“I haven’t been found worthy enough yet. We are all like this. Most don’t progress this far before they take their final test. I guess I’m one of the unfortunate ones.”
Liane’s head was spinning. “If everyone is corrupted before they’re purified…” She didn’t know how to wrap her head around this information.
“That’s how we’re selected for service. Some mark or indication that we’ve got magic in our veins. We’re trained in how best to use it. Some excel and others, like me, well, the marks start forming, and we don’t always survive…”
Liane thought she was going to be sick. Her head was spinning, and Erich’s words were echoing in her head. But he was the enemy, wasn’t he?
“Maybe my unwillingness to die proves how unworthy I am, but I just can’t...”
“You cannot die, Sylvie. I won’t let you. What can I do?”
Sylvie wrung her hands and shifted from foot to foot. “I know it’s presumptuous to ask the goddess’ chosen, but I found an old spell with a ritual that could cure me. I’m not strong enough. But you might be.” She held out a weathered old book.
Liane took it in trembling hands. She still didn’t know how to use her magic. But if she were the goddess’ chosen, then it should be possible, shouldn’t it? The Avatheos had said so, and she’d revived that bird. Sylvie was a lot bigger than a bird, though. There was no choice, really; she had to try.
“I’ll help you.”
18
The morning Aristea was scheduled to meet Jonathan, she spent too long debating between her black gowns. It was a frivolous waste of time, and yet as Jana held up two options, she couldn’t choose. There was no real difference; one was a brocade with lace trims at the sleeves, the other a silk overskirt with a panel of brocade down the center. But she wanted to make a good impression on Duke Krantz, and only him. Seeing Jonathan after finding out he was a widower had nothing to do with her indecision. He was the facilitator of her plans, and future empresses didn’t marry widowers, especially those of low rank. The Dukes’ Council wouldn’t sanction another marriage for her unless it were with someone like Duke Mattison, a man of royal blood whose ties to another royal house could strengthen the empire. Princesses didn’t marry for love; Aristea knew that better than anyone. But despite all logic, she fussed over her appearance, having Yvette redo her hair coronet half a dozen times before she was satisfied.
They headed out for the palace gardens. Many of the nobility strolled through the gardens in the warmer months. There was plenty of shade here and fountains to relax by. She often walked the garden paths between appointments, her entourage of guards and attendants following behind her. Nothing about what she was doing was out of character; the courtiers she passed nodded politely, and no one gave her any strange sideways glances. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling she was doing something scandalous.
The plan was to meet somewhere inconspicuous, as if they happened to run into one another while both strolling through the garden. No one would suspect anything untoward about it. And if they lingered to talk in a public place, who would question it? And if they happened to run into his former father-in-law, that was innocent enough. And yet her heart raced the closer she got to their meeting place. It was the same rendezvous location where she’d “accidentally” bumped into him during their brief teenage romance. Back then, it was never planned. She just kept going there, and he kept showing up. They’d hardly talked; it had been for a chance to see him. Maybe it was the memories that made her heart race. The nostalgia of their long-gone past was making her silly and girlish.
She reached their destination and wiped her sweaty palms on her gown. A fountain with a depiction of Cyra pouring water from a jug splashed. Mother had commissioned it for the five-year anniversary of the end of the civil war. Low hedges surrounded it, and there were marble benches facing it, where people might lounge. Aristea hadn’t been to this spot in years, as the memories were too painful. She’d imagined it often, though, turning the corner and finding Jonathan there. The thought of visiting their secret spot and him not being there made her heart ache. But as she turned the corner, she saw him seated on the bench, his bad leg stretched out in front of him and his cane resting against the bench as he massaged his leg.
When he saw her, his face lit up and he rose to greet her.
A few nobles were strolling along the other side of the hedges. They didn’t turn to look, but if they had, they’d have seen how he looked at her, and rumors would swirl. Her chest tightened. That smile and that light in his eyes—could she mistake it for anything else? Could she delude herself into thinking his intentions were merely friendly? She considered turning around and heading back to her room. There must be another way to win over Duke Krantz. But her traitorous feet remained glued to the spot as Jonathan ambled over to her. She noticed how he winced as he walked and leaned heavily on his cane, As a teen sometimes his foot pained him and she felt a stab of guilt for making him walk out here to meet her on one of his bad days.
“Are you in pain—” she asked as he said, “Your Highness, lucky running into you here.”
They both lapsed into silence, staring at one another awkwardly.
The group she’d noticed on the other side of the hedges turned and entered the fountain area. They must have caught at least part of the exchange because their heads swiveled in Aristea’s direction.
“Your highness.” They curtsied to her.
One of the women said to Jonathan, “Hope you’re not too stiff after last night’s party.”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
The woman trilled a laugh at his comment, and the group fluttered away. The women wore bright pastels, and the men had flourishes of color in their clothes as well. Aristea felt suddenly self-conscious of her black, as if she were lurking about in the bright garden like an ominous raven. It’d been many years since she’d longed for an average life. One where she could be a girl in a pretty dress, flirting with other courtiers.
The courtiers passed them by, and when she and Jonathan were relatively alone—apart from her entourage, who lingered behind her—he moved closer. The swarm of butterflies in her stomach took flight. This close, she could see the shadow of stubble on his face and the dusting of freckles across his nose. And she was transported for a moment to the naive young woman she’d been, wanting to run her fingers across those same freckles.
“There’s someone I wanted you to meet before we go and find my father-in-law,” he said.
“Oh?” she asked.
He turned and gestured behind him. A little girl screeched and ran from behind the bushes, her golden pigtails tied up in ribbons bouncing as she ran. Behind her, a tired-looking nurse gave pursuit. The kid’s precocious nature reminded her of Liane as a child. She’d given their nurses trouble, constantly climbing and scraping her knees, getting into mischief.
Then reality came crashing in as the girl reached for Jonathan. He knelt with one hand braced on his cane to match her height. He smiled at her and smoothed her curls with familiar affection. The child couldn’t be more than six years old.
“Darling, this is Papa’s friend I told you about. Will you greet Her Highness?” Jonathan asked her.
She nodded her head enthusiastically and unwrapped her arms from around Jonathan to perform a childlike curtsey.
