The wyvern blinked at her, its fiery eyes aglow in the dusk. “If that was meant to be profound and cryptic, I’m afraid that to me it reeks of intellectual flatulence.”
Demelza rolled her eyes. By now they had reached the Dole. It had rained a few hours before and the usually bone-dry pond was now muddy. Demelza daintily lifted the hem of her gown, slipped off her sister’s satin shoes, and jumped into the Dole. It was a short and thoroughly anticlimactic hop. No thunder clapped. No lightning shattered. No wind blew. If this was ever a place where destiny itself might hasten forward, the world gave no sign of it.
Demelza looked up at the sky.
“Please,” she said.
After a few moments, she climbed out of the Dole andbegan the walk back to Hush Manor. She knew that the pond held no magic and that if anything it was a farewell to the place where she had hoped against hope. If Araminta’s desire was granted—as Demelza was certain it would be, considering Prava never denied his wife—then she knew she would never see it again.
Demelza did not look back as she and the wyvern left. As they walked, the sky split open with rain. If Demelza had turned around, she might have seen little sparks of light gathering in the basin of the Dole. But she did not turn. If Demelza had a mirror, she might have noticed how the rain sluiced the dirt from her hair and her face. But she did not have a mirror. If Demelza could peer into Hush Manor, she might have seen her father’s pensive gaze turn bright with a curious, but terrible, idea. But she could not peer so far away. And perhaps that was just as it should be. For you see, at that moment, destiny, with its sly gaze and inevitable tread, had finally looked Demelza’s way.
In a sitting room of Hush Manor, the wizard Prava stared at the flames. He did this even though his face was getting uncomfortably warm because on the off chance his wife was looking at him, he knew this posture looked imposing and a bit dashing and he always wished to impress her. But at that very moment, something tumbled into place in his thoughts. Or perhaps the heat of the fire fused it into shape. For weeks, he had been dancing around the two missing words in the spell of immortality. Demelza had supplied alist of possible words from her own translations, and while two words fit, it still made no sense.
“A sacrifice,” he muttered, staring at the flames. “A sacrifice of an unripened heart, born of beauty and beast.”
When Araminta heard these words, she fought to keep the tremble out of her fingers. She buried her hands in her embroidery and kept her gaze fixed on her lap despite the fact that her monster of a husband cut a very alluring figure in front of the fireplace.
“I haven’t the faintest what it could mean!” said Prava, tugging at his hair. “A basilisk heart?”
“I think basilisks are very lovely,” said Araminta, encouragingly.
“But they are born of a chicken and a toad! Both are rather beastly. Unless it was a very pretty chicken… perhaps I should start raising chickens?”
“I think that’s a worthwhile pastime, dear,” said Araminta. She looked a touch nervous, but her husband did not notice. “Any news of the princeling? Arris? Has he been wed yet?”
Normally any talk of the descendants of Enzo the Fool would grab Prava’s attention in an instant. But the words bounced off him.
“You know, I did always wish to be a farmer,” mused Prava. He paused, a shadow crossing over his face. He shook himself. “No. That couldn’t possibly be what it means… could it?”
The door opened, and Demelza walked inside. The wyvern bolted ahead of her, leaving behind small puddlesof poetry—mostly limericks—before huddling before the fire.
Araminta knew what would happen before the rest of them. She put down her embroidery and stood. When she spoke, her voice was shrill with what sounded like ferocity to her daughter but was actually fear.
“Demelza, you are a mess, go to your room—”
“No,” said Demelza, squaring her shoulders. “I have something to say. I heard you the other day, Mother.”
“Demelza, please, go!” said Araminta.
“Into exile?” said Demelza. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get rid of me? Father, you can’t let her do this. Just because I don’t have a heart key doesn’t mean I can’t be useful! Haven’t I helped with your spell? You can’t complete it without me. Let me prove it to you, father. Give me more time!”
Prava stared at his youngest daughter. Unless he was in deep concentration, he had made it a habit to blink at a human rate rather than allow the nictating membrane of his eyes to sheer across his gaze. He was not blinking now. His stare was unnervingly reptilian.
“Born of beauty,” said Prava, turning his head to look at Araminta. He glanced at his reflection. “And beast.”
Demelza did not hear him. Her own heartbeat was so loud she could barely think over the sound of it.
“You said you would find some purpose for me and you have not, meanwhile Mother keeps me covered in dirt and rags and hidden away in the manor!” said Demelza, her voice breaking. “I want my life to mean something. I… I deserve that chance.”
A look of remorse flashed over her father’s face. But then he smiled. He held out his hand to her.
“And you shall have it, my dear.”
Demelza beamed. She wanted to say to her mother “Ha!” But Araminta’s expression squashed any flame of triumph Demelza felt in that moment. It was the same expression she had worn when Prava had shown up in the nest all those years ago, promising to carve up the world for them. It was fear. And Demelza could not reconcile it.
“Well played, my love,” said Prava, smiling indulgently at Araminta. “You tried to hide her from me, didn’t you? You spoke poorly of her, camouflaged her beauty, raised her to be wild… when all the while, you understood the missing piece of my spell.” Prava tilted his head. “You must have known from the moment she was born. Or perhaps you had a glimpse of the future. Hmm?”
Araminta’s lips were pursed tight, and if her father’s clarity of the riddle was terrible, it was nothing compared to what Demelza felt when her father turned to address her:
