The bed was on fire.
Nova was kicking and screaming, but her limbs were tied down to the posts and the linens were blazing, her clothes right along with them. The entire mattress below her was an eruption of flame, but she could not get away. Nor was she burning. And beyond her watering eyes and the billowing clouds of smoke filling the room, she could see the face of Prince Cassius, cast in an eerie glow by the yellow-orange blaze.
He was smiling.
He knew.
He knew.
“Nova. Nova.” She came awake gasping, and bolted upright on the bed, surprised when her limbs came up easily at the slightest jerk. Only Jinx’s quick reflexes kept their heads from colliding.
“You are safe,” Jinx assured her over Nova’s fast, gulping breaths. “You were beginning to make noise. I did not want to bring in the guards.”
Nor did Nova. She was grateful that they had largely been left alone the last few days. She had even managed to relax some in the daytime. But she had little control over where her mind wandered during the night, and it never failed to venture toward the worst of scenarios.
Jinx reached out, and Nova jerked backward before the other witch’s hand could land on her arm where it had been heading. “Don’t,” she said. “I am not under control.”
Jinx tilted her head, those large eyes of hers seeing too much. “Is that a common occurrence for you?”
Nova closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, on the in-and-out, the way her body moved and expanded. Each time she released a breath and her chest lowered, she imagined the fire being pushed deeper and deeper from the surface of her skin. When it was buried enough that she felt safe, she opened her eyes and looked at Jinx again.
“All is well.”
The earth witch maneuvered her way onto the foot of the bed, and Nova pulled up her legs to make room. Jinx sat with her legs crossed, her hands hooked around her knees. She looked less ferocious this way, with her feet bare and the entirety of her body folded up into a surprisingly small knot.
“Can you explain to me what happened there?” Jinx asked.
“It was nothing. I had a nightmare. Sometimes my nerves get the best of me, and when they do, the fire inside rises up. It does not know how to tell the difference between true danger, and the dangers of my unsettled mind.”
“So if I had touched you…”
“I might have burned you. I am not sure. Better not to take the chance.”
“I imagine that is how you have had to live much of your life here. Not taking any chances.”
Nova shrugged. “At least I had a life here. I could have been caught back in Taraanar or any number of times since then. It was a miracle each day I sat in that cell and did not set the entire place alight.”
“Perhaps you should have.”
Nova shook her head hard.
“You don’t understand what is inside me. You, your gift is about creation and balance and beauty. Mine is destruction. It is death. Even if it had gotten me free, it likely would have hurt many who did not deserve it in the process. I do not let it out, not ever if I can help it. Every time I do, it only brings worse things upon me and those I care about.”
“Surely you cannot resist it completely,” Jinx said. “I let out trace amounts of earth magic without even trying. It’s a natural reaction anytime I am close to the natural element. I feed off the earth and plants and the trees, and they off of me. I suppose with fire, you are not surrounded as constantly, but I assume you have the same natural propulsion as I.”
“I am drawn to it, of course. And the flames do rise closer to the surface when I am near natural fire. Also when I am agitated or emotional, as I said. But I have become quite practiced at burying the magic deep enough that I have at least some control.”
“Burying it?”
“Yes,” Nova answered. “It is the only way to be completely safe. I do my best to avoid contact with people, but sometimes the soldiers do not give me any choice. I need as many barriers between my magic and my skin as possible to keep from burning them.”
“So you do not touch anyone. Ever?”
“I have. It is just easier if I don’t.”
“But you shook my hand. I have touched you several times since then, and you said nothing.”
Nova felt an unfamiliar heat creeping up her cheeks. She checked her magic, but the flames were still safely locked away. It had nothing to do with that.
“I think it is different with other magic users. I was always more comfortable with contact with Aurora too, but I did not understand why. I thought it was because we were friends, and I simply trusted myself never to hurt her.”
“That could still be it. Magic is intuitive. It is a part of you. When engaged correctly it should flow according to your desires and intentions, not against them.”
“Perhaps that is how your magic works, but not mine. It has always been the monster in the depths, wreaking havoc no matter how I try to control it.”
Jinx peered at her, and Nova had to fight not to squirm under her attention. “You are so afraid of yourself.”
Nova smiled sadly. “You would be too if you knew the damage I could do. I saw a man’s face burn before my eyes when I was naught but a child, all because he had frightened me, and my magic did what it does best. My child’s brain reached out for help, as if seeking out a household pet for a protector, but I came back bound to a dragon instead.”
“Flare-ups happen to every magic user. It is difficult to find the right balance.”
“I cannot afford flare-ups,” Nova said, struggling not to let her voice rise in the dark room, lest she bring the guards upon them.
“Pushing your powers down as if they do not exist will not prevent them. It will likely only make flare-ups more common. You have to find balance between your body and the magic.”
“And how am I to do that?” Nova said, clutching her fingers into desperate fists.
Jinx held up a hand, palm up. “Let me teach you.”
“Here?” Nova asked, aghast. “You want to teach me magic, here?”
“I want to teach you balance and trust. You will never control your magic if you cannot trust it.”
“Then I will never have control, because I cannot envision a world where I can trust what is inside me, where I can trust a brain and a body that always seems to betray me.”
The earth witch must have lost her patience, for rather than continuing to offer her hand, she reached out and placed it on top of Nova’s balled fist. Spine straightening, Nova froze, but like before, her magic stayed dormant in response to the other witch’s touch.
Jinx said, “I know you feel impossibly alone. And I cannot pretend to know what it is you have suffered. But at the heart of every human there is a secret or a lie. Sometimes those secrets are inherited through no choice of our own, like yours and mine and even Aurora’s. Sometimes we pile on lies for survival. Or sometimes we are given a lie by someone else, and we hold it tight, try to turn it into the truth, even though deep down we know it for what it is. I have a friend who thinks he does not deserve happiness, that all there is to life is danger and the fine line between life and death. It is a lie, but he has lived with it so long that he has convinced himself it is the truth. I think your magic is much the same. You had a horrid experience in your youth, and it convinced you your magic is something to be feared, which is a truth. But it should not be yours. Magic makes you strong, it makes you whole. That fire was given to you for a reason, because it is meant to balance you in some way. And the more you push it away, the more out of balance you will be.”
Nova’s heart was beating fast. She had never met anyone like Jinx—so sure of herself and her place in the world. She wanted to bottle the confidence rolling off her and keep it with her always so that when she needed it, she could pull it out and bask in it all over again.
“Will you try something for me?” Jinx asked.
Nova nodded, unable to even contemplate telling the witch no.
“Give me your other hand.”
Nova did so, and Jinx placed Nova’s palms flat against each other, pointing in opposite directions, then laid her hands over the outside of each. She scooted forward until both of them were sitting with their legs crossed, knees touching, Nova beneath the blankets and Jinx on top.
“Close your eyes.”
Nova followed her direction, though the steady thrum of her heartbeat had only increased.
“I want you to unbind your magic.”
“But—” Nova cracked one eye to find Jinx looking at her.
“It will be fine. Remember, you said it does not react to other witches.”
“So far. That does not mean it will not ever.”
A wide smile spread over Jinx’s mouth. “I will risk it. Now close your eyes and open whatever walls you have set up.”
Nova swallowed, but did as she was told, letting go of the tight hold she had on her magic. At first, nothing happened. Then she felt the tempting, yearning heat of the flame rising up inside her. She nearly panicked, but then she heard Jinx give a quiet hum under her breath. “There you are. Tell me. How does it feel?”
Nova squeezed her eyes shut tighter, suddenly nervous to reveal this part of herself to another person.
“Warm. Buzzy. Like there’s a swarm of bees inside the cage of my ribs.”
“Magic wants to move,” Jinx said. “It is probably restless from being locked away.”
Nova jerked a little, and Jinx’s hands tightened about hers. “I don’t want it to move. Then I will not be able to keep it inside.”
“It is not meant to be still. Think of it like another working piece of your body. It should circulate the way air does when you breathe. The way blood moves through your body, so should your magic move through you. Rather than focusing on keeping it in one place to stop it from breaching your guards, instead let it move, make it move. It has to become an integrated part of you, rather than a separate piece.”
Nova thought about the idea, and tried to put it into practice. She started small, only letting the magic move about in her midsection, like her own swirling firestorm inside. When that seemed doable, and did in fact ease some of the overwhelming energy that always bombarded her when her magic was close to the surface, she pushed it farther. First into her legs, all the way down to her toes and back up again. She made that loop several times, and when all seemed well, she braved the final circuit—letting the fire flow into her arms, passing through her connected palms again and again in an endless circle.
She got lost in the practice, following her flame to every corner of her person, exploring herself in a way she had not ever imagined possible. The fire burned away the soreness of her muscles and any lingering fatigue; it energized her with each sweep, and she felt better than she could ever remember feeling. She felt … brand new.
She had no idea how long she had been circulating the flames by the time something heavy came in contact with her knee. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked down.
A yawning Jinx waved her off. “Keep going. I could not sit up any longer. But it is good for you. I can feel it. Your whole energy has changed. Wake me if you need anything.” Then the witch closed her eyes and fell asleep against the lump of Nova’s knee beneath the blanket.
Nova stared, in awe that she could fall into slumber so quickly. Then again, she was not quite sure how long they had been at this. She gazed down at Jinx, at the small bow arch of her top lip, and the long straight line of her nose. She barely knew her, but there was a swell of something that happened inside every time Nova looked at her. The sensation got larger by the day, so much so that Nova did not know what to do with herself when it happened. Gratefulness, she thought. The warrior witch had blown into her life like a windstorm and brought with her every kind of hope and courage. She was awe-inspiring. Who would not be drawn to that?
And there was the fact that even now as she studied her friend’s sleeping face, her magic was still routing itself through her body, already adapting to the trick Jinx had taught her. A few nights together, and Nova already felt less controlled by her fear, and more in charge of her own fate.
She adored Jinx for that alone. And she desperately hoped that they would be able to find a way out of their current situation, because she had a sudden desire to see the world the way Jinx saw it. Maybe even with Jinx at her side.
For now she knew there were other options for a life like hers besides secrecy and solitude.
Aurora spun around to face her mother and asked, “What do you think?” She wore a false wig of long black hair that made her skin look nearly as luminous as the moon. A shimmering skirt of greenish blue hugged her hips and fanned out at her knees like a mermaid tail. The color made her think of secret coves and far-off island waters. With it she wore a cream-colored top with short, capped sleeves and a neckline that sat just below her collarbone, high enough to cover her secret. In all, it was less revealing than what she had worn for her betrothal ball, but she could imagine how intriguing it might look under the blue lights downstairs. “Would you recognize me?” Aurora asked.
Her mother still did not know exactly where they were, but Aurora had been honest enough about her intentions for the evening. She needed to fool people who had seen her, some of whom had once been among her mother’s advisers. She knew her mother had wanted to object at the idea of Aurora risking herself, could see the worry on her mother’s face, but for some reason the once-overbearing queen had kept quiet.
“You will certainly draw the eye,” her mother said. “Come here. Let me add some more rouge and shadow to your eyes, and then I think you will be disguised enough to fool even me.”
Aurora went and sat next to her mother on the bed. The queen was able to pull herself up better now, but her muscles had lain unused for so long that she tired quickly and was far weaker than either of them remembered her ever being.
When her mother was done with the adjustments, she sat back with a deep inhale and said, “There. You are like an entirely different person.”
Her mother stared, lips pursed upward in a sad smile, and the words landed heavily on Aurora’s heart. The queen sniffed delicately, and Rora quickly caught one of her hands.
“I am still your daughter.”
“Oh, I know that, my dear. It is simply that seeing you now, hearing the stories you have told, watching the way your face lights up like it never used to … I am ashamed I did not realize how much I had let my fear stifle you.” Her mother sniffed again, but it did not stop the tear that stole down her cheek. “I thought I was keeping you safe from harm, but in truth I kept you from becoming this amazing daughter the goddess meant for me to have.”
“You believe in the goddess?”
Her mother shrugged. “I believe you are as that young man said … remarkable. Whether that happened by goddess-divined fate or luck or something else … I believe in you. That is where I will start.”
Aurora did not think a language existed to express how she felt in that moment. She knew her mother loved her, certainly. And despite the guilt and her other fears, rationally, she knew too that her mother had always tried to do what was best for her. But there was such an innate power imbalance between parent and child, between creator and creation, that she feared she would forever be inadequate, that she would always be choosing between her own wants and her mother’s wants, and that would likely mean always disappointing either herself or her mother.
But now … now she felt less like someone else’s creation, and more like her own. She had never felt so free, albeit terrified.
“Thank you,” she responded, even though the words hardly sufficed.
“Promise me you will be careful,” the queen said, a little bit of command creeping into her voice.
“I will be.”
“And do not be too long. I get bored up here alone.”
“I will send someone to keep you company.”
“The handsome young man who called you remarkable?”
Aurora blushed. “Someone. Perhaps my friend Duke, if he is around. I told you about him.”
“Ah, yes, the wise old hunter. I should thank him for taking care of you.”
“You should talk to him about magic. He is very knowledgeable.”
“Perhaps I will.”
Aurora kissed her mother’s cheek, then made her way downstairs to speak to Zephyr before the tavern opened. She found the owner by the waterfall, the room already lit in the mystic blue light. She cleared her throat, and Zephyr turned, eyeing her carefully, evaluating her appearance from head to toe.
“Not bad,” she pronounced. “I would still keep talking to a minimum, in case someone recognizes your voice. Float the room, clear empty glasses, bring new drinks when asked. Do not push for conversations. Let them happen around you. Best to be invisible.”
“What do I do if an important conversation is happening? Is there any kind of signal?”
Zephyr frowned. “Most of my girls do not know enough to know what is important. They listen for names, dates, locations. Frivolous details to them, but it helps us concentrate some of our other efforts. They write down whatever they hear, whether they think it is important or not, file reports at the end of the night, and are paid handsomely for it. If you notice something of importance, do your best to stay nearby. If that is not possible, then you come to me at the bar, and I will organize a rotation to keep things subtle.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Aurora asked.
Zephyr’s eyes hardened. “Nothing can go wrong. If you are concerned about that, I suggest you take yourself back upstairs to your mother.”
Aurora shook her head. “You are right. Nothing goes wrong.”
Everything was going wrong.
Aurora was trying to be invisible, but in truth, she was the exact opposite. She had started the evening by dropping a nearly full tray of glass mugs, making a shattering introduction to the occupants of The Mermaid Tavern. That had earned her a glare and a disappointed frown from Zephyr at the bar, and a raucous round of applause and laughter from the young soldiers on the first floor.
From then on, several in the group seemed to keep tabs on her, teasing as she passed, gallantly parting the crowd as she walked, even after she switched from the tray to carrying single drinks in each hand. Others jeered and lunged as she walked by, as though trying to startle her into another accident. Their treatment began drawing so much attention that Zephyr pulled her off the floor and into the back room.
“Let’s try this again another night,” she said, before the door had even swung all the way closed.
“No, please. Send me to the private area upstairs. It is quieter up there. And it is where I am likely to be of more use anyway.”
“It is also where you are more likely to be recognized, and you have not shown me much evidence so far that you are good at blending in.”
“Let me try. Please. If the slightest thing goes wrong, I will take myself upstairs without a word. I promise.”
“Do not expect to get another chance beyond this one. Your value in this game depends on your surviving until the end. If you get reckless because you are restless, it is the rest of us who will pay.”
“I understand. I will be careful.”
Zephyr sighed, but sent her on her way with a wave of her gloved hand; the glove she wore at the tavern was pearlescent and dainty, not bloodred and claw-tipped. Not for the first time Aurora noted that she was not the only one with secrets around here.
But she left the mystery of Zephyr’s gloves for another day, and made her way upstairs to the second level where things were calmer and quieter. The girls still wore the same uniforms and fetched drinks from the bar downstairs, but the guests sat in round cushioned booths with more distance between each. Potted and hanging plants combined with the blue light and sea-salt smell to give the atmosphere of a deserted island beach, where one might divulge the most sinful of secrets with no care of being overheard.
Aurora was certain now that Zephyr was using some of her magic, for though she knew there was naught but wood beneath her feet and in the walls around her, the room made her feel as if the ocean were sitting just out of sight. No matter how far she craned her neck, it never came into view. It was bold, indeed, but Aurora could see how at ease the guests were here, and it was more than being in their cups, though she was sure that helped. It likely dulled their senses, made them question the otherness less, explain it away as their mind’s reaction to the drink. Suddenly, it made a great deal more sense how a woman as young as Zephyr, who could not have passed more than thirty seasons and might have seen far fewer, could wield such power in the city.
Things did, in fact, move far smoother for Aurora on the upper level. The space allowed her to glide about without having to dodge any moving bodies, and she busied herself helping where she could. For a long while, she heard nothing of true consequence—discussion of the recent storms, speculation about the Stormlord and the rebellion, but curiously no mention of the missing Locke prince. None of it was new information, merely idle chatter among friends of a wealthier and more influential set. Aurora wondered if she was wasting her time. She had left her mother alone to be out here, and she could pass an entire night without hearing anything of importance. Maybe Zephyr was right. Maybe she was being foolish to insist on involving herself in these aspects when it was clear her role in this revolution lay elsewhere. She got lost in the busywork of cleaning up an empty table while she contemplated these thoughts, the soothing atmosphere of the tavern providing a calm backdrop for her wandering.
She picked up the last empty glass from the table, fitted it between her forearm and her breast along with the others, and then straightened to leave, nearly toppling into a man wearing a blue Locke admiral uniform. Then she let her eyes lift up to see him, and she found the familiar face of one of her former guards.
Aurora quickly lowered her eyes, and mumbled a quiet apology.
“Is this table free?” the man asked.
Aurora nodded and tried to flee, but he called after her, “Grab me an ale, will you?”
She nodded again, and then hurried off. She only let herself glance back when she reached the stairs, and she saw him shaking hands with another man in Locke uniform whom she vaguely recognized as someone who had kept close to the royal family. She descended the stairs before Merrin could set eyes on her again.
He had been her other primary guard, often playing the foil for the far-too-serious Taven. But gone was the cheery-eyed, curly-haired Merrin that she remembered. His hair had been cut short, all the curls gone, and his expression had remained flat, his voice too.
Aurora returned the empty glasses to the kitchen, then thought of taking herself straight up to her mother as she had promised. Then she remembered that Merrin had asked for an ale. She did not want to make things more suspicious by disappearing without his order. She would take him his drink, then disappear.
She requested the drink at the bar, and while she waited, she decided to do the responsible thing and tell Zephyr she would be leaving. But she could not find her in the back where she had left her, nor was she behind the bar. So she told the woman behind the bar to tell Zephyr that the new girl needed a word.
Then she set off back upstairs. As she drew near the table where Merrin sat, she slowed her stride and lowered her head.
“And this information the prince has … is it credible?”
“Very much so, he believes.”
“Why would she not return home if she were back in Pavan? Surely she must have heard of how we searched for her.”
“The prince is not certain she is free to leave. It is possible the kidnappers sold her to the resistance.”
Aurora was nearly to the table, and she did not know what to do. Did she stop and hope they did not notice her? Did she put down the drink and hope they continued?
“And they let her live? What use do they have for her?”
“We are unsure. Blackmail, perhaps. Or they have some intentions for her magic. All we know is there is credible evidence she is in the city. And that is where you come in. Prince Cassius would like you to lead the investigation into her whereabouts.”
Aurora turned and sat the drink on the first table she passed, much to the surprised delight of an older man who did not order it. She hit the stairs, and she climbed up and up until she found the loft and then Zephyr’s office door. She pushed through it, her breaths heaving, the long mermaid-like skirt catching between her ankles. Her fingers scrabbled at the door handle to the bedroom, her joints refusing to work properly, agitation rising until she finally shoved the door open wide.
Then inside she found her mother weeping, great gusting sobs that shook her thin frame. Duke sat beside the queen in her bed. The old man’s head snapped up at her entrance, but her mother was too distraught to do anything but cry.
“What did you do to her?” Aurora cried, more than happy to direct all the panic coursing through her system at something, someone else. “Did you hurt my mother?” Aurora demanded, marching across the room.
Suddenly Kiran was there, appearing from nowhere, slamming first the office door, then the bedroom door behind him. “What in the bleeding skies are you doing, Aurora? You left the doors wide open.”
“I want to know what is wrong with my mother.”
Kiran moved closer, trying to quiet her, and she knew he was right, knew there was a world outside these rooms with very large, very looming consequences. But she had only just gotten her mother back safely, and now Duke had upset her terribly, and she did not need that kind of stress in her condition.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” her mother said, her voice cracking with emotion.
“Then why are you crying?”
Aphra Pavan looked far from queenly and surprisingly vulnerable as she shrugged and answered with a bewildered, teary smile, “Because he is alive.”
Aurora looked to Duke. “Who is alive?”
Aurora’s mother gazed at Duke, the old man who had become something between a father and mentor to Aurora. Tears still flowed down the queen’s cheeks and dripped from the regal line of her jaw. “You might know him as Duke. But I knew him as a lord, a long time ago.”
Aurora’s mother took Duke’s hand and squeezed. “You could have come here, Finn. We never would have turned you away. No matter what happened in Calibah.”
Duke lifted her mother’s hand and placed a kiss on her knuckle. “I had a lot to live with. It was easier to spread that grief around, not take it with me all to one place. Besides, I came when it was time, I think.”
Panic made Aurora’s mind slow, like she was trudging through melting drifts of snow.
Calibah.
Finn.
She saw the pieces, knew how they would fit together if life were fiction, but how, how could this be?
“Are you saying…” She trailed off, staring at her mother.
The queen pushed herself up a little higher in the bed, and wiped her tears. “Aurora, may I present to you Lord Finneus Wolfram of Calibah. Lord Wolfram, I believe you know my daughter.”