I BATHED AND DRESSED, TRYING HARD TO IGNORE THE WAY MY REFLECTION
in the brightly lit, pretty pearl-crusted mirror made me feel. The contrast was stark. My eyes had such deep, sorrowful bags that I looked like I had been pummeled. Many, many times. And my cheeks—washed-out, pallid, gaunt. By the time I found it within me to meet Mari on the palace
steps, late afternoon had slipped into early evening.
The sailors in the harbor were anchoring their vessels and ambling into the city center for dinner alongside women dressed in dainty, festive finery. The people here were more beautiful than anyone I had seen in Amber or Onyx. Even Peridot. Unbothered. Relaxed, as if the sunshine and briny waves were enough to make each day worth living, and everything else that happened, good or bad, was simply garnish.
Mari and I strolled through the city at a leisurely pace. I hadn’t realized what a luxury it was to not be fighting for my life. Each vined corner we rounded led to a little plaza or a square doused in sunset shades of blush and gold. Ceramic pottery, aromatic lemongrass and mint leaves, ruby-red grapefruit.
Each café and restaurant—most pressed up against walls of vivid, near- luminous bougainvillea—was accompanied by soft lute music and wafts of garlic, parsley, and thyme. Some narrow passages opened up on one end, giving a peek at the easy waves of the marina, like a slipped-off sleeve of a dress, offering a seductive glimpse to a wanting eye.
The carriages that passed us as we meandered through the streets were impossible to wrap my mind around. Not only because of their elaborate gold filigree and glittery detailing—each hinge and spoke adorned with more opalescent shine than most noblewomen’s necks—but because they weren’t drawn by any horses. Rather, they moved on their own, powered by the mermagic Kane had spoken of. A blue light—an energy of some kind— spinning the wheels like a witch’s spell.
There were more hints of those shimmering, blue rays throughout the town. Subtle, but now I was looking for them—streetlights that glimmered with that single blue flame, an aquamarine glow coming from a cart that seemed to push itself. For a city more vast, more advanced than any I’d seen before, there were no horses, no wells, no aqueducts. Clearly, the energy provided by the sea that insulated Citrine did more than just secure the kingdom.
Eventually, Mari liked the look of one little bustling seafood restaurant and pulled me inside, away from a stuffed, musty bookstore overflowing with pages begging to be read.
She must have been starving.
The owner, a frazzled gentleman with too many customers and not enough help, seated us at a table on a vine-covered patio facing the water with a picturesque view of the golden sun setting over the now-still harbor. Our table was small with a single melting white candle in the center, and we quickly ordered enough food to nearly topple the thing. Squid-ink pasta, chargrilled oysters, roasted heirloom tomatoes—in colors I had never seen, like gold and lime green and rose—and an extraordinary whole grilled fish with the eyeballs still intact served on a plate crafted from a giant clamshell. Then, emboldened by wine, we ordered more. Milky white cheeses and ruby-red beets, and bread that left my fingers oily and salty each time I
ripped a piece off to soak up the watercolor of sauces on my plate.
I had never felt so full in my life.
“If only my papa could see me now,” Mari said, stuffing one last piece of sourdough into her mouth.
I raised a brow. “Eating your weight in fish and bread?”
Mari smiled and pawed at her amulet. “No, with this. He always said I’d be as good a witch as my mother. Since she never got to teach me, and he knew so little about her lineage, I didn’t have the chance to prove him right. But Briar’s the greatest witch to ever live, so maybe her amulet is even better than using my own ancestry. It still makes me feel close to my mother, and I know how strange that sounds.”
“No, not strange at all,” I said, sipping my orange wine. It was fizzy on my tongue, and the soft focus of my mind from a handful of drinks made the conversation I had been avoiding slightly less daunting. I knew how it felt to have the truth withheld by those you thought closest to you. Especially when they had every opportunity to be honest.
I should have told her. Now would have been as good a time as any. But she was so . . . happy. And things were finally, finally not completely awful. At least, not for her. Why strip her of her confidence? She’d likely figure it out herself soon enough. She was so bright . . .
I stored away the new guilt deep in the recesses of my heart, and said only, “Just be careful.”
Mari shook her head and stuffed her mouth with a forkful of flaky white fish. “Careful of what? It’s a blessing, not a curse. I was never able to access a coven growing up. Now I can.”
“How is that possible?”
“Lighte draws from the elements, right? From the very earth and atmosphere and forces it out of your fingers. But magic isn’t like that. It’s not a resource or a tangible plasma or an elixir that can be drained and stolen. Magic is a talent, influenced by a witch’s genetics. The more powerful the witches in your lineage, the more magic you can do. That’s why covens are so strong: they are constantly drawing from one another.”
I tried to soak in what she was saying, but the wine was clouding my mind a bit. As if she could read my puzzled expression, she sighed and leaned closer.
“Think of it like this: Your lighte is like a bowl collecting rain. There can be too much during a heavy storm, or barely a drop in a dry climate. That difference depends on your energy, emotions, and state of mind. The rain
can be taken from the bowl and bottled or stored, traded or drunk, and on and on. It’s a resource, a reserve, and it lives within you. And after you’ve used the rain you’ve collected, you have to wait for more rain to replenish that bowl. My magic is like playing the lute. It’s a skill. I can get tired, sure, but it never depletes. I’m likely to be a strong lute player if my mother, and her mother, and her mother before her was, too. And when I pull from other witches and their lineage, I’m not just one lute player, I’m an orchestra.”
I shook my head. “How do you know all this?” Mari only scoffed. “You really are drunk.”
Right. Surely she had spent every free moment since I told her of the Fae three weeks ago studying and discussing with anyone who would give her the time of day.
Maybe she was right, and the amulet was real. What did Kane know anyway? I had no energy to argue. “Can you still take the time to research your own line of power? Harness your skill without it? Maybe you can learn the craft bit by bit instead of relying so heavily on—”
“Arwen, why would I do things the harder, slower way when I have a direct line to Briar Creighton? Any other witch who had this opportunity would do the same.”
Anxiety bubbled up beneath my skin. The oils and vinegars of our dinner rumbled in my stomach and I shifted against the chair beneath me. “Witchcraft isn’t meant to be simple. You’re supposed to learn, and make mistakes. It’s necessary. It’s natural. It’s . . .”
“I think that’s what people who make a lot of mistakes tell themselves,” Mari said distractedly, sponging up some seafood remnants on her plate with the last few bites of oily bread. “Now, why haven’t you told me about this prince yet?” She lowered one brow at me with impish delight.
“How do you know about that?”
“I just heard some palace gossip that you two had a moment.”
Leave it to Mari to be in Azurine for less than a day and already have more inside information than the city’s actual residents.
The wine was zingy and sharp on my tongue as I downed my glass and tried to remember what Mari had asked me. “There’s nothing to tell. I ran
into him on my run. He’s very pretty.” “Are you blushing?!”
“I don’t think so.” It was the wine that was coursing in my veins and reddening my cheeks. “What even counts as a moment?”
“A charged tension between you. A zap of energy when you touch.”
It only made me think of Kane, and I raised my wineglass before realizing it was empty and setting it back down. “What about you?” I asked. “You know Griffin stares at you every time you’re within ten feet of him?”
“Yeah.” She snorted, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “He’s so sensitive and romantic, that one.”
“Fair enough,” I said, harsher than I intended. “They’re all bastards, aren’t they?”
Mari noticed my change in mood and took a big gulp of her wine before trying and failing to flag down the harried restaurant owner for more. “Don’t let one liar stop you from trusting men altogether.”
Watching the man dash back into the restaurant’s kitchen, Mari huffed and uttered a low hum. She focused her gaze on the cup until it filled nearly to the brim with orange wine.
“Mari,” I whispered, leaning closer. “Isn’t that stealing?” I looked around. The pilfered spirit had to have come from somewhere. Sure enough, the glasses of one glitzy, distracted table to our left drained as ours refilled while they sat, engrossed in their friends’ storytelling.
“It’s fine,” she assured me, taking a deep swallow. “They didn’t even notice.”
The spirit swishing on my tongue was enough to replace my ethical concerns with gratitude.
“So you say Kane’s a liar, but you make sobering potions for him and drink until the wee hours with him and his friends?”
Mari cringed. “We all grew closer on the journey. But I will gladly never talk to him again if you’d prefer.”
“I’d never ask that of you. I want you to have other friends when I’m . . .” I had to stop doing that. I could hear how depressing I was to be around.
“Hey,” Mari said, stern. “Whatever happens. Nobody could replace you.”
I blinked against the burning behind my eyes. “And you can’t think that way.” She tutted. “Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“It’s not over until it’s over. Aren’t you supposed to be the positive one?”
I laughed—a bitter, tipsy snort. “I can’t fight it, so why try? That isn’t positive enough for you?”
Mari shook her head, not quite as amused. It almost seemed as if my words had offended her. “How can you say that? You don’t have to be so compliant. It’s a really awful thing that you’ve learned.”
I sighed. “It is what it is.”
“Have you given any more thought to my offer?”
On the ship, Mari had offered to research my true parentage. She figured now that my Fae history was no longer a secret, Dagan might help her hunt down some Fae texts.
If we ever made it back to Shadowhold to see him again.
“I don’t really know what the point would be,” I said, not sullenly.
I had made peace with never knowing my father years ago. I hoped I could do the same with my mother. Whoever they had been, clearly they hadn’t wanted me in the first place. Or, worse, had enough reason to give me up against their will. And now—
Well, it didn’t really matter now, did it?
“Speaking of Fae,” I remembered, “the prince knows about the Fae Realm. He knew what Kane was.”
“Interesting . . .” Mari’s eyes widened. “I wonder if the whole royal family does. They did agree to wed their daughter to Kane. Maybe it was a political move. Not just for power over Evendell but the Fae Realm as well.”
Given Queen Isolde’s ferocity, I didn’t put it past her. She likely valued her political dominance as much as her daughter’s pride.
“Maybe I’ll ask the prince myself,” I said, raising my chin.
“I think you should.” She grinned back at me.
For a moment we sipped our pilfered wine contentedly as we listened to the ambient sounds of the restaurant. The mild notes of a flute, the clinking of glasses, and the chatter of merry patrons. Just beyond the patio, Azurine citizens laughed and chatted as they strolled with no haste along the still- warm cobblestones, taking in the dappled cerulean light. And in the distance, those constant waves lapped softly against a restful shore.
“So, what now?” I asked, rubbing at my sated stomach. Thank the Stones for the light cotton dress that hung off me like a luxurious sheet. I would have burst through a corset.
“I suppose we have to go back and sleep. We did say only dinner . . .” Mari’s grin held only mischief.
I pressed my mouth to my glass to suppress my laugh. The wine was buzzing in my mind and legs, the city alive all around me. I wanted to drown in it. To be someone else, just for an evening. Mari had been right: getting out had helped, if only slightly. Like cheesecloth over a stab wound. “No, no. You’ve sold me. I’m in for the ride. Where to now?”
“Dancing! Dessert? Both!” She stood up and grabbed my hand, leaving a handful of coin on the table and pulling us out down a narrow street lined with potted lemon trees.
 |
THE AFTER–DINNER CROWD WAS EVEN MORE LIVELY. THEY POPPED IN AND
dipped out of stores, cafés, and taverns, carrying small baskets stuffed with wine and candles and fruit.
We strolled alongside them into parlors flooded with sweets—I was too full to even look at the sugary morsels—and shops replete with leather goods that smelled like pine and citrus. Azurine was filled with more life, more sound, more energy than anywhere else I had ever been.
Turning down a white cobblestone road lit in watery shafts of mermagic streetlight, we heard the rhythmic beat of gentle drums and string instruments.
“This way.” Mari drew me through a tavern door, into heat and noise and joy—a jostling throng of revelers dancing and singing, as if they were one sweaty, euphoric mass—and plunged us into the depths before I could object.
Wafts of vanilla and lemon fought for dominance against a heavy fog of sweat and spilled liquor. But the beat took control of my hips and feet, swaying my body and clearing my mind. It was like running—the more I danced, the less I could think or worry. Only this time, the harmonious, rising music succeeded in drowning everything out.
The vibrations of the strings silenced my mind, the lyrics of the bard filled the chasm in my soul. Handsome men with glistening chests and hair glued to their foreheads with sweat twirled and dipped me, cheering and chanting for me to move more sensually, display my body, spin for them— and I did. I allowed myself to be swallowed up by their revelry for hours, until it was well past midnight. Until time slowed to a rolling yawn. Until my hair was a damp mess around my face, my dress had torn, and my feet screamed at me in agony—blisters already blossomed, popped, and peeled.
Still, I danced.
The pleasurable swell in my feet and legs welcome, I writhed and shined and shimmered under the torches that filled the room, singing to the folk songs I knew and the ballads I didn’t until my lungs burned. Roared at me. Begged for reprieve.
But I couldn’t stop. I moved to the pulsing sounds of the band, the rhythmic beat, the ocean I swore I could still feel lapping in the harbor outside, glittering and kissed by the moonlight. I wanted to be gobbled up by it all. I’d simply never leave.
“I can’t dance a minute longer!” Mari shouted over the drumbeat. “No, let’s stay!”
“What?” she screamed, her face pink and shining with sweat. “I don’t want to go back!” I yelled again.
“A snack?”
Bleeding Stones.
“Come on,” Mari shouted, dragging me toward the exit and squeezing past men and women clambering to push in farther toward the center of it all, deeper, louder—to be fused together with all the others. Made whole.
We stumbled out of the tavern door onto the now mostly empty street. My dress was sodden with sweat and clinging to me, and I lifted my hair off my neck to cool down.
“That was spectacular,” I confessed. “My ears feel like I’m underwater.” “Same here,” slurred Mari. The river of ale she drank while we danced
glazed her words, while my Fae nature had sobered me up all too quickly.
“Come on, let’s get you home.” I tucked my arm around her waist and walked her back down toward the palace.
“What about the snack?”
“Really? It’s likely one in the morning. Will anything even be open?” “Of course, Arwen. It’s Azurine!”
“You say that like you didn’t just arrive here today.”
“Let’s go find a lemon custard!” And with that, she gave me the slip, teetering down the street, and swinging open the nearest café door.
“Oh, Stones,” I said to nobody in particular, sliding my sandals off with a wince. The cool street felt divine on my swollen, bare feet. Unsanitary and divine.
This quiet café was nothing like the lively spot we had just abandoned. There were only two other patrons, a couple in the corner lit by the flickering candle dripping onto their table, whispering and eliciting soft murmurs from one another. One lone barkeep stood behind the counter, and Mari was already perched on a stool before him, digging into a creamy lemon dessert.
I sat down beside her. “Happy?” “Thrilled,” she said, mouth full.
“Anything for you, beautiful?” The barkeep’s eyelids seemed propped open with effort, as he clearly struggled to stay awake through the late hour. “I’ll take one, too.” I pointed to Mari’s decadent treat, which she was currently struggling to lick off her arm as it slid toward her elbow. “Let me
help you, come here.”
“Don’t you dare!”
A male voice, ragged with distress, rang out into the café. The barkeep kept his head down. That thunderous voice had come from somewhere in the back, behind him. I did a quick scan of the room, but there was nobody else in the place besides the amorous couple, who were now looking up, spooked.
The voice called out again. “I’m begging you, please—don’t do this!”
Mari’s eyes met mine, filled with concern. “It’s fine. Stay here.”
“I’m not staying anywhere,” she said, face paling. “We should go.” Mari scrambled off her stool, taking the half-eaten custard with her. “Hurry.”
“Please! I’ll do anything!”
I whirled again, my heart finally starting to patter lightly.
“Please!”
The outline of a door stood out to me, concealed with the same sage paint as the back wall. I didn’t think before hopping over the counter in one swift motion, barely grazing glass bottles and sliced lemons.
“I can’t let you go back there, miss—” The barkeep tried to cut me off, but I dodged him, pushing my way toward that voice raw with fear.
“Arwen!” Mari screamed.
“No!” The voice was frantic, pleading.
“You must know these are the rules.”
Did I recognize that velvety answering tone? I threw the door open with a thud, bracing myself for the very worst.
