Chapter 14

Sapphire

“Mahove,” Ellze says brightly when I wake up the next morning on the floor of the room we share with Zylion. My guts ache. “Got a little too free with your humans last night?”

“Please, be quiet.” My head weighs five times as much as usual. The air is dense, stifling.

“You are there all the time,” Ellze says as I stand up slowly.

“It is my job.”

“Not your all day, every day job.”

I shove him out of the way as I head to the window, pull it open, and eject the contents of my stomach down the side of the stone castle walls. Tasting that dark red poison was a foolish idea.

When it is all out of me, I slump to the floor, wiping my face.

“It is the Magic, you know.” Ellze crouches next to me. “They are so slick with it, you cannot help but be drawn to them. Their pores are filled with Magic, their hair, their mouths. It calls to you. That is our nature.”

Their mouths. My eyes flick to his gold face. Does he know something? But Ellze spouts on. “You cannot be blamed for finding them so appealing. With the Magic dripping off them like sugar . . .”

“That must be it,” I find myself saying, if only to end this conversation. Ellze’s voice grates like an incessant tapping on my shoulder.

“Now that you know,” he says, “keep your distance. Perform your duties only. Other things require your attention.”

I lie back down on the bedroll. He is not the one in command, but he behaves as if he were. “My responsibility is keeping the royals alive,” I say.

Ellze pulls me to my feet. Everything swims, but I remain upright. “Since the King is so close to the end, the Commander interrogated him once more and in his haze, he let slip that a Prince is still free, with the missing army. Now the Commander wants you to bring the Princess to him. Be grateful I did not tell him you were feeling unwell.”

The dungeon—my least favorite place in this whole horrid castle. Its condition has only worsened. Commander Valya does not believe expending resources here will benefit us in the long term.

The air down here is filled with noise. Roaring and howling, punctuated by the Princess’s screams.

I rush into the dark and find all the prisoners who used to lie on the floor—starving or dead—are now on their feet. Shaking the bars. Screeching in a way not even close to human.

“Please!” Corene wails. “Melidia, wherever you are, save me from this place!” She’s backed up against the wall. The prisoners in adjacent cells reach through the bars toward her, spitting blood through gaps in their gums where teeth used to be.

“Finally!” the Princess sobs as I reach her cell door. She rushes to me, dodging an arm coming through the bars to grab at her. “Let me out at once.”

Once I have tied rope around her wrists, she runs ahead so fast that I have to jerk her back. The prisoners squall and shake as we pass. Their eyes are empty, faces oozing where their mouths opened too wide and the bloodless skin tore like paper.

“They are dead,” I murmur.

“You think?” The Princess charges up the stairs.

I slam the dungeon door and drag her to the Commander’s chambers in the temple, my mind cycling back through everything I witnessed. The prisoners were coated in Magic like everyone else. We left them there, forgot about them, and the worst happened.

It is the first thing out of my mouth when the Commander opens his door to me. “Commander. The dead have risen.”

His silver eyes look duller than I remember. Flat, like marbles, with shadows underneath that I have never seen before. He focuses on me and his lips twist down. Glancing around, he says, “Where is Ellze? If some dead are alive again, there will be others.” He pushes past me, not even noticing I have the Princess.

I do not know what to do with her now, but I am tired of her incessant begging to see her father.

Inside the King’s room, Corene lunges at his bed. “Dad!”

The King groans and lifts one arm. She clasps his hand as he gazes upon her, his strained, sagging face morphing into a smile.

“Sweet daughter.” He reaches forward and strokes her red hair. “What have they done to you?”

She glances back at me. “I’ve . . . been all right.”

“Have you heard news?” The King’s eyes are closing. “About Bayled? Or Nul se Lan?”

The Princess slowly shakes her head. “None.”

“You must get out of here.” The King looks at me. Until this moment his mind has been elsewhere, disassociated from his body. Now his blue eyes are alert and piercing and I sense he has finally seen me. “This is going to go wrong. It’ll all go wrong and I don’t want you here when it does, daughter.”

I should quiet him—the last thing I need is for the Princess to panic. But what could be worth more panic than being trapped in a cage with the vicious dead?

“I don’t know what to do, Dad,” Corene says, her voice breaking with tears.

“Find Forgren.” The King’s eyes widen for just a moment, the whites streaked with red. “He knows.” With that, he falls back asleep. His rumbling, congested snores fill up the room.

Corene kneels by the side of his bed and lays her head on his lap. It would be a sorrowful scene if I cared for either of them.

A war horn tears through the air. I leave the Princess at her father’s side long enough to poke my head out the door. “Was that . . . ?” I ask the soldiers there.

“The rest of the force,” one says, nodding. “They have arrived.”

Thelia

Sapphire doesn’t return that night to sleep on the floor. We’ve ceased to be useful, so they’ve abandoned us. Just like everyone else in my life.

Parsifal keeps his door closed. I knew he was attracted to me—he’s never hidden that, and I’ve never felt guilty using it. But I didn’t know he he harbored something more than lust for me. I’ve misunderstood.

Since I have nothing better to do, I start rearranging the room. I have to remember my injuries as I move, but I work up a little sweat after all this time in dungeons with no exercise.

I’m taking out the dresser drawers and setting them on the floor when the door opens. The cart wheels in. I didn’t realize how hungry I’d gotten, and I rush over.

It’s empty.

“Percy!” I shout. The cart backs away, pressing itself up against the door. Parsifal pokes his head out of his room. “Look.” I point at the empty cart where it’s cowering like a frightened dog.

“It looks positively ashamed.” Parsifal trots in and peers down at it. “I always thought the food just . . . happened. Maybe Sapphire makes it?”

“And they decided to stop today?”

He narrows his eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t have kissed them without asking.”

I snort. “They were all for it.”

“Well, you did something to get us punished like this.”

I whirl on him. “Maybe you did something by bringing wine in the first place. Maybe getting Sapphire so thoroughly brimmed over that they couldn’t walk is a crime in their culture.”

The cart slides back out of the room and the door closes behind it. Without replying, Parsifal returns to his room in a huff.

Afternoon comes and goes. I wish I had something to break, someone to fight. Starving—what a way to go out. If this is how I feel after only a day, what’s next? I shake my head. I can’t think about Corene suffering, hiding in the crushing dark, or it’ll be too much for the widening cracks in my soul to stand. A few candlestick-hours later, Parsifal pokes his head through my door again. “Food yet?”

I throw a pillow at him but completely miss. “What do you think?”

“Still?” For the first time, worry settles over him. “Maybe they forgot.”

“Maybe they’re angry.” But that’s not like Sapphire. Or is it? I don’t know them at all. I’ve never seen them upset before. Did I twist things up that badly with a kiss?

BWOOOOOOHHH! The blow of a war horn shakes the very walls of the castle.

I rush to the window. Down below, the gates of Four Halls are opening.

On the other side stands a horde. “Parsifal!” I duck down under the windowsill, just my eyes peering out. “Look.”

He kneels next to me as the shining silver helmets of the troops pour through the gate. A parade of animals in saddles follows: a lion, a one-headed bear, rows of elephants.

“What’s wrong with that bear?” Parsifal whispers.

“It’s a mutant.”

Then come much bigger creatures—no, monsters—I’ve never seen before. As big as four elephants, they have great square heads like lizards and bare brown flesh.

I sink to my knees as the elven host pours into the courtyard. It’s so much more overwhelming than I could’ve ever imagined. I feel the size of an ant in the face of that horde. There’s no defeating it. No force of humans could ever hope to win.

Which means Bayled and Nul se Lan are dead.

Cold regret slithers through me. My hopes of being Queen die with Bayled.

I shouldn’t lie to myself, though. It’s about more than my dreams. We were children together. So many of my moments with Corene and Parsifal were also Bayled moments. Horseback rides behind Four Halls. Swimming at the lake. Sweet, honorable, gullible Bayled . . . what an absolute waste. He didn’t deserve that drunk old King sending him off to die for nothing. Now the Kingdom is over, and there’ll be nothing left to rule when those monsters are finished with us. The lords will surrender, and Parsifal and I will go to the room where everyone else goes eventually, and suffer some horrible fate—if Sapphire doesn’t let us starve first.

Gray, sunken faces with beady eyes, enormous ears, and sharpened teeth. My head swims. The faces flicker in my mind’s eye—and then fade into Sapphire’s face. Beautiful. Kind. Quiet. Perfect.

Without their help, we’re definitely going to die.

My chest is collapsing. Everything hurts. “Thelia,” I hear Parsifal say. “Breathe. You need to breathe.” But I can’t. My lungs convulse so hard with sobs that air can’t get in or out. He reaches for the goblet by my bed, but it’s empty. I curl up in a ball on the floor.

Parsifal leans over me. “Take deep breaths. Look at me.” I open my eyes again. Parsifal, trying so hard to smile. Here for me, yet again, when the world has shifted upside-down.

He holds me until I’m able to breathe again, and I close my eyes against the sound of our heartbeats.

Parsifal

We can’t keep out the sound. Not even the Magic seal around our window muffles the thousands of voices, nor the thunderous grumbling of the great monsters. Thelia’s still shaking, but she’s breathing. We sit on her bed, leaned up against the pillows.

Daylight fades into night. Thelia’s eyes close and she slides lower on the bed until her head comes to rest on my chest. Flames kindle under my clothes where she’s touching me. I settle my hands in her soft, short hair, which feels like rabbit fur. I start running my fingers through it.

“Your nails feel good,” she whispers. “Don’t stop.”

I’m so hungry, and even more tired, but I won’t ever stop.

The cart returns in the morning, still empty. It wheels around the middle of the room and Thelia scrambles out of bed, still awkward with her bandages, but not enough to restrain her. “Why?” she roars. The cart backs up against the door.

“Don’t shout at it.” I lean down in front of the cart. “You don’t have any control over the food, do you?” The cart wobbles. I think that’s a no. “So Sapphire was making all our meals. Maybe they’re in trouble?”

The cart does one more frightened lap around the room, then zooms back out the door, which seals back up behind it. Thelia says nothing and goes to sit in front of the fire, curling up in a chair with her arms around her knees. With frigid winter winds beating the side of the castle, the fire burns all day long now.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I did this.”

I shake my head. “I should be apologizing for how I reacted. You were simply trying to get us out of here, and I threw a tantrum.”

She hides her face between her knees. “Th-there was more to it, Percy. Yes, I want to escape. With all my soul I miss riding, I miss the sky, I miss grass.” I hear her swallow a few times. “But that kiss was more. I needed it.”

“So?” I ask. Thelia stares at me. “There’s no shame in following your desire where it takes you. I feel it too, you know.”

Her voice chokes up. “You?”

I squeeze her shoulder. “Me.”

“But we should hate Sapphire. Once, I wanted nothing more than to kill them. But touching them felt . . . amazing.” She looks disgusted. “More. I’m still thinking about more.”

“Please don’t berate yourself, Theels,” I say. “We’re prisoners here, and Sapphire is our only connection to the outside—to a hope of escaping here alive. It’s all tied up together. All three of us are contorted and stretched to impossible positions to fit our roles. There are no right decisions, only decisions that we choose to make.” I squeeze her shoulders and she lets me. “Perhaps someday, when we’re free, we can try to untangle the damned knot this has made of us.”

She nods and swallows, letting her head sink against mine.

When. I said it with a confidence I don’t feel, but in this moment, I need her to feel it.

Bayled

We’re on the third day of constant snowfall when Captain Tarkness brings her horse to a halt. “We’re here.”

Ahead, the trees thin out into a clearing paved with untouched white snow. Sasel does a sweep with one hand for anyone who might be hiding. “There’s a biylar bear,” she says, pointing to the other side of the meadow. “That’s all.”

I visited Antonin Bellisare’s brick mansion a few times when we were younger, for fancy parties with egregious amounts of imported wine. Then Antonin’s money ran out and Parsifal spent all his time at Four Halls, so we had no reason to visit the estate.

The roads and carriage circle are all buried by deep snow, and it’s slow going as our horses pick through it. Standing before the outer wall, Captain Tarkness raises her hand and focuses. A small ball of glittering energy forms in her hand. She peers at Sasel. “Do you feel that?” she asks.

Sasel nods. “It’s thick here.”

The ball swells and, after a moment, bursts into flame. The captain reels one arm back and hurls the ball of fire into the wall—tearing a massive hole through the middle.

So this is what real Magic looks like.

“That was amazing,” says Harged.

We climb through the hole and into the courtyard. The mansion’s front doors are locked, too, as a final annoyance. Hopefully Antonin won’t discover that we blew them apart to get in.

Inside, the high-ceilinged rooms are filled with ghosts. Portraits on the walls. Granite busts. Sculptures depicting legends I never learned about. We take the hallway under the main stairs past room after room.

There it is—the inset door with the rubbed bronze knob. I twist the doorknob, but the door doesn’t budge. Captain Tarkness prepares to blow it open, but Red raises a hand to stop her “Don’t want to risk damaging what’s inside.” He pulls a hairpin out of his ponytail, jams one end into the keyhole, and fiddles with it.

The door groans as it opens, and a wave of dust greets us. We both cough before we can move forward into the darkness. I find a torch and light it to reveal stairs.

We descend into a familiar cellar, where the passage opens up into a sprawling room: the Museum. A chariot stands against one wall, propped up by fake horses made from steel and gold. Four Frefoisian nobles, their wax faces astonishingly lifelike, wear old eastern clothes—high breeches, billowing necklines, long-tailed coats, and enormous wigs. Jewelry that must be worth as much as the mansion itself hangs from their necks, wrists, and ears. I know all about the sculptures and vases and masks now, from when I desperately hoped to impress Thelia and Parsifal—not realizing it was impossible.

The Baron quirks an eyebrow as we pass. “This whole place is obscene. They wouldn’t have been poor if they sold any of this.”

I snort. “I wouldn’t dare suggest that to Antonin’s face.”

The Baron stops in his tracks and laughs. “This must be what we’re here for.”

Another set of mannequins stands on a pedestal. They’re dressed in the familiar crimson reds, deep blues, and shimmering golds the Northern Republic prefers. Behind them stands an old Northern carriage—the fancy kind studded with copper that the Prime Minister or her family would use when traveling.

I begin stripping the mannequins. First I slide the long red coat over my own shoulders. It’s an older style, one that not even my father would have worn. It has quite a lot of tassels but it fits me perfectly. We have five more outfits—some brown women’s trousers, a wooly gold shirt, and even more coats and hats.

“This idea of yours may work after all.” Red puts on one of the short blue vests rimmed with embroidered gold, and it fits his chest snugly. He glances at one of the many mirrors hanging on the wall. “I look fantastic in this.”

I chuckle. “Everyone should wear Northern fashion.”

Sapphire

Every time I close my eyes, I can see Parsifal’s face collapsing. The memory is seared into my skin. I did not mean to come between them, to hurt them. My warm heart of Magic aches.

Jealousy. I know its name, but never before has it had a face. If only I could wish away that moment, undo the damage I did. At least apologize—but I cannot return.

Ellze was right. I should have stayed away. I said so many things I should not have, and my involvement has worsened everything.

There is so much else to do as our troops set out for the new settlement site to begin building. Others erect shelters in the nearby woods for the elephants and orkuks. The fresh wave of Magickers are put to work siphoning off the Magic flooding out of the well. With the relocation site in motion, we begin to clean. For the first time, I believe we can regain control of this spiraling disaster.

A disaster for which, I am loath to admit, we are partially responsible.

I let the horses out into the paddock and watch as they run and run, thrilled to stretch their legs. Zylion and Ferah find me there after Ferah has done her stint on the castle wall, burning off Magic—but there is more than we could ever burn. Zylion’s pulled his long purple hair back in a high ponytail, and Ferah stands with her arms crossed, light from the window making her white hair look like a shimmering halo. “The Commander wants to see us,” Zylion says.

With the main host’s squadron leaders in attendance, there are too many of us to fit into the temple, so the Commander assembles us in the banquet hall. The newcomers are easy to spot because they refuse to sit in any chairs or touch any objects that humans might have touched. They will grow tired of the effort this takes soon enough.

Commander Valya sits in the wine-stained purple chair that once belonged to the King. He looks at home in it, hands spread out across the cushioned arms. “Our operation faces yet another hurdle,” he says. His voice is unusually weak, and we all lean in to hear. “When we arrived, we severely underestimated how much Magic had pervaded the humans’ bodies.”

Ferah steps forward. “We must be rid of the corpses somehow. The longer we leave them in the dungeon, the more powerful they grow. Magic has animated them, and Magic can free them.”

Commander Valya nods. “Indeed. We must burn them.”

“But Commander,” Zylion says, shaking his head, “they are so drenched in Magic that the last one we burned proceeded to explode. A jail cell is gone.”

Before the Commander can respond, Ellze says, “Then take them somewhere the explosion cannot do any damage.” Commander Valya does not reprimand him, as I would have expected. Instead, he nods.

At the end of the meeting, Ellze leans down to whisper something in his uncle’s ear, and they both chuckle. This Ellze is different from my childhood friend. Perhaps I am jealous—perhaps not. But I do not think I like him anymore.

Thelia

Parsifal sits in front of the fire, silently reading. Neither of us has the energy to do much else. Even talking makes me tired, so I just look—mostly at Parsifal. At his soft, milky human skin. The wrinkles at the side of his mouth and nostrils that make his dimples move as he scans the page. His nose is flat, of course. The thick eyebrows high above his eyes crease as he thinks.

He’s beautiful, in his way. Familiar. The one who’s always been by my side. I used to think that person was Corene, but that fantasy is gone.

The elves must have found her, and that’s why Sapphire doesn’t need us anymore. I can’t decide if I should feel relieved or angry or grateful. I’m too jumbled up, like Parsifal said. Attempting to untangle that knot might kill me.

Corene. I hope she’s not still starving in the dark. Mother would be ashamed of me, pitying her—but no one deserves to die in a hole in the wall.

“What?” asks Parsifal. I didn’t realize I was staring at him again. Parsifal—the only one who never betrayed me, not once. No lies stand between us.

I don’t speak, just reach out to touch the side of his face. At first, he jerks away. I don’t move my hand, and slowly, he lets me rest my fingers on the parts of him that have made him the subject of endless mockery. I wouldn’t be here without Parsifal at my side, keeping my feet on the ground.

His brown eyes are riveted to mine. “Thelia,” he whispers, and the sound of my name on his lips stirs something I’ve never felt before—a seeping warmth at the base of me. “Can I kiss you?”

I breathe the word “yes” before I think about it, and he presses his lips to mine.

It’s something I’ve thought about only in my wildest, most guilty fantasies. Now that it’s here, I feel . . . awake. I kissed Red, of course. Well, he kissed me. It felt nice, but it wasn’t like this. I’ve been lit on fire.

My tongue presses at Parsifal’s lips of its own accord. Wanting. Asking for more. I could eat him, and thank Melidia, he lets me in.

It’s an entire new world. My arms wind around his neck, and his around my middle. I feel contained, like my unruly, escaping edges are finally tucked in and I’m no longer spilling out across the floor, drip-drip-drip, until there’s nothing left. I’m staying right here.

I don’t know what comes next, but Parsifal does. One of his hands takes mine, our fingers laced together. But the spaces between his fingers are too tight and it hurts my hand, so I pull it back.

Parsifal withdraws, his face collapsing with anguish as he reads my reaction completely wrong. “I’m so sorry.” He looks like he’s been hit across the face. “I didn’t . . .”

“Percy.” I crawl closer. It’s my turn to kiss him now. I know I’m sloppy and drooling, but he kisses me back anyway, and I can taste his relief. He takes my hands back and holds them inside his palms this time.

I press my body against his. Through my thin nightgown, I can feel everything—and he can certainly feel all of me. We pull away, both of us breathing hard. His pants are straining. “I’m sorry,” he says, trying to cover it.

I’ll admit the bulge in his purple trousers is frightening—I don’t know what’s underneath. I’ve heard words like snake, whip, dragon, rod. Hard things, frightening things with teeth lie between a man’s legs, or so Mother said. I’ve never wanted anything to do with the snakes or rods.

My chest is hot as the fire in the hearth, and it burns all the way to the space between my own legs. I want to know what’s in those trousers, begging to escape.

“Show me,” I say, pushing the confidence into my voice.

Parsifal grins. But instead of reaching for his trousers, he lifts his shirt up over his head. Underneath, he’s bare. He flinches when my cold hand touches his warm flesh, and he presses his hands to mine.

We slide across the floor closer to the fire, and he points at me with his chin. “Your turn.”

Oh, I suppose it is. I slide my nightgown off my shoulders, my exposed nipples poking up like tiny caps on a tower roof. He leans forward and wraps his lips around one and it’s the most wonderful feeling. I lean back and can’t help the sound I make.

“Good?” he asks.

“I think so.”

He laughs and goes for the other one, but I stop him. “Your turn.”

The trousers, at last, are gone. Feeling first is a lot easier than seeing. He’s soft—the dense, curly hair below is plush and welcoming. And below that, his erect penis is soft, too. A nice kind of soft—not awkward or wrinkled. How does it do that? Be hard and soft at the same time?

The rug underneath us is coarse against my bare skin, but Parsifal draws me into his arms, as close as he’s ever been before, and I forget all about it. He licks one of his fingers, and then his hand finds its way down between my legs, where no hand has ever been but my own. I must look terrified, because Parsifal chuckles a little. “It will feel good. Promise.”

I unclench the iron grip of my thighs and his wet finger dives between them. And demons, he’s right. I’m biting the flesh of his neck before I can stop myself, because otherwise, who knows what I’d sound like?

“Good?” he asks, and I can feel his face smiling against my throat.

I bite harder and whisper, “Good.”

I go to touch him again, but he shakes his head. “I think it would make me let off too soon.” So I don’t, as much as I want to feel that soft, wonderful thing under my hand again. It’s not a snake. It’s just Parsifal.

He nudges my knees and I let my legs open. He tries to push inside me, but immediately it feels tense and awkward. I want it, though. I can feel how ready I am, but for some reason, my body won’t cooperate. My face gets flaming hot.

“Here.” Parsifal shifts me around so he’s lying behind me, our bodies flush together, looking into the fire. I don’t like that I can’t see his face, but his arms wrap around me. He touches me again down there, lathering me up the way I do with my hair in the bath.

It takes more tries than I can count before I feel him nudge into me and it works. Finally, we’re there. Together. I finally let myself make a sound. “That’s a good noise,” he breathes into my ear. He doesn’t move for a long time, his hands stroking my flesh, playing quietly with me. Distracting me from the discomfort.

The pressure there breathes, pulses. Somehow it’s so good. When I’ve relaxed again, he moves. Slowly. So slowly.

I stop holding my voice back.