of your eyes,” he whispered into her ear.
She blamed the cold once again for the red of her cheeks. Her kiwi tittered teasingly beside her pounding heart. She looked down at her chest, where the emerald necklace sparkled. It was beautiful. A part of her thought it was too beautiful for her. She wasn’t poised and regal like Alouette. She was awkward and clumsy and bashful. In this necklace, she felt like an imposter. Like a girl playing pretend.
She looked up and found Marcellus staring at her. Her stomach tightened, waiting for the judgement. For the cold, distant gleam. She waited for him to agree with her.
Instead, he was smiling. It was a small smile, light and delicate, as though a whisper of emotion slipped past his defenses. He didn’t even seem to notice it.
She swallowed, legs a bit shaky.
Marcellus’ eyes focused on hers and widened when he saw her staring. The smile fell away and he turned his head, gripping the handle of the leather bags tighter as if he could pretend nothing happened.
But she couldn’t. Despite what he had told her the night before, perhaps he didn’t feel indifferent about her. Perhaps, in his own way, he believed in her. Believed she was the kind of girl who belonged in this life, in this role.
It made the other part of her want to make it true.
“Do you like it?” Elian asked, spinning her to face him.
“Yes,” she said, her chilled breath mingling with his. “Thank you.”
Elian grinned. He walked up to Marcellus and took the bags back from him. She watched the exchange. Marcellus’ cold mask was back on. His eyes slid to hers, as if daring her to say something. Before she could decide whether or not she even wanted to, her nostrils flared. The sharp, acidic scent consumed her. She doubled over, gagging.
In the corner of her eye she watched the bags fall to the floor. Marcellus beat Elian to her. He gripped her shoulders tightly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“The scent…” she gasped. “It’s back.”
Marcellus and Elian exchanged a worried look before the Night Market erupted into screams.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Marcellus tugged Thicket and Elian into the shadows of an alleyway. They managed to escape just before a rush of people flooded the streets, horror painted onto their faces in shades of pale, pale white.
Thicket searched the faces for those of her friends but saw no one she recognized.
What was happening? Where were her friends?
