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The Great Hall was as grand as the capital letters implied, all gilt edges and polished marble floors that were slippery as hell and even harder than they looked which Ari found out when someone pushed her from behind. She slid three inches on her hands and knees before she finally skidded to a stop.
"Will you watch it?" She glared at Heinrich over one shoulder. She had no proof it was him but it didn't matter. He'd dragged her all over the city and to the Guard barracks to report her as a spy before trotting her to several different offices so they could all record her presence on a variety of different forms. Somewhere along the line they had added shackles to make things even more uncomfortable for her. No one had offered her shoes. Her happy breakfast pajamas were now ruined. Some stains were forever.
The whole thing would have been cause for concern if it hadn't had a certain familiar feel to it. Getting caught in a hunter's net on her first arrival in Callaria hadn't been much better. Rope burn, the gift that kept on giving.
"We've brought the fake for you, Your Excellence," said the second guard who had joined their journey around the same time as the shackles. She hadn't caught his name yet. Whoever he was, he must outrank Heinrich if he got to announce her.
Ari climbed back to her feet with an effort and a great deal of swearing.
The head of the room was populated with an uneven line of servants carrying a steady stream of official looking papers or trays laden with tools that Ari didn't recognize. While she waited a servant glided past with a carafe of something that smelled strong and herbal. So strong it made her nose tingle a bit. They set it on the table, pouring and passing cups first to a man standing over a table covered in even more papers, and then to the two robed people standing just behind him. The one on the left, a girl with a thick black braid and a hood shading her eyes, refused with a barely visible shake of her head. The other, a darker skinned boy who had been glancing in Ari's direction since she entered, smiled gratefully as he accepted, immediately holding out his drained cup for more.
At Ari's announcement, the man standing between them waved off the interruption before returning to his contemplation of the orb in his hand. It pulsed in a hypnotic way, first yellow, then blue, then a flickering green, before beginning the color shift over again. Strange but pretty. She might have been entranced by it if not for the realization of whose hands clutched the magic glowy thing.
"Virgil?"
His head snapped up. The light in the orb fizzled and died away.
Virgil had aged well. He'd always had a sly, foxy kind of face, sun browned, with a wide mouth and dark eyes brimming with secrets. That hadn't changed. If anything, age had sharpened his features, whittling them down to the shrewd bedrock that had always hidden beneath. And, though he was as tall as ever, he'd lost some of his gangly thinness. Now there was a solid breadth to his shoulders to match the ridiculous height he'd already possessed. Also gone were the whisper soft curls of hair she remembered. His hair, a deep burgundy that faded into gold at the tips, was longer now, down past his shoulders, and partially pulled into a complicated braid at the back of his head that must've taken at least two sets of hands to accomplish. The color was still so vivid it was almost cartoonish. The charms and beads woven into his braids gave a faint clack that carried across the expanse of the Great Hall when he moved.
"Oh my god, Virgil," Ari repeated, eyes still running over him. Seeing Virgil swept away the last trace of surreality. There was no denying the truth when he was right there, changed and yet exactly the same.
"I don't believe it." Virgil's voice echoed in the cavernous room. Age had deepened it into a mellow baritone. It was the kind of voice that said it was used to being heard and obeyed. No trace of the cracking of puberty or the stuttering of indecision. Not like before.
He waved a hand to disperse the people scattered around him before he came forward, stepping around a high backed chair that had probably been meant for his use, trailing robes like spilled wine. The guardsmen bracketing her stiffened at his approach, but she heard the little clinks and shuffles of them fidgeting. "You're dismissed."
"But the impostor, Your Excellence—"
Virgil snorted and it was so like him that Ari laughed. "She's no fake, you fools. Now get back to your duties. Unless you're so carefree that you need a nice long task to occupy yourselves with. I'm sure I could arrange something. Perhaps an errand to Jarmila."
They both blanched at that and scurried away. The enormous doors slammed behind them with a thunderclap bang.
"You could've gotten them to take off my new jewelry first," Ari said after they'd gone. She rattled the chains on her wrists. At least her future as a Dickens ghost was secure.
"They suit you, don't you think? Are you sure you wouldn't rather keep them?" Virgil's eyebrows rose slightly.
"I'm good. Thanks."
"Very well. If you insist." With a flick of one hand, the metal shackles snapped open and fell at her feet, narrowly missing her toes. They were heavy enough that it would have hurt.
Ari rubbed her chafed wrists. "I always get the nicest welcome parties when I come here. Really. I love being chased across fields. It really gets the blood pumping. But I like what you've done with the place. It's nice. A little gaudy for my taste, but still nice."
She lifted her eyes to the vaulted ceiling painted and tiled in a million different colors, some of which she had no name for. It wasn't a mural so much as a rainbow of swirling hues that made her feel simultaneously nauseous and soothed. As though a hundred god-like eyes were trained on her, only camouflaged by the shifting colors. There hadn't been an opportunity for sightseeing last time so this was Ari's first tour of the interior of the castle. Also her first chance to take in the grandiosity of the place without all the running and screaming. If this was a dream, she had a better imagination than she'd ever given herself credit for.
Pillars ran the length of the Great Hall, cutting it into three even slices. The side segments of the room were shadowy and candlelit despite the sun shining outside, throwing bright slashes of light through the dozens of narrow windows at the head of the room. Small, circular windows cut into the ceiling between colored tiles let in additional spears of light. The overall effect was stunning. Different from what little she remembered. Her memories of before were dark and grim, but it was hard to say if that was nostalgia recoloring everything like an old photo or how it had actually been. The same with Virgil. How much of her memory of him was real and how many of the changes she saw were things that had always been there but gone unnoticed?
"You're looking... well." Virgil's gaze swept her from tangled head to dirty foot. "Now, Ari, don't think I'm not pleased to see you, but what brings you here? It's been decades since you left us. We didn't expect to see you in the kingdom again. Not in my lifetime at any rate."
"I wasn't exactly expecting it either, Virgil. I went to bed. I woke up in a field. I was kind of hoping you'd be able to tell me what I'm doing here because I'm drawing a blank."
"You didn't wish?"
She shook her head.
"Or touch a relic?"
"No, Virgil."
"Are you absolutely sure? Not even by accident?"
"No, Virgil. I didn't do it. I figured someone here did." Ari didn't say Cylian's name but maybe it showed on her face because Virgil nodded. Something in his expression shifted. Instead of considering it, she plucked at her flannel pants leg. "If it was my choice I would've worn something a little more conducive to hiking. Not my pajamas."
Virgil's brow furrowed as he rubbed a hand over his chin. Still no beard, Ari noted. With his voluminous robes and magic hands she always expected him to have a beard. Something long and shot with white. Maybe plaited into intricate braids to match his hair. Granted, when they'd first met he'd barely been seventeen and a full beard was out of his reach. But now... His chin was as smooth as ever. A wizard without a beard seemed like a terrible waste.
"I have a few theories—but I won't trouble you with them until I have something more conclusive to offer," he hurried on before she could interrupt. "I would have you tell me everything you remember of your crossing first. Unless of course you would prefer to bathe and change into some fresh clothing instead of your... are those eggs with faces on your trousers?" He looked momentarily alarmed.
"Yes, they are. And the explanation is going to be really short. Like I said, I went to bed. I slept like shit. I woke up here. There. Done. Oh, and yesterday before I went to bed I heard Cylian's voice calling me. Or I thought I did. It was spooky as hell. Where is Cylian anyway? And why is everyone acting so weird? What is going on?"
"I don't suppose I could convince you to take that bath before we discuss this?" Before she could answer, he'd snapped his fingers and a servant had appeared like another one of his magic tricks.
"If you're implying that I stink, I already noticed that while I was tromping all over the damn place and I'm fresh out of shame." She folded her arms over her chest. "That's a no," she clarified after a moment when he continued to stare at her blankly.
She was a little tempted to sniff herself just in case she smelled worse than she thought but pride wouldn't let her. Virgil was stalling and she wanted to know why. This was no time for personal hygiene concerns.
They stared at each other in silence. If there had been a clock it might have ticked loudly and conspicuously to mark the time.
Finally Virgil slumped, as much as he was capable of slouching now. He stood like he had a five-foot pole jammed up his ass. That was new. This new Virgil had more in common with the wizened staff he'd left leaning against the table behind him than he did with his adventure giddy younger self. His hand went to his face, covering it like a mask. He waved the servant away. "See to our guest's room. I will escort her there when we've concluded our business."
The servant, a young woman in the muted colors of the castle livery, made a snappy bow and retreated as silently as she'd arrived.
"You have them trained within an inch of their lives, don't you?" Ari asked.
A flicker of amusement crossed his features before it too was spirited away like the rest of his personality. He presented his arm to her. "I will explain while we walk. There are too many ears in the Hall for my liking."
"It looks empty."
"It's meant to."
She put her arm through his, the first brush against his heavy robes bringing up the scent of herbs and smoke, as she set her hand lightly on his forearm and let him steer her away. It felt strange but also exactly right. The cool, smooth stone of the floor was a relief after hours of walking over unevenly paved streets but every step still made her feet burn. Checking for blisters was going to be an adventure later on.
The servant had gone out through the main doors, but Virgil led her deeper into the room to another door partially hidden behind two pillars. The edges of the frame melded so perfectly with the ornamentation on the surrounding wall that it was nearly invisible. She could have walked past it ten times without noticing. Virgil worked the catch with a brush of his fingers and the door sprang open. The passage beyond was dim and unadorned.
Ari grinned. "Very sneaky."
"I try."
Virgil closed the secret door after them and they walked in silence for a minute more before Ari cleared her throat. "So are you going to tell me what's going on or are we supposed to play Twenty Questions until I can guess?"
"You know I don't know what that is," he said dryly.
"But you know what I mean anyway. Context clues, Virgil. What's going on?"
He took another drawn out breath, looking straight ahead as he spoke. "Something has happened. The King, Cylian, is unwell, and has been for some time. But you mustn't share this information with anyone else. It's vitally important. No one is to know, do you understand?"
Unwell.
The way he said it made her instantly uneasy. "Unwell how exactly?"
He stopped his dramatic striding and turned to her, bending low to hiss, "He's been cursed, Ari." His mouth twisted on the word, as if he was trying to say something else but the word had slithered away from him.
"Cursed how? Is he all right? How did it happen?" If she'd learned anything at all, it was that magic was generally a pain in the ass. For all the good it was possible to do, it was just as easy—if not easier—to ruin things in a hundred new and innovative ways with it. Curses were the worst since their nature was to harm, but that didn't mean they were all equal. A curse of truth was nowhere near as dire as one of constant hunger. Curses were a matter of magnitude and intent. Maybe he'd only gotten a little curse, something that would heal on its own. A curse wasn't automatically the end of the world. She searched for comfort in Virgil's face but it was blank. "Can you fix him?"
"He isn't a broken toy," Virgil said with a chuckle that sounded more mocking than anything. "It's a sleeping curse. These are not normally overly problematic but this one—it's different."
She'd had a sense of foreboding before but the word 'different' quadrupled it. "Different how?"
Silence followed them down another turn of the passage. Virgil put a hand to the wall, one palm sliding over the smooth stone until he found whatever secret catch he was looking for. He didn't press it. He didn't look at her either.
Virgil had always been an uncomfortable starer, blatant and tactless. Once upon a time, she had relied on it. When everyone else would waffle and try to spare her feelings, he had charged merrily forward, heedless of the reaction his words might cause. For a moment, she allowed herself to hope that ten plus years had changed him substantially, dulling his sharp edges, because the alternative scared her.
"Cylian is much changed. Callaria is changed. This is not the same world you left, Ari. You need to understand that. Just as I presume your time away has left you equally changed. We aren't the people we once knew. Still, as King's Champion you were always in Cylian's confidence before and I would not rob you of that. Perhaps you will wish I had. By telling you the full measure of these things, you're made a party to them. People will have expectations of you. I will have expectations of you. Are you sure you wish me to confide in you knowing all that?"
"Different how?" she repeated, enunciating each word. "You're freaking me out. You can't just say all those things and then not explain."
"It's a delicate matter," he snipped out irritably. The look he shot her was caustic. "This curse is very intricate. It isn't formed of Callarian magic at all. I've tried to undo it and so far all it has earned me is a blistered burn and a number of increasingly painful headaches neither of which I recommend. Do you understand what it is that I'm telling you?"
"It might help if you actually said it."
He sighed. "It's grey magic, Ari. Not Callarian. Grey."
The only thought she could form was, "Shit."
Grey magic meant the Iron King and she would rather not think about him, or anything that came from him, ever again. In fact, she had spent the better part of the last fifteen years trying very hard not to think of him and it would be a shame to ruin that record now.
"Now, now. You needn't worry. No one will expect you to leap back into service immediately. As it stands, I'm the only one who is aware of your identity. No one else has any reason to suspect you. This is an advantage that we can use."
"How did it happen?"
"Excuse me?"
"How. Was Cylian. Cursed? Who did it to him? Have you caught them?" She latched onto the sleeve of Virgil's robes, fingers twisting into the fabric. It was velvety soft. Of course it was. He'd always dreamed of finer things. It was so like him she could cry.
"It was an artifact from the great war, we think. He'd been down in the vaults, playing at nostalgia again as he does lately. It's become an unfortunate habit. The curse must have been laid on the piece years ago and when he touched it, that was enough to activate it. I don't know how it made it into the collection undetected in the first place but everything happened so quickly back then. I was still practically in my primers."
He pulled his sleeve from her grip and smoothed it, looking troubled. "In a way it was a terribly clever trap spell. The dagger was found with him and the spellwork on it was so intricate I could take years unraveling it all. There are spells upon spells layered into the metal and I can't even tell you what some of them are meant to do, they're that obscure. Especially when one considers the differences in magic systems. Their crafter is frankly... of terrifying skill."
"And? Who made it?"
He made a moue of annoyance as though he had forgotten she was there. Which he definitely had. She knew that look. There was nothing Virgil loved so much as magical theory. And talking about it. For hours. At least one thing hadn't changed.
He folded arms swathed in yards of fine velvet and frowned at her. "I rather thought you'd guessed by now."
"No." A chill crept through her, starting at the toes and then working its way up until Ari's fingers cracked like ice.
"It was the Iron King's personal dagger. And it shouldn't have been sitting on a shelf like a bag of dried beans. It should have been in a cell with three foot walls and no door."
"The Iron King. He's back?"
"He never left. He's in the dungeons even now."
He said more after that but Ari heard none of it. Because she didn't know magic but she knew the Iron King. And if it was the Iron King's curse laid on Cylian he was worse than dead, he was unreachable, and they were all in a world of trouble.
***
THEY WALKED THE REST of the way to her room in silence and Virgil left her to get washed up and changed. Her pajamas were beyond saving. The cuff of the shirt had caught on the shackles and frayed. She didn't even want to think about what the red-brown stain on her left pant leg was. It might be rust. Or it might be something she was better off not knowing about. Not great odds.
She tossed her pajamas in a corner and stepped into the steaming metal tub that had been set up for her in front of the unlit fireplace. Her bed chamber could have doubled as a decent sized garage. The ten foot ceiling was hung with a witch light chandelier that flickered yellow and lavender and fluttered with ribbons and frosted glass ornaments shaped like leaves. A bare stone wall surrounded the fireplace, the stones dark with age and old soot, but patterned blue paper covered the others. And the bed. The bed was yacht-sized and four posted, with curtains as heavy as Virgil's velvet robes. The kind of thing that could swallow her whole.
Being in the castle again was an adjustment. The scale of everything here was bigger than she was used to, even the problems.
As the heat of the water seeped into her aching muscles, the rest of Virgil's explanation slowly seeped into her brain.
She'd never given much thought to the fate of the Iron King after they had defeated him. She hadn't wanted to. They'd done battle, bested him in combat, dethroned him. Beyond that... she had never let herself consider what it all meant in real world terms, hadn't wanted to think that the friends whom she trusted with her life might also have a hand in putting the Iron King to death. In defeat he simply ceased to exist. Neatly. Cleanly. Blamelessly. But this wasn't a game. He wasn't a boss made out of pixels that faded away as the last strike fell. The Iron King was flesh. And if what Virgil had said was true (and it must be) the Iron King was alive.
Maybe it was a bit of a relief to hear that he hadn't been executed at all. Her friends hadn't murdered him. Because even if it was a war her brain still refused to think of it as anything else. Death was death. Only now, years later, did she feel how close it had been to them all. Death, tracing a line across their hearts like a finger dragged through frost on a window.
The memory of the Iron King's eyes, of standing before him in anticipation and fear, roiled within her. He terrified her. And as she grew closer to Virgil and Cylian and Naiah their feelings had become her own. Their fear. Their anger. But she had barely had enough time to hate him personally. Specifically. She'd walked into a war already in progress and she'd chosen a side, but it could so easily have gone another way. If he had found her first she could have been with him. She would have believed any lie he fed her. Alone and lost. Helpless. Stranded a world away from anything she knew. Things could have been so much different. If.
Ari closed her eyes and groaned.
She might have died with him.
She might have died by his hand.
She might still.
But that small unreasonable chip of her heart was still glad they hadn't killed the Iron King. Not that the alternative was necessarily better.
Her gaze dropped to the floor. The innocuous and faded blue tile concealing the truth that lay far below in the core of the castle and the labyrinth of the dungeons. The Iron King was there. Not vanished. Not dead. He lurked somewhere in the dark and sooner or later she would have to face him again. Even the steaming water couldn't stop the chill that shivered through her. He still lived.
At least his continued existence meant that they might have a chance of unraveling the spell on Cylian. Not that anyone had been able to get answers from him thus far. Virgil said he had tried. There must have been others. Before or since. None of it had worked. Virgil didn't have to say the words for Ari to know that he wanted her to try her hand at it next.
The thought terrified her in ways that words could never express.
The water was cold by the time she dragged herself out and went in search of the clothes that had been left for her.
A dress in forest green with gold braiding and laces up the front had been laid out over the bed. It looked more like something Virgil would wear than something meant for her. It had the same sort of sweeping cut as his robes and looked several inches too long. She sighed. Later, she would find pants, assuming she stuck around long enough to need them. Ari only stepped on the hem twice while she was getting into it and that was an impressive accomplishment as far as she was concerned.
She checked herself in the mirror.
Most of the people she'd met in Callaria tended toward the tall and willowy type, especially Virgil, so she'd been worried about the fit since she was more of the short and chubby variety but it was all right. Loosening up the laces made it fit like it was designed for her and the skirt swirled prettily around her legs when she did a quick spin which made up for the fact that they dragged at every other time. Her hair on the other hand was still a mess of fluffy waves around her face. She patted down the short dark strands, attacking them with the comb from the vanity with minimal success. Virgil would have to deal with her this way. They couldn't all be perfectly styled and elegant with teams of servants at their beck and call. Who knew how many servants Virgil had to help him dress. Or did he use magic? All those complicated braids looked like the work of magic. What had happened to the gawky teenager who had been her friend?
The memory of their first meeting had always been a fond one. Virgil had appeared, all sticks and angles like a newborn foal, running across the square with a stolen book of spells clutched under his arm and a trio of armed guards close behind. They'd been more alike then, he and Ari. Both of them a little lost and too stubborn for their own good. They'd ended up running away together and hiding in trees the rest of that day, barely escaping the persistent library guards. It wasn't until the next night in their makeshift camp when Virgil opened the book that she understood why they'd been so dogged in their pursuit. And so heavily armed. They'd gotten little sleep that night, not after Virgil accidentally set the forest on fire with a misused spell.
She smiled down at her hands as she tugged the bodice of the dress straight again. She had no idea how many times she had done it already but creases were starting to set into the fabric from her constant plucking. Ari forced her hands down to her sides.
She hadn't been this nervous in years.
Virgil was right. Things had changed. He had changed. No doubt Cylian, asleep but alive, was also changed from what she remembered. But she had changed too, in some ways that she wasn't altogether happy with. Seeing Virgil again had been like aiming a spotlight at all those differences in herself.
There was a time she had thought she was special. This place had made her feel that way, like she was meant to be someone bigger, better, grander than she'd ever imagined she was capable of. She'd felt it in her bones. Then Ari had gone home to the same problems she'd been running from in the first place and realized she was still the same small person she'd always been, just one with memories that didn't belong. Dreams that were too big for her. Too big to be real. Eventually she'd let herself forget because that was easier than pining for what she had lost. She couldn't do that again. Wouldn't. Which meant she had to get out of this place and quickly, before she lost an even larger piece of her heart this time.